Page 36 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

“I thought Tristan might drop by today,” she said. “To wish me luck. Is he upset that you’ve done this? Or maybe out of town?”

“Neither. The Lyme disease thing flared up late last week. The doctor has told him to rest. He’s hoping to be back on Thursday.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Her brain spun. “Do you think he’d mind if I dropped some dinner by for him?”

“I’m sure he’d be thrilled.”

“I don’t have his address.”

“I’ll text it to you,” Harold said. “Give him my best.”

And that was how Daley found herself on Tristan’s doorstep an hour later holding a bag of food and getting drenched in a sudden thunderstorm. The small fold-up umbrella she kept in her car was nowhere to be found, not that it would have helped. The wind blew sideways, and lightning danced all around her. This attempt at “loving her neighbor” fell under the heading “no good deed goes unpunished.”

For ten seconds she thought about getting in her car and driving away. The food was probably cold anyway. Her vanity urged her not to let Tristan see her like this. She was soaked through to the skin, and her mascara had probably run.

Before she could decide what to do, the front door swung open. Her heart stopped.

Tristan stood there frowning. “Daley? What are you doing? I saw you through the window.”

Another bolt of lightning hit—followed a split second later by a huge boom. She had to raise her voice. “Harold said you weren’t feeling well. I brought you dinner.” She thrust the soggy bag at him. “I’ll see you at the office later in the week.”

She was desperate to get away. This was a very bad idea. Just seeing him brought back every delicious, naughty detail of their tryst during Tabby’s wedding weekend.

He looked pale and tired. His navy shorts and Braves T-shirt were wrinkled and faded. It was a shock to see him looking less than perfect, though a rumpled Tristan still turned her bones weak.

When she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not letting you go out in this.”

Daley shoved a hank of wet hair out of her face. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m already soaked. I’ll be home in no time.”

“If you don’t get struck by lightning.” His impatient retort underscored his attempt to drag her inside.

The next lightning strike convinced her.

As she stood shivering in his foyer, he set the bag on a small table. “I’ll find something dry for you to put on.”

“That’s not neces—”

She was too late. He was already gone.

Tristan returned less than five minutes later. “These sweatpants will be huge on you, but they have a drawstring waist. The T-shirt should be okay.” He pointed. “That door is a guest bathroom.”

Daley didn’t bother to argue. Despite the fact that it was July, she was freezing and miserable. Her newish sandals were probably ruined.

When she ducked into the small half bath and glanced in the mirror, she groaned. Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful.

She stripped off her simple navy cotton dress, kicked off her shoes, and decided her damp bra had to go as well. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

Tristan’s pants looked ludicrous on her, but they were soft and warm. So was the T-shirt. She rolled up the pants legs as best she could. When she stepped out of the powder room, he was staring into the paper sack, frowning.

“There’s only one burger in here,” he said. “Where’s yours?”

“I hadn’t planned on staying. I didn’t even mean to come inside.” Being so close to him jangled her nerves. Made her doubt her choices.

He shrugged. “We’ll share this one. Follow me.”

Protesting would be useless. Tristan was a man accustomed to being in charge. In his beautiful modern kitchen, he grabbed two plates out of the cabinet. “Have a seat,” he said.

The table in the breakfast nook was covered with mail. She moved some of it to one side and perched on a chair. “You don’t look good,” she said.

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