But we weren’t. Harrison and I were on borrowed time.
And I didn’t understand why he sometimes seemed so intent on acting like we had all the time in the world.
I thought about trying to get him to talk to me about it, but I knew better than to try to force Harrison into a conversation. He was way too used to skating by on his charm, which meant that he’d developed a great skill set for evading questions when they made him uncomfortable.
Besides, it was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it. I knew him well enough by now to know that if Harrison wanted to say something, he was going to just say it. He didn’t have a history of not speaking his mind, and I trusted that when he was ready, he’d tell me what he wanted me to know.
I knew him well enough by now.
How was that even possible? How had I spent so much time with the man that I could read his emotions? It was terrifying to think about just how much I’d invested in Harrison, how much time, how much attention. It made things even worse when I remembered that Harrison was going to be back home soon, and that was going to be the end of whatever we had. A small, idiotic part of me thought about asking Harrison if he wanted to try something long-distance, fueled by late-night phone calls, Skype sex sessions, and coordinated visits once every other weekend.
But I was able to easily shut down that part of my brain.
Besides, Harrison didn’t want anything serious. He just wanted a wedding-time fling. Which meant that he wouldn’t have been interested in doing this song and dance while we were separated by so many miles.
Harrison doesn’t want to be with me. Not really.
It was a mantra I had to keep on repeat in my head, keeping me from doing anything truly too stupid to come back from, like telling Harrison that I had a crush on him, or that when he made love to me like that—
When he fucked me like that—
It was hard for me not to think of us as something more, as the kind of thing worth keeping, even if we were several miles apart.
But as I walked into the bakery to meet Kimmie and Taylor for another consultation appointment, I forced any thought of Harrison right out of my mind. I couldn’t focus if I kept thinking about him, and I wasn’t willing to compromise my work for the sake of a guy I may have had feelings for.
At least not again, anyway.
“Morgan!” Kimmie called out as soon as she spotted me. “Come here! You have to try this cake!”
I walked up to Kimmie, calmly taking a plate of cake out of her hands. I used a fork to bring a bite of cake to my mouth, slowly chewing it, carefully analyzing its flavor.
“This is carrot cake,” I said as the realization hit me.
“Yeah! What do you think?”
“How do I say this nicely…” I wondered aloud. “Kimmie?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want everyone at your wedding to hate you? To truly despise you for the next twenty years?”
“No?”
“Good. Then, don’t serve carrot cake at your wedding,” I replied. “And if you do, make sure you have a backup of some sort. This cannot be the only option. Do you understand?”
“Ah, Morgan. Always so ready to terrorize a bride.” Taylor sighed as he walked over to our conversation after he stepped through the bakery’s front door.
Even though Taylor wasn’t Kimmie’s wedding planner, I’d invited him along to the cake testing for backup. I’d learned in my experience working with brides that they seemed to trust the opinion of two people over one, regardless of where the second opinion happened to be coming from.
“Kimmie, you don’t have to listen to him, okay? It’s your day. If you want to serve carrot cake, you should serve carrot cake,” Taylor said.
“Yes, Kimmie. Feel free to court the resentment of your friends and family,” I murmured.
Taylor took the plate out of my grip, trying a piece of the carrot cake for himself. He grimaced as he looked over at Kimmie. “You know what? Morgan might be onto something. Don’t serve this cake at your wedding.”
“But I thought you said it was my day—”
“And you will rue it,” I interrupted. “How about we go with a classic vanilla cake? Or chocolate?”
“We could even do strawberry?” Taylor suggested. “Just… not carrot cake.”
“But I really was thinking about serving carrot cake—”
“Kimmie! Listen to reason!” I begged. “We just want you to have an amazing wedding—”
“Where’s your wedding planner, anyway, Kimmie?” Taylor cut me off as he asked the question. “She should really be here for this.”
“Marilyn said she’d be here in a little bit,” Kimmie answered. “She was late for my dress fitting, too, but at least she had a good excuse for that.”
“What was the excuse?”
“Her aunt died.”
Taylor frowned. “Her aunt died? Uh, no offense, Kimmie, but that sounds like the oldest excuse in the book.”
“She wouldn’t just lie about a relative dying, you guys. That’d be psychotic.”
“She’s not lying about a real relative dying. She’s lying about some unseen, unheard of aunt, that you can’t even verify is part of her family tree,” I explained. “Aunt is way more foolproof than anyone in her immediate family, and better than grandparents, too.”
“But what kind of person just makes up a dead aunt?” Kimmie seemed scandalized as her phone loudly beeped in her pocket. She took out her phone before she quickly read over the screen. Kimmie’s face blanched. “That was Marilyn. She said she won’t be able to make it to the cake tasting today, either.”
“Why not?” Taylor asked.
“Because… her uncle died.” Kimmie’s words came out soft as she placed her phone back in her pocket. Kimmie looked back over at Taylor and me before she started to shake her head.
And then, she burst into a loud sob in the middle of the bakery.
Taylor moved to comfort her, pulling her to his chest. I watched the scene unfold, surprised by the sudden display of emotion, but not as skilled as Taylor when it came to handling a bridal meltdown.
“I don’t know why she’s being like this!” Kimmie’s cries only grew louder. “I really need her right now, and I don’t get why she’s flaking out on me! She’s making me feel like she doesn’t care, at all!”
“It’s okay… it’ll be okay…” Taylor murmured as he hugged Kimmie just a little tighter.
“I don’t know if anything is going to be okay,” Kimmie admitted as she wiped her now puffy eyes against Taylor’s shoulder. “First the catering went wonky, and now this? What else is going to go wrong? Is our venue going to catch on fire? Are Dirk and I going to find out that we’re actually long-lost brother and sister?”
“Yeah, that would not be… ideal.” I tried to join the conversation.
But Taylor shot me a look, which let me know that it was time for me to shut up. “Your venue isn’t going to catch on fire, Kimmie. And I promise you, you’re not related to Dirk.”
“How do you know for sure?” Kimmie sobbed again.
“It’s just statistics,” Taylor replied. “The odds of that happening are so low, they barely even count as legitimate odds.”