He pulls a cake out of the oven and puts it on the stainless-steel worktable in front of him. “If you ruin Ashlea’s wedding day, I’ll never forgive you.”
Picking up a cookie from his worktable that’s fresh out of the oven, I take a bite and shake my head. “I’m organizing security, but it could get messy.”
“Fix this, and you owe me three dollars for the cookie.”
Nearly choking on the cookie, I splutter, “T-Three dollars?”
“Yes, three dollars. It’s a good cookie, isn’t it?”
It is a good cookie, but I don’t want to admit it to TB, so I shrug.
“When are rehearsals?”
“Tomorrow night at the chapel and dinner afterward at the yacht club.”
“Oh, fancy,” I tease TB. “Why then?”
“I know it’s tradition, but Ashley didn’t want to have it the night before the big day. My petal wants to look her best, and the yacht club… well, nothing but the finest for my bride.”
The kitchen area is spotless. The tables gleam, and the floor is clean enough to eat off. TB takes pride in his work.
“I went to see Athena.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Dad told me she got attacked?”
TB stops what he’s doing, and with his hands on his hips, he looks at me. “She didn’t want you to know. She made me promise not to tell you.”
“What happened?”
TB frowns, then continues pulling another cake out of the oven. “Not my place to tell you.”
“For fuck’s sake, you’re my best friend.”
“And Athena is my sister. Ask her.”
“I did.”
This stops him in his tracks, and he scrutinizes me. “Ahh, she didn’t tell you.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Can’t blame her. I’m still not going to tell you.”
“You suck.”
The waitress, Shannon, comes bustling into the area. “TB, I need some help out front, we’ve been inundated with customers.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see the press has taken up residence at all the available tables. Smirking at him, I swipe another cookie from the bench and begin to walk backward out of the café.
“Hey! That’s six dollars now.”
I shrug. “I’m good for it. Besides, they’re all here for me.”
“They could be here for my world-famous chowder.”
I laugh, and Shannon frowns at me.
“It is very good. You should try it,” says Shannon as she goes back out the front.
I follow her, and the cameras all flash at once.
“Okay, okay,” I say loud enough that the whole café can hear me. “You are all going to order something off the menu, on me, and take as many pictures as you want, but if any of you ruin my best friend’s wedding, you’ll never get another photo of me again. Understand?”
One of the photographers laughs, so I pin him with a look.
“Ever. I will only do photoshoots, and I swear, I will wear a paper bag over my head… every. Single. Time. I’m in public, which includes the Oscars. You, especially you, will never get another candid photo of me again.”
The photographer sits further back into his chair, smirking at me.
“So, you’re going to wear a paper bag on your head when you go out to dinner?” he says smugly.
“You bet your ass I will, or I’ll have dinner delivered to my home. Try me. See how far you get,” I reply with ice in my tone.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat under my gaze.
“Kris, you have to know this is a big deal. The rumor is it’s you who’s getting married,” says a female reporter.
TB bursts out laughing. I shake my head at him and look back at the pack of hyenas.
“I give you my solemn word, I am not getting married.”
“We’ve had it confirmed from a reliable source,” says another.
I hold up my hands. “You guys follow me everywhere. Have you seen me go to Tiffany’s or any other jewelry store?”
“You could have had it delivered,” counters another.
I raise my eyebrows, shake my head, and look around the room. “To get married, I’d have to be in love. I’m not getting married.”
“What about Sophia Thorne?”
I frown, shake my head again, and pin the reporter with a look. “I’ve only been with Sophia for a few weeks—”
“Three months,” says another.
“Fine, three months. I like her, she’s my girlfriend, we have a good time, but we aren’t anywhere near there yet. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
The room goes quiet, and a few of them exchange glances. I look over my shoulder at TB whose arms are crossed, and he nods at me once.
“Okay, so order up big. Tomorrow night we are going to be going to the yacht club. Sophia and I will pose for photos at the marina for a half-hour at five o’clock. It’ll be beautiful, the sun will be setting, and you can ask us anything.”
“Anything?” asks a pretty female.
“Yep, anything.” I smile widely at the room. “I might not answer, but you can ask.”
This draws laughter from a few of them.
I look at TB. “We good?”
“You still owe me six dollars.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I stalk out of the café and get in the car. The drive to the motel is a short one like everything else in this town. When I arrive, Sophia is dragging one of her suitcases out the door. She stops giving me a withering look, then proceeds to go back inside, I’m assuming to get her other one. Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly then get out of the car. She meets me in the doorway, her other bag in her hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask with resignation in my voice.
“Leaving.”
Sophia places one hand on her hip and kicks it out, looking extremely angry. Reaching up to touch her, Sophia blanches and takes a step back, indignation on her features.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Why are you leaving?”
“You announced to the world that you aren’t in love with me!” screeches my charming girlfriend.
I turn, walk outside, grab her bag, bring it back into the room and slam the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Smiling at her, I sit on the chair near the door, elbows on my knees. “Did you or did you not have your people leak that we’re getting married?”
“What?” Sophia is trying to look confident, but there’s a tremor to her voice.
Leaning back, I steeple my fingers and cock an eyebrow.
“I did it for us,” Sophia roars.
Laughing, I shake my head, and in this small motel room, it seems to echo around us. Sophia flops on the bed, staring at me as though she’s only seeing me for the first time.
“You did it for you.” I sigh and sit forward. “And I get it, I do, but this is something you should have run past my people and me. I like you, Sophia, what we have is—” And I stop. I want to say good, but it’s not.
“I think the word you’re looking for is great. Fantastic. Fabulous.” Sophia’s pretty face is twisted in anger.