Chapter Two

 

In the shoe store, Brooke inhaled the aromatic swirl of leather and newness. The snazzy Louboutins she’d borrowed from Grier would grace her feet tomorrow, but resisting a fresh pair of heels required serious willpower. Unless you were Helena, who’d frozen at the entrance.

“This is overwhelming. I’m terrible at shoes.”

“Luckily for you, I’m great at shoes.” Brooke scanned the display. “We want a low heel, yes?”

“Yes. Comfort is key.” Helena lowered herself to a bench in the aisle, and her protruding belly filled her lap. “If the shoes pinch, I’ll want to stab someone after five minutes. Can’t I wear my work clogs?”

“Definitely not. What size do you wear?”

Helena shrugged. “Between eight and nine, but I’m not sure. Pregnancy made my feet bigger.”

“You gain pregnancy weight in your feet?” Brooke goggled at her.

“Yup. One of the many joys of pregnancy. Also, cankles, angry stretch marks on my hips and belly, and a weird dark line running from my naval to my sternum. Oh, and hemorrhoids.”

Yeesh. File those tidbits under Things Brooke Didn’t Want to Know.

“I’d never guess because you totally glow. My dumb brother better be taking care of you.” She ambled further along the aisle, away from the spike heels.

“Guess who buys me Preparation H and cocoa butter?” Helena laughed. “I probably give him too many details, but we have zero secrets between us. Sorry about the TMI. I forget non-medical people have boundaries around body stuff. I’ve seen much worse than hemorrhoids.”

“I’ll thank you to spare me the gory details.”

Strappy gold sandals caught Brooke’s eye. They were low-key gladiator style, like Helena. Strong, feminine, and ready for battle. With a slight heel and a simple zip along the back, these were perfect. She wiggled a size-eight-and-a-half box from the stack.

She knelt before Helena and flipped open the lid. “Let’s try these on.”

“You don’t have to do that, Brooke.” Helena reached for the box on the floor and nearly toppled off the bench.

“I’m happy to help.” Brooke giggled and helped her soon-to-be sister-in-law upright. “Besides, CJ’d kill me if you did a face plant on my watch. And since the words ‘bed rest’ were mentioned, my mom’s convinced we should wrap you up in packing bubbles until the baby’s born.”

“Okay, okay. For the record, my OB suggested bed rest to combat stress from planning the wedding. Since all of you started helping, my blood pressure’s been fine. Once we get the license, we’re home free, and I can really relax.” Helena kicked off her flip-flops. “No judging my pedicure. I haven’t seen my feet for a month, so I have no idea what’s going on down there. CJ painted them for me last week.”

Her heart clenched. Her brawny big brother, a guy who’d jumped from planes and piloted air strikes, had wielded a tiny brush to paint his fiancée’s toenails. Not a total surprise. Despite his temper as a teenager, he’d also shown teddy bear qualities, like playing dollies with her and giving her carnations after her recitals.

She glanced at Helena’s feet. Oh, boy.

CJ’s intentions may have been good, but he’d done a miserable job, splotching color around the nail beds. Brooke hid her giggle, slipped the shoe on Cinderella-style, zipped them up around Helena’s puffed ankles, and said, “Give ’em a spin.”

Helena strode toward the floor mirror at the end of the aisle to check out the shoes, lifting her maxi dress skirt to get a better view.

“Well? How do they feel?” Brooke asked.

“Great, actually.” She dropped her skirt and returned to the bench. “They’re not weird for a bride?”

“Please. Those are Amazon goddess shoes. They go with anything.”

“Sold. Can you help me out of them?”

“Yup.” Brooke unzipped the sandals and repackaged them. “You’re speedy. My mother would’ve made you try on every pair in the store.”

Helena wiggled her feet into her flip-flops. “She might’ve suggested it, but I’d have said no. There are too many things to do. Setting up the nursery, updating his Air Force paperwork, packing my house and putting it up for sale… The list goes on.”

They joined the line for the register.

“Wow, I forgot you were moving, too. Wouldn’t it have been easier if CJ moved in with you?”

“It’s cheaper to live on base,” Helena said. “And I’d have to sell my house when he PCSes, so I might as well do it now.”

“What’s a PCS again? I know it means moving to another Air Force base, but I can never remember what the letters stand for.”

“Permanent change of station. I thought medical jargon was bad, but the military is so much worse.”

“Does he have a new assignment? He hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Yes and no. He’s been here for two years, so he expects we’ll PCS in the next six months, but the location’s up in the air. Same with Luke, actually. Wherever CJ and I end up, I hope it’s a state that has medical licensure reciprocity with Nevada. One less paperwork headache.”

“I’m in awe of you. For someone balancing three major life events, you’re super calm.”

“I didn’t use to be, but the past year has been an exercise in giving up control.” Helena pointed to her belly. “Discovering I was pregnant was totally embarrassing.”

“Hey now.” Brooke set the box on the counter for the cashier to scan. “Who cares about that? You guys are in love, and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, you’re a total sweetheart. I wasn’t ashamed about having a baby before marriage. No, I was embarrassed because I’m a doctor.” She waved her hand over her belly. “I know how contraception works. Surprise pregnancies aren’t supposed to be a thing, but it was our anniversary, and we were drinking... Honestly, we should name her Piña Colada since they’re the reason she exists.”

“She? You’re having a girl? That’s so exciting!” Brooke smooshed her in a hug. Well, sort of. Given the enormous baby bump between them, the embrace mostly involved throwing her arms around Helena’s shoulders.

“Whoops,” Helena laughed. “Pregnancy brain. Please don’t tell your parents. CJ wants it to be a surprise.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Brooke released Helena. “For what it’s worth, I can’t handle piña coladas either, or anything with rum. During spring break in New Orleans our junior year, I drank a Hurricane the size of my head, got blackout drunk and did things my roommates continue to taunt me about. Rum-drunk Brooke is a daredevil.”

“Duly noted.” Helena signed the receipt and collected the bag from the cashier. “No rum for you. Time for the lingerie store, yes?”

“Yeah, my dress for the wedding requires a strapless bra. It’ll take five, ten minutes.”

“The store’s across from where we left Luke.” Out in the mall’s walkway, Helena dodged a perfume kiosk salesperson. “Can I talk to you about him for a minute?”

Butterflies winged through Brooke’s stomach. “Yes, please.”

“He doesn’t like to discuss his family.”

“I could tell. The monosyllables gave it away. Are they cult members or something?”

Gray-haired mall walkers clotted the foot traffic, and she and Helena slowed.

Alone, Brooke could’ve dodged through the gaps, but navigating the crowds with Helena was like running the egg and spoon race in elementary school and required careful, deliberate maneuvers.

“No, nothing like that,” Helena said. “When he was thirteen, he and his dad and younger brother were in a car accident, and he was the only one who survived.”

Brooke gasped and her face and ears went hot. “Oh God, that’s awful. I must have been torturing him. Was his mom okay?”

“She wasn’t with them, but from the little he’s shared, she never recovered from a broken heart. He doesn’t talk about it or her much. From what I gather, they aren’t estranged, but they aren’t close.”

“Should I say anything to him? Now that I know?”

Helena shook her head. “I wouldn’t bring it up out of the blue. I mostly wanted you to understand why he might avoid those kinds of questions.”

The mall crowd thinned, and they arrived at the bank of massage chairs where they’d left Luke. He was the same handsome man she’d met this morning, but thirty seconds of background information permanently altered Brooke’s perspective on him. Her heart still kicked faster than Chopin’s Minute Waltz around him, but something softer beat underneath, too.

Helena sank into the chair next to him. “We’re back.”

“Success?” Luke shoved his phone in his shirt pocket, but not before Brooke spied Spider-man webbing a villain to a wall.

“Success indeed.” Helena groaned, stretched, and closed her eyes. “And now I’d like to sit for ten minutes, please.”

“That’s all it’ll take me in the store.” Brooke flipped her attention to Luke, and the urge to flirt overwhelmed her. “Hey Luke, what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” Luke answered. “Why?”

“No reason.” Brooke spun on her heel and sailed into the store.

~ * ~

“CJ’s sister is adorable, isn’t she?” Helena asked. “And helpful. She found perfect, comfortable shoes for me.”

“She’s all right.” Luke glanced at the store, curious about what she was buying.

On the other side of the front window, Brooke methodically picked up bras and massaged the cups. When she glanced at him through the glass and winked, he shifted in his chair. This woman was too much. Within a minute, she settled on a simple blue bra and flagged down the shop girl.

Good choice. In his experience, supposedly sexy bras were a complicated pain in the ass to remove. Not that he’d removed any lately. Opportunity had knocked, but over the past year, he’d lost his taste for casual hook-ups.

He wasn’t sure what had changed. Might be from turning thirty? He’d catted around during his twenties, and he’d been honest with his bed partners about not wanting a relationship. Some of them still walked away hurt. It might also be that witnessing two good people like CJ and Helena evolve from passion to devotion had made him hungry for the same.

The upshot was, he didn’t want to bed-hop anymore, so he’d stopped. Now, the lack of sex during the past six months seemed like a major miscalculation.

The idea of Brooke stripping off her sundress to try on a simple blue bra shouldn’t make him salivate like this.

“Luke?” Helena asked.

He blinked and shook his head. “Did you say something?”

“Do you need to shop for anything while we’re here? If not, we can eat, then head to the Marriage Licensing Bureau.”

“No, I’m—” His words dried in his throat as Brooke emerged from the store with a small pink bag. The garment inside had been wrapped around Brooke’s breasts two minutes ago.

“—I’m good,” he said.

At least, he’d try to be.

~ * ~

Brooke glanced at the dashboard clock—1:08 PM. If the license pick-up went fast, she’d be able to squeeze practice in before the rehearsal dinner. Only then could she relax and, gasp, indulge in a cocktail. Or not? She’d already been flirting hard with Luke while stone-cold sober, so liquid courage might dial it up.

Side note—hooray for Luke Warren.

Without him, she’d be a jittery mess. Teasing him distracted her from her parents’ hovering, her empty email inbox, and her stress about performing tomorrow. His reactions were fun, like his stunned expression when she winked at him from the window of the lingerie store. That had been chef’s kiss perfect.

He pulled into the Marriage License Bureau’s lot. After hooking his sunglasses onto his collar, he glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

Whew, those blues were something else.

As he switched his gaze to the building, he said, “Leave it to Vegas government offices to have fancy cursive neon signs.”

“Guess they like to jazz it up for the newlyweds,” Helena mused. Her phone chimed, and she glanced at the screen. “Good news—CJ says the perfect guest book search is over, and they’re delivering everything to the Oasis soon. They might beat us back to the hotel.”

They popped open their doors, and ugh, the dry and unrelenting Nevada heat baked her skin. Brooke swiped mint lip balm across her lips. She caught Luke watching her and blew him a kiss.

“Let’s hustle.” He pointed to a super-stretch Hummer docked at the curb. “That’s a chapel limo. No telling how many couples are in there.”

He held open the building’s door. Inside, Brooke tipped up her sunglasses. They’d beaten the chapel couples, but a shambling crowd already snaked around the office. Aha, there was the end of the roped-off line. The sign on top of the stanchion made Brooke giggle.

She elbowed Luke. “Check it out.”

 

ATTENTION CUSTOMERS

We are not able to issue a marriage license to customers who appear to be overly intoxicated or under the influence of drugs

which may render them incapable of making decisions with legal

ramifications. You will be asked to return after sobering.

 

He shook his head. “Bet it happens all the time.”

“This’ll go fast,” Helena said as she waddled into the line with them. “When I called yesterday, they said the wait’s about twenty minutes.”

Brooke pursed her lips. Two windows at the counter were open, and the couples ahead of them hadn’t budged. Twenty minutes? Doubt it.

Helena clasped her hands under her rounded belly and shifted her weight.

“Why don’t you sit, and we’ll hold your place?” Brooke gestured to a bench along the far wall.

“I should refuse.” Helena sighed and backed out of the line. “But my ankles thank you.”

“That was kind of you,” Luke said.

She ran her palm along her neck, unsure of where to look. She liked that Luke said she was kind.

“It’s literally the least I could do.”

The doors behind her opened and hot desert air brushed her back. As the party limo couples tumbled into the room, their semi-drunken chatter filled the air. Brooke refused to listen to Jan from Orange County complain about the weather, the line, and weak mimosas. Interesting conversation was required, allegro.

“Who’s your date to the wedding?” she asked.

“Come again?” He curved forward, crossing into her personal space, and something shimmered between them. All the lusty love in the air must be getting to her.

“The wedding,” she repeated, louder. “Do you have a date?”

“More questions? You’d make a good interrogator.”

His voice, his mouth, was close to her ear, and tingles flared along her spine.

“I’ll assume you’re complimenting me,” she said. “Who’s your plus one?”

“I’m going solo.”

This information thrilled her.

“You?” he asked.

“Same, unless you count my violin.”

Silence fell between them again and the line inched forward. Was this an awkward lull, or a normal one? The pulsing in her ears indicated awkward. What to talk about? She’d keep her distance from family chit-chat, but what were other good topics? While potentially boring, careers were usually safe conversational territory.

“CJ said you’re an intelligence analyst.”

He tensed up, crossed forearms and biceps bulging. After circling his gaze around the room, he returned to her. Clearly, she’d said something wrong, but wow, even when perturbed and flashing, his blue eyes sent a jolt rocketing through her.

“I don’t discuss work in public,” he said.

Jobs weren’t safe either? Luke was delightful to look at, but this sticky silence was frustrating. Conversation was like a symphony—it required active participation from everyone.

“I’m begging you to work with me here, Luke. Name a topic.” She threw her arms wide. “Movies? Comics? Television? The plight of the bees? Anything.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Bees?”

She shrugged. “People say they’re disappearing.”

“Next!” called a clerk.

The line advanced, and Brooke shuffled backward. He matched her pace, like they were dancing. Three inches closer, and they would be.

“Well?” she prompted.

“Music,” he said.