Chapter 1
Haddie Martin knew she could have driven all the way to Summertown and shown up a day early, but she wasn’t ready yet. She wasn’t ready to face her best friend, Emma, after quitting her current job, accepting a new one, burying the only living relative she knew, and leaving Chicago now that there was nothing and no one keeping her there. For good? Maybe. The only items left in her studio apartment were a broken barstool and a futon that had certainly seen better days. She didn’t know if this was the end for the city that had been home for most of her life. All Haddie knew was that her mess of a life was jammed into the trunk of her car, and when you made a conscious decision to run from the only life you ever knew, even if it was a painful one, you didn’t simply face it hours later. You waited until you were forced to unpack it—literally—in a new apartment in a new town where almost nobody knew your name.
Once upon a time, Haddie had life all figured out. Keep everyone at arm’s length, and they’ll neither disappoint nor hurt you. Simple enough. But even when you painted someone as themonster of your fairy tale, they still somehow crossed your moat of protection and entered the castle gates. So now she was in search of a new castle, this one with higher gates and maybe even an unreachable tower where she would finally be safe. But procrastination was key…along with the key card in her hand that she flipped over and over again as she tapped it on the hotel-lobby bar.
“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” a distinctly male voice said to her right.
Haddie looked up from the card and nonexistent drink in front of her to the woman behind the bar and then to—ahem…make that, lookedwayup to—the tall, broad, dark-haired man poised next to the stool beside her. She raised her brows. “I haven’t ordered yet.” He shrugged, and it was only then that she realized he was wearing a tux.
“Order for both of us, then,” he told her, a grin playing at his lips. “May I?” He gestured toward the stool.
Haddie glanced over his shoulder to the ballroom beyond the lobby, from which she could hear “The Cha Cha Slide” booming even though the doors were closed.
“I don’t know,” she answered dryly. “Shouldn’t you be sliding to the left or maybe getting ready to clap your hands?”
He sighed. “I don’t see in the rule books where it says signing up for best man obligates you to line dancing—or any sort of dancing for that matter. And for the record, I didn’t evensign upfor the gig. Apparently, this is a best-friend obligation you’re not allowed to say no to.”
Haddie winced but then did her best to paint back on hermask of indifference. How many best-friend obligations was she violating by not even telling Emma that she left a day early but then chickened out halfway into her drive? “Pretty sure they call that being voluntold,” she replied, attempting to lighten her own mood.
“Ha!” he said. “Great word. But the guy’s my oldest friend. So I accepted my fate. However, I draw the line when the disco ball starts spinning and the line dancers hit the floor.”
The bartender cleared her throat.
“Right,” the tall, tuxedoed stranger replied, then dipped his gaze to Haddie’s.
She pressed her lips together and thought for a moment, impressed that Mr. Tux had still not officially occupied the seat next to her. The decision was hers whether or not he stayed, and it was him giving her that choice that made her say, “Two old-fashioneds. An extra cherry in mine, unless you don’t garnish with a cherry?” She looked at the handsome stranger, and his eyes twinkled.
“Two cherries for me too,” Mr. Tux added, then finally took the seat next to her.
“Two old-fashioneds and four cherries coming up,” the bartender told them, then stepped away to make their drinks.
“A fan of cherries, are you?” Haddie asked him.
He shook his head. “No, but I’m a fan of a woman who likes her bourbon. The cherries are all yours. I’m—”
Haddie held up her hand, and he stopped before saying anything else.
“Look,” she started. “We both know what this is, so let’s notpretend it’s anything else.” He seemed like a perfectly nice guy. Probably better than nice. Hell, the groom behind those ballroom doors thought Mr. Tux was thebestguy, which was all the more reason to leave names out of it. Names equaled reality, and tonight reality was a far-off universe where her problems resided. Tonight was all about escape.
He raised a brow. “What isthis, then?” He motioned between them, the man in the tux and the woman still wearing the simple black dress she had worn to her grandmother’s funeral earlier that day.
“Do you have a room?” she asked.
“You certainly do.” He nodded toward the card she still flipped between her fingers.
“You’re wedding party,” Haddie reminded him. “I bet you have a suite.”
He grinned, but then his brows furrowed. “You trust me? Just like that?”
This time Haddie shrugged. “There’s a banquet hall full of people who could probably vouch for you, but I don’t need to check with them.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you didn’t sit down until you got the signal that I was okay with it. And that, Mr. Tux—which is your name for the rest of the night—means that I am okay with a whole lot more.”
His dark-brown eyes crinkled at the corners, and good god, the man was attractive. Had he been that handsome the whole time? Maybe it was the tux. She didn’t care. Haddie had stoppedoutside of Summertown to prolong her escape, and this man who was about to give her his cherries seemed like the best escape she could possibly imagine.
“Two old-fashioneds,fourcherries.” The bartender set down two cocktail napkins and then placed the drinks on top of them.
