Nick liked the yurts. They were like round cabin-tents but looked more like cabins than tents. Certainly not military tents. Painted a robin’s-egg blue with many large windows, and sparsely decorated with floor cushions and futons for beds, the yurts were cozy and welcoming. There were ten yurts in their part of the sanctuary, each with its own private bathroom, which Nick was glad to see.
Just across the path was a meditation center, a long, rectangular, open-air structure with billowy white sheer fabric draped and silver yoga mats on the polished bamboo floor. Nestled behind the meditation center, in a clearing in the woods, was a gazebo currently decorated for the Garroway-Wylie wedding ceremony. White roses—hundreds of them—were entwined across the top and sides of the gazebo, with a pale green runner stretching from the gazebo to one of the smaller yurts, which was where the wedding party would gather until it was time to walk down the aisle.
Their group had this part of the sanctuary to themselves. According to Brooke, there were four groupings for large gatherings and parties, each at enough of a distance to make everyone feel the place was theirs alone. A river flowed across the entire length of the sanctuary; Nick could see parts of it that weren’t blocked by flowering bushes and leafy trees.
He had to admit, it was all very nice, and probably nothing at all like his father’s first nuptials, which according to his mother had been a very traditional church wedding, followed by a reception at an Italian restaurant.
Nick glanced at the silver mats in the living room area of the suite he’d be sharing with Brooke and the twins. “Am I expected to meditate?”
Brooke smiled. “All you have to do is show up for the wedding. Nothing else.”
“Huh. I like that. No pressure.” The moment the word pressure had come out of his mouth, he realized he was wound up so tightly, he was surprised he didn’t explode. But it was different from the pressure he’d felt when he’d arrived back in Wedlock Creek. Then, the buildup of his stomach acids and the tightening of his chest had been about something as simple, as ordinary, as stepping foot back in his hometown. And then there was the promise to the man who’d saved his life, to check on a woman named Brooke Timber.
Nick remembered when Will Parker had returned from a leave and shown his tent mates the photo of the woman he’d met back home. Everyone had said she was gorgeous, and Will had put his phone away without lingering on Brooke’s picture or staring at it for an hour like Nick would have done if she’d been his woman. If he’d met Brooke Timber, if he’d touched her, made love to her, and then had her photo on his phone, it would be his lifeline, his link to home—and that word would have mattered. The word home would have meant something other than heartache and pain and grief.
Brooke was special.
“No pressure,” she repeated, but he barely heard her because he was caught on the word in his head. Special. Special. Special. “That’s what a wellness retreat is about. Relaxing your way.”
Nick sat down on the rattan love seat. A pitcher of fruit-infused water was on the coffee table. He poured two glasses and handed one to Brooke.
Yes, so Brooke was special. Special, period. And special to him.
She drank some. “Delicious.”
He took a sip. It was crazy that they were talking water when he’d just come to the most amazing realization.
That Brooke had truly managed to work her way in past some of his defenses. Others were still up, as usual, fighting the good fight against anything that could do damage.
“Twins asleep?” he asked, needing some distraction from his thoughts. His crazy wayward thoughts. Okay, so she was special. What did that really mean? What was he going to do about it? If anything.
He could let up a little and see about giving the attraction between them a chance.
She nodded. “They seem to like their yurt crib.” The mini futon lining the wooden crib was covered in a soft material, and the lullaby player they’d brought played a soft melody. Nick would have fallen asleep in that room if he weren’t so wide awake. At being here with Brooke in this strange place. At being here with his family.
“So, here’s the agenda for tonight,” she said, sitting down beside him. He could smell the hint of perfume she always wore. He suddenly wanted them to be on the agenda. But at the same time, his feelings—ugh, he hated using that word—felt so...raw and new. It was probably best to let things happen naturally and not announce what she already knew: that he had a thing for her. He’d told her as much and then said in the same breath that he didn’t want to and wouldn’t do anything about it.
That had changed and yet hadn’t...not completely.
One day at a time. One hour at a time. One moment at a time. Wasn’t that the physical-rehabilitation center’s motto?
“The rehearsal dinner will start at six thirty. The center’s owner’s daughter will babysit for us. She’ll be here in a little over an hour.”
He nodded. That was the second time he and Brooke were expected somewhere together, and the notion felt...right, as though they were a pair.
“Well, I’ll go shower and change,” he said, grateful for the getaway, for the chance to be alone with his all-over-the-place thoughts. “Then I’ll bring the twins into my room, and you can get ready. I’ll just need five minutes.”
“Nice to be a man,” she said with a grin.
“Brooke Timber, you could step out of the shower, put on your clothes and walk out the door and be as gorgeous as if you got all style-y with your hair and put on makeup. And that’s a fact.”
She held his gaze for a moment, as if touched by the compliment. “Well, I appreciate that you think so, but nah.”
He smiled and went into his bedroom and sank down on the all-white bed, thinking of Brooke stepping naked and damp out of the shower.
What was going on in his brain? Go with it, or don’t go with it. Leave her alone, or don’t leave her alone. Act on your feelings—or don’t.
He didn’t know what was right. He didn’t know where his own head was.
Another silver yoga mat was by the window, and the breezy July evening air was gently blowing the gauzy curtains. He lay down on the mat and fully stretched out, then closed his eyes, and his brain almost exploded. He bolted up.
So much for meditation. Then again, he was probably doing it wrong. He hadn’t been doing much of anything; he’d just lain down and closed his eyes, and a bunch of images had shot at him: Elena slamming the door in his face; Aisha’s round dark eyes embedded in his mind’s eye; Will Parker yelling and diving on top of him; the torturer of a physical therapist who’d actually done wonders on his leg; and Nick’s name on a magnetic placard on an office at Garroway Paper.
Over the past few months, Nick had had some nightmares about the first three. But it had been his name on that office door that had done him in this time and made him sit up, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
This was the guy he was going to present to Brooke as a possibility for the future she wanted? Really? And what? Now he was throwing around the word future? A minute ago he’d been wondering about giving their attraction a chance. Big jump from that to the future.
One thing at a time, one moment at a time, he reminded himself.
He’d have to ask someone about meditating. Maybe there was supposed to be chanting or holding his fingers a certain way or sitting cross-legged.
He got up and sucked down half a glass of the fruit-infused water on his nightstand, then opened his suitcase on his bed. Brooke had given him a brief list of what to pack, since he had no idea what a yurt-yoga-wellness wedding would require, other than the suit he’d already bought for the wedding itself. The dress code for the weekend was “fancy beach-esque,” and he’d had to ask Brooke what that meant. Apparently it meant a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone and linen trousers with the cuffs rolled to the ankles. Loafers. No socks. He’d had to go buy all that, since he owned nothing made of linen, and he’d last had loafers in middle school.
He took a quick shower in the tiny, narrow private bathroom attached to his room, which helped get his head back on straight, and was drying off with the fluffy white towel and about to shave when he thought he heard one of the twins let out a cry. He stepped out of his room, into the main area, an ear peeled toward Brooke’s bedroom right next door. She must have heard his shower shut off, because she turned hers on.
Waah-waah!
Yup, a crier. With the shower going, he couldn’t tell which one it was. He waited a beat. More crying. He tied his towel more firmly above his hips, then went in, figuring he’d take out the crier so that Brooke could shower and get ready in peace. And just as he had Mikey in his arms, Brooke came out of her bathroom, barely wrapped in a white towel herself.
He stared at her.
She stared at him.
“I thought I heard one of them,” she stammered, her gaze moving all over the place—up, down, anywhere but his eyes. He could barely handle looking at her straight on too. There was so little between them—two fluffy towels—and the possibility of sex, that he couldn’t think straight.
Just walk out of her room, he told himself.
But he didn’t.
He hoisted Mikey higher in his arms and walked over to Brooke, who was now looking him in the eyes. And he leaned forward and kissed her—a warm, hard, passionate kiss that summed up everything he felt at the moment, whether he’d meant to express that or not. More than desire. More than just caring about her. Much, much more than just fulfilling a promise.
She let out a small gasp and kissed him back, then turned and quickly shut herself in her bathroom.
He smiled and headed out of the room with Mikey.
“At least your mama and I are both on the same page,” he told the little guy. “The step forward and the step backward.”
“Ga da,” Mikey said, grabbing his still-damp chin.
“Ga da, is right.” Nick let out a breath, gently swaying Mikey, wondering just what tonight was going to bring. After the dinner. When he and Brooke would return to their suite. If he touched her, if the “towels” came off, then he’d have to be ready to commit to Brooke and her twins. One guy had already hurt her in that department, and there was no way in hell Nick would do the same. That would be the opposite of the promise he’d made.
Will we or won’t we? Should I or shouldn’t I?
He had a feeling he’d only know in the moment. But if he shouldn’t, then the “moment,” which would entail taking another step backward, would do a lot of damage between them.
“Feelings are complicated, Mikey,” he whispered to the baby, breathing in the baby-shampoo scent of him.
“Ba ga,” was all Mikey would say on the matter.
“I’d like to make a toast to my dad and Cathy at the wedding tomorrow,” Brandon said, and all eyes turned to him at the long wooden table set up in the meditation room for the rehearsal dinner. Tomorrow this structure would serve as the reception site and be full of six round tables.
The rehearsal dinner was just immediate family, a small group—Cathy and Jeb, the Garroway brothers, Cathy’s two daughters, Lyndsey and Nina, and Brooke with her electronic notes and old-fashioned little planner.
Brandon glanced around the table. “I know the wedding came together very quickly, so this subject didn’t come up—or maybe it didn’t for other reasons—but I’d like a minute allotted for a toast to the happy couple.”
Brooke groaned inwardly. The subject hadn’t come up for those “other reasons,” but not just the one that Brandon was likely referring to. Brooke had called both of Cathy’s daughters to ask if they’d like to speak at the ceremony, whether to give a speech or read a poem or sing a song—anything they wanted—and both daughters had said they loved their mother to pieces but they were way too shy and reserved for that. Having spent the last half hour in their company, she would agree with that. Nineteen and twenty-one, both students in pastry school, they were very polite and doted on their mother, but both were on the quiet side.
On the drive here, she’d asked Nick if he wanted to say a few words at the ceremony, and he shook his head and said he’d put his well-wishes into a card—the entire left side filled out with how glad he was to be back in his father’s life and how he wished all the happiness in the world to Jeb and Cathy. Brooke had been touched by that. Since three fourths of the bride’s and groom’s offspring had said no to speaking, Brooke had hoped to cross “speeches” off her list. Still, on the off chance Brandon wanted to give a toast, she’d planned to speak to him about it before the rehearsal dinner, so they could factor it in, but after that kiss...a lot had gone whoosh out of her head.
She mentally slapped a palm to her head. A wedding planner could not get sidetracked or distracted, especially by her own personal life, at the eleventh hour, and a rehearsal dinner was exactly that. She had to keep her focus on the details. Tomorrow all the deliveries would start arriving, and she’d be running around with her lists and her phone to her ear, making sure everything was perfect and as Cathy, her bride and client, wished. Luckily the events manager, a pretty young woman named Heather, was very attentive and take-charge.
That was what she had to do—focus on her job, not her lips and how much they craved more of Nick’s. But oh, that kiss. There had been so much packed into it that, when she’d fled back into the bathroom, she’d had to sit down and catch her breath and go over everything that had been inside it. How could so much be inside one kiss? She’d felt his desire, but even more she felt how much she meant to him. That had been what had sent her scurrying for cover behind closed doors.
Because once again she’d been struck by the notion that he was in her life to fulfill that promise, not because he was falling in love with her. Maybe she’d just straight out ask him.
Nick, I can tell you care about me. But do you simply feel responsible for me, or do you love me?
Why couldn’t she imagine him saying, “Brooke, I love you”?
Because he probably didn’t know how he felt. He’d dealt with some emotional whoppers in his past. And everything was tangled up for him right now, his brother’s pressure like the ole albatross around his neck, making everything else feel off balance too. Brooke had the feeling Nick was questioning himself. And she was sure that she and the twins factored in that questioning. Do I? Don’t I? Then a flinging of hands in the air.
He very likely didn’t know how he truly felt about her. He didn’t know anything that was going on in that long-guarded heart of his. That, she’d bank on.
“If you could give me an estimate of how long you’d like for your toast, Brandon,” Brooke said, “I’ll factor it in for before the ceremony.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ve learned while speaking in public for Garroway Paper that a minute is a longer time than anyone realizes. I doubt I’ll need more than forty-five seconds.”
She glanced at Nick. He pulled at the collar of his shirt.
“I’d like to say a few words too,” Nick said, surprising the heck out of her. “Twenty seconds,” he added to Brooke.
She smiled and made some notations in her planner.
“Well, if the sons are speaking, we should speak too,” Cathy’s daughter Nina said, looking at her sister. The Wylie daughters had barely said ten words so far, but she was glad Nina had spoken up.
“We can read something, right?” Lyndsey asked. “It doesn’t have to come off the top our heads?”
“Yes,” Brooke assured her. “A short poem, a song or a short toast you write and read. Anything you want.”
The sisters decided they would share the reading of a favorite love poem.
“I’m so happy!” Cathy said, leaning over to give each of her daughters a hug.
Jeb, meanwhile, sent nods of approval to both of his sons, and for the first time she’d known this group, everyone looked comfortable and happy.
“Perfect,” Brooke said. And huh. Who would have thought that Brandon Garroway would have been responsible for getting his brother and Cathy’s daughters to stand up and give toasts at the wedding? She sent Brandon a smile and made note to talk to him privately later and thank him for teaching her a lesson. She’d figured that with three of the four “kids” not giving toasts, that one getting up to speak would call attention to the three who’d declined. But instead all four would be participating. And she knew that would make Jeb and Cathy happy. Go, Brandon, she thought.
As the waiter assigned to them cleared the table, their group moved over to the gazebo to go over where they’d stand for the ceremony and the basic setup.
The minister was due to meet them any minute, and Brooke could see her coming down the path with Heather, the events manager. Heather put her hands in prayer formation and said, “Namaste.” Then Cathy made the introductions of the minister to the group.
“Namaste,” Brandon repeated, more to himself, and Brooke glanced over to find him staring in absolute awe at Heather.
Brooke had to smile. Heather, a very pretty woman in her midtwenties, didn’t immediately look like Brandon’s type—not that Brooke had any idea what that was. He was so buttoned-up and black-and-white that she couldn’t see him falling for a woman with two braids wrapped around the sides of her head like Princess Leia, with white flowers woven inside. She wore a long, flowy outfit in keeping with “beach-fancy” and seemed remarkably poised and at peace while being extremely efficient when it came to her job. Brandon still hadn’t taken his eyes off her.
But then Heather was heading back to the main lodge, and the minister was talking about the ceremony and the vows and scheduling in the four new speakers.
“Guess I have homework tonight,” Nick whispered. “To figure out what I’m going to say.”
Brooke smiled—with relief. Maybe he’d be too busy working on his toast to bring up the kiss. Or do it again.
She honestly wasn’t sure if she was glad about that or not.