“Noted.”
I head for the bathroom, and twenty minutes later, I’m showered, shaved, and stuffed into Ian’s suit. Current wide receivers definitely have different body types than retired quarterbacks. The jacket won’t button, and the pants are snug in the thighs, but I can make it work.
I bound back downstairs, where the three of them have Ellie occupied with what looks like a very serious tea party just outside the fort’s entrance.
“You look almost presentable,” Tyler says, giving me a once-over.
“Thanks. I’ll text when I know what time I’m picking up Ellie. Riva, you’ve got my number if you need anything.”
“We’ll be fine.” Riva waves me off. “Go get her, Uncle Felix.”
“Who get?” Ellie asks, looking up from her plastic teacup.
“I’m going to get Piper, munchkin. Be good for Riva, okay?”
“Pi,” she says with a wide smile before blowing me a kiss that I pretend to catch, pressing it to my chest. When did catchingtoddler kisses begin to feel as important as catching the perfect spiral?
Ian walks me to the door. “Go be her hero.”
“She doesn’t need a hero.” The words come out certain. “But I’m hoping she’ll take me anyway.”
“No one can resist Felix Barlowe,” Ian assures me. I hope to hell he’s right.
I slide behind the wheel and lock in the GPS for the Skylark Country Club. As I pull out of the driveway, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. I look determined, and maybe a little crazy. For sure like a guy about to crash a wedding.
Perfect.
Because it’s time to remind Piper—and everyone else—that she’s not alone anymore.
Time to get my girl.
26
PIPER
The ceremony wasbeautiful but had a generic Pinterest board vibe that makes me think social media has mostly killed originality. White chairs were arranged in perfect rows with puffy tulle bows tied around the backs, and a string quartet played the same songs they probably performed at nine weddings out of ten.
It makes me appreciate even more what Molly is doing at her flower farm. Her bespoke events highlight each couple’s individual personality. That being said, I guess Christy’s basic-bitch aesthetic fits her to a tee.
I sat in the back row like the coward I am, gripping my small clutch purse with both hands while my childhood friend walked down the aisle in a dress that probably cost as much as my old Jeep. She looked happy. Her groom looked happy. Everyone looked happy. Except me. With a fake smile plastered on my face and sweat pooling in places sweat has no business being, the truth is, I felt a bit stabby through the whole thing.
And I can’t even blame hormones.
We’ve just finished dinner service, and I’m wondering how soon I can duck out of here without anyone noticing. The setting is admittedly gorgeous. The manicured golf course stretches outbelow us with the Rocky Mountains rising in the distance, their rugged peaks jagged against the fading blue of the late afternoon sky. The sun hangs low above the horizon, painting everything golden. Round tables draped in ivory linens dot the stone patio, and tiny white lights have been strung overhead, ready to twinkle once darkness falls.
It’s the kind of scene that should make a person feel hopeful about love.
Instead, I’m quite possibly about to throw up, and not just from the morning sickness that’s decided to make an evening appearance.
I stand near the edge of the terrace, one hand resting on the wood railing, trying to look like I’m admiring the view instead of plotting my escape route. My dress, a flowing maxi with a geometric pattern that hides my barely-there bump, catches the breeze, and I smooth it down with my free hand.
“Hey, Piper, why are you hiding?”
I turn to find Morgan Finnegan approaching with two other girls from our high school graduating class. She’s wearing a designer dress, her dark hair styled in perfect waves. The softness of the look is at odds with her smile, which is sharp as a knife.
“Hi, ladies.” I force brightness into my voice. “You look great.”
“You too.” I turn the wattage of my grin up a few notches while Morgan’s eyes do a quick scan, cataloging every detail of my appearance. “I wish I had chosen my dress for comfort over style.”
