Page 7 of Afterglow

It doesn’t help matters when I stand beside my sister as she practices exchanging vows with the man of her dreams, and I want to scream at the injustice of it all. The unfairness. Because nothing about any of this is fair.

But I don’t do that. Instead, I smile and move through the motions required of me. Hold the fake bouquet of “flowers” made from the ribbons off the gifts Jenna received at her bridal shower. Pretend to fluff her train for her when she walks back down the aisle. Ensure everyone is where they’re meant to be and knows what role they will play in tomorrow’s ceremony.

At least the venue is ready—no more worrying about seating charts or table locations. Catching sight of Bryce out of the corner of my eye, I inwardly groan at how bitchy I was earlier. Why am I like this with him? Everything had been in the correct place, but for whatever reason, watching him bend over the gift table in those fucking jeans short-circuited my brain and I had to find a way to get the upper hand again. I’m not sure it worked. Not at all.

As the rehearsal wraps up, Bryce moves in tandem with the caterers who are putting the finishing touches on our meal. This was one thing I conceded without a fight. He had a specific caterer he recommended and was adamant they’d be the right fit. Finding a decent caterer is something I’ve struggled with for many of the corporate events I’ve planned, so if he was vouching for them, I’d take him at his word.

Of course, I thought it was her word all that time.

I still can’t believe Bryce is Bryce… I mean, I can because it only takes one look at him to know he is all man.

And look I do—as discreetly as possible, of course. He’s put his hair back to rights, the strands that were loosened earlier styled back into a trendy swoop… One that causes an equally annoying swoop in the pit of my stomach.

He’s chatting animatedly with the groomsmen, who are pointing toward the firepit and a stack of firewood beside it. That’s the final thing on the itinerary for this evening: drinking and roasting s’mores around the fire until everyone stumbles to bed.

When Bryce picks up an ax and a larger piece of wood, placing it on the chopping block, I turn away and head toward one of the beautifully set tables. I do not need a visual of Bryce as a literal lumberjack in my brain—especially since that’s how I classified him when I saw him from the car this morning… before I knew who he was.

The last thing I need is another man taking up space in my head. This man in particular. A hefty dose of attraction doesn’t change the fact that we don’t like each other.

Everyone is engrossed in their meals, or with the blazing campfire beside the pavilion we’re eating in, and I’m thrilled to see Jenna sitting in Eric’s lap with a glass of wine in one hand, the other twined in his hair. This is what I wanted for her—to be able to sit back and enjoy this weekend with zero stress, zero worries. If I gave her that, then I’ve done something right at least.

I swipe my finger through the huckleberry sauce on my plate and surreptitiously lick it off. I’m reaching for more when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Pulling it out, I see it’s Craig—actually calling me.

For fuck’s sake.

I look around and for once am glad to feel invisible. Maybe it will allow me to escape for just a minute to finish this once and for all.

With a murmured excuse that falls on Mr. Blaise’s unhearing ears, I slip away and answer the call.

CHAPTER FIVE

Bryce

Summer nights in the Bridger Mountains come with a beauty you can’t find anywhere else. The sun setting over the tall peaks casts a golden glow across the fields of Monarch Ranch and glints off the barn’s pane-glass windows. A barn that is immaculately set up for tomorrow’s reception.

This is my favorite moment with every event we host. When the guests are happy, unhurried, and enjoying the beauty of the place I love so much. With weddings in particular, I savor the evening after the rehearsal is done. It’s where you see the family let loose and gather in their natural way without the stress that comes with the wedding day.

It’s also this moment that brings out the twinge of longing I’ve gotten so good at ignoring. The reminder that I had a wedding just like this many years ago, at this very ranch, but that my happy ending was cut short. I might’ve lost her—them—but the ranch is here, her family is here, and I get to be part of that. I get to be a part of all these happy endings, and it fills a little of the void that still lingers.

I push off the pavilion’s timber columns and glance at the wedding party circling the firepit with their drinks. As I walk past the long, banquet-style tables, I take in the remnants of the catered dinner strewn across them. It’s one of my favorite meals Bear Table Catering makes: beef tenderloin, grilled Caesar salad, and homemade dinner rolls. Simple yet elegant.

Considering there’s hardly anything left on the plates, I assume the group enjoyed it as well. I even saw some of them eyeing their plates like they might lick them clean of the homemade huckleberry sauce that was drizzled over the meat.

I stack a few plates to place into a dish tray by the grill, listening to the music flowing from a speaker near the fire. As if drawn to her without my consent, my gaze finds Leanne disappearing down the driveway and out of view.

Where the hell is she going?

The sun is setting, and being out alone after dark with the possibility of bears wandering around isn’t ideal. We had a whole discussion with the guests about bear safety when they arrived—where the bear spray is, how to use it, not to go wandering off without it…

I grumble under my breath and stalk off down the path after her.

When she walked out of the lodge this evening in a pair of skintight blue jeans tucked into brown cowboy boots, my heart stopped. Luckily, she was too focused on something on her phone to spot me gawking. It wasn’t until she caught her toe and almost stumbled that I pulled myself together in time to register the expression on her face. She looked crestfallen, or maybe defeated? I didn’t understand my body’s visceral response to protect her from whatever made her look that way.

That’s not my job.

Keeping her from getting attacked by a bear…? That is my job.