“You’re a groomsman,” she said, shaking her head.
“I’ve still got two hands.” And a heart that seemed to only want to beat for her. I wouldn’t admit it, but it felt like the truth. A truth I’d never recognize because my best friend deserved better than to have me make a play for his baby sister.
“You’re supposed to be getting to know the other groomsmen and bridesmaids.”
“I’d rather do something productive.” I wasn’t good at small talk, and I damn sure wasn’t good at making friends.
She stared at me for a beat, then shook her head like I was a problem she didn’t have time to solve. “Fine. Pull the runner tight, but not too tight. It’ll wrinkle.”
We stretched the gold satin between us, adjusting until it lay smooth as poured cream. Our shoulders brushed. Neither of us moved. The chandeliers threw warm light across her hair where it had slipped free of its knot, the fine strands catching the glow. My fingers twitched to smooth the hair away from her face, but I shoved my hand in my pocket instead.
She stepped back first, her voice quiet. “Good. Thank you.”
It wasn’t much, just three little words, but it made me feel useful in a way I hadn’t for weeks.
The wedding party swept through again around four, laughing on their way to the welcome drinks. The noise echoed off the vaulted ceiling. I leaned against a pillar, watching Sidney check items off her lists with the precision of a surgeon.
“Did you schedule in any time for you to take a break and have fun this weekend?” I asked as she passed.
Her pen didn’t pause. “I’m doing this for the experience, not for fun.”
“Well, you don’t have to do it all alone.” I wasn’t sure why I kept inserting myself when she so clearly didn’t want my help, but that stopped her. Just for a second.
She lifted her gaze to mine. The noise around us faded. “I know,” she said.
Then Harper called her name, and the spell snapped. Sidney turned and vanished with the others, her voice already warm again as she reassured someone about the schedule.
I stood there too long, staring at the space she’d just left like it had changed shape.
The suite was dim when I got back.
Snow brushed against the windows. The fire had burned low, more embers than flame. Sidney’s shoes sat neatly by the door, her tote gaping on the table with papers fanned like fallen cards. The air smelled faintly of pine and warm wax from the ballroom, like the day had followed her back here.
Steam curled from the crack under the bathroom door. Water hissed faintly behind it. She was humming, soft and off-key, and it hit me harder than it should have. She didn’t sound like a guest. She didn’t look like someone passing through. She sounded like she belonged here, like this space had shifted around her and decided she fit.
I poured water from the carafe, swallowed it cold, and stood with my hands braced on the counter until they stopped wanting to shake.
There were a dozen reasons to stay away from her, and every one of them was solid.
Stetson would put me through a wall if he knew what almost happened three years ago. He trusted me with his life. He sure as hell hadn’t trusted me with his little sister. And I had my own exit stamped—job in Anchorage, contract signed, flights half-booked. No roots, no ties. Clean break.
And she deserved better than someone already halfway gone. Someone who wouldn’t turn her life into a layover. Someone who wasn’t built to leave.
But she was here. In my space, in my bed half the nights now, in my head all the damn time. She was building something from scratch and holding it together with sheer grit, and I couldn’t stop watching her do it like she was defying gravity just to prove it could be done.
I told myself I’d come here for Rand. That this wedding was a pit stop, nothing more. That Alaska was the only destination that mattered.
Still, I stood there listening to Sidney Kincaid hum in my shower like she belonged to this place—and maybe to me—and knowing I was already halfway gone.
CHAPTER 6
SIDNEY
By the timethe ballroom cleared out after dinner, I was running mostly on nerves, caffeine, and the thin thread of relief that came from not watching everything go up in flames.
The whole day had been a blur of arrivals, fixing mix-ups, and making a list of last-minute details that couldn’t afford to go wrong. Welcome drinks kicked off the series of weekend events with people trickling in from the airport, shaking off snow, hugging too hard, and talking too loud. Bridesmaids squealed over the view from their suites. Groomsmen tried to smuggle beers into the lounge like they were still in college. Rand grinned every time his gaze landed on Harper, and I floated around the edges with my clipboard, keeping a handle on the chaos just enough to keep it from spilling into pandemonium.
The rehearsal was next. Getting twelve adults to walk in a straight line should’ve been simple, but it was more like herding cats. Half of them were late, the other half were tipsy, and Harper nearly cried when her practice train got tangled around a chair. But they got through it, and when Rand caught her hand halfway down the aisle and whispered something that made her laugh through her tears, I knew they’d be fine.
