His jaw ticks, the muscle jumping. Geez, even his cheek has muscles. What does this man do to get so strong? He’s tall, at least six feet, and built like you would expect for a bodyguard, as if he works out 24/7. I picture him on his rare days off, shirtless and sweaty at the gym, deadlifting weights twice the size of my head. The mental image is startlingly vivid, each detail clear in my imagination. It’s…disorienting. It takes me a minute to refocus on my surroundings.
Dean glaresforward as he answers my question. “You know why, Jabber Mouth.” Not a single glance in my direction.
He’s dedicated. I’ll give him that.
Shame rushes from my chest and over my cheeks, heating them. I drop my gaze to the ground, unable to come up with a retort for that. Idoknow why he detests me, and I hate myself for it, too. I’m the reason Gwen andCaleb broke up last year. My thoughtless remarks led the paparazzi to their door and forced Caleb to walk out. If I’d kept quiet, they could have stayed together. Instead, I ran my big mouth and Gwen, who had already endured too much, had Caleb leave her.
When Gwen found out it was me who spilled her secrets, I almost lost our friendship forever. Somehow, by the grace of her enormous heart, she forgave me. Even though she’s let that dreadful past go, I can’t do the same. The knowledge of how I could have ruined their relationship haunts me. I don’t need Dean to remind me of what I’d done. I remember every time I look in the mirror.
“Dean.” Caleb’s voice, unnaturally high and strained, snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance up to see Caleb standing where he’d been signing autographs. He stares with a wide-eyed expression of horror at a large white box open on the table in front of him, with a discarded red bow next to it. A scruffy young man before him stammers, “I—I didn’t know what it was. I swear! Some guy gave me $50 to bring it to you.”
Dean strides over to Caleb and sweeps the box off the table, slamming the lid on it before I glimpse what’s inside. His narrow-eyed gaze scans the crowd as he announces in a firm voice, “That’s it, folks. Signing’s done for today.”
3
Tuesday, December 10
14 days until the wedding
Gwen
The airport is packed, filled with the frantic energy of thousands of people desperate to make it home for the holidays. Lines to check in and get through security snake down hallways and around corners. Piles of luggage wait to be loaded onto conveyor belts. Angry passengers argue with ticket agents over delayed flights.
“Geez,” I tell Alvina, one of my best friends, raising my voice to be heard over the near-constant flight announcements and the noise of the crowd. “It’s still a couple of weeks until Christmas. I didn’t think it would be so busy yet.”
She jumps back to avoid having her foot run over by a passing suitcase. “Me either. It’s a madhouse.”
“That’s what you get for traveling during the holidays,” says a gruff voice behind us. We spin around to find Wayne standing there, rumpled and frowning as usual. He points to the enormous Christmas tree in the center of the lobby. The illuminated star on top reaches toward the arched ceiling high over our heads. “They’ve had that thing up since September.”
“Wayne!” I cry out and rush to give him a hug, which he begrudgingly accepts. I’d been angry when Caleb told me Wayne would join us, but now that he’s here I’m happy to see my friend.
“Yeah, yeah.” He pats my arm. “Good to see you.” His eyes shift over my head to Alvina. “You too.”
She nods back and smiles.
I step away and swing my gaze between them. “What? No snarky exchange? You two are being awfully civil to each other.” Usually, they don’t get along, exchanging barbs and snide comments like it’s an Olympic sport.
Before they can answer, something strange catches my attention. I bring my nose to Wayne’s jacket and inhale deeply. I shift closer, sniffing his shoulders and up his neck.
He freezes, eyeing me suspiciously. “Why are you smelling me like a dog?”
Baffled, I straighten and search him. Wayne’s in his early fifties, just like Alvina. He’s got sharp gray eyes and short brown hair, touched with silver at his temples. He looks the same as always, but something is different.
“You don’t stink.”
“Excuse me?” His eyebrows slash together, and his voice rises.
“I mean, you don’t smell like usual—”
“Gwen…” He says my name as if I’m going down a dangerous path and he’s giving me one last chance to turn around.
“You didn’t let me finish. You don’t smell like you usually do. Like cigarettes.”
“Oh.” He relaxes, his shoulders dropping to their normal position. “That’s because I quit.”
“You did?” I can’t keep the shock off my face.
“Yeah.” He lifts his chin. “A week ago. Haven’t had a puff since.”
