“Copy that, boss.” I open the backseat, and a Target bag spills out. “Oh, shit.” I place the bags I’m carrying inside and reach for the renegade bag.
I pick up an oversized package of batteries and a bottle of vitamins. Prenatal vitamins. I frown. I guess I’ve heard of women taking them even if they aren’t pregnant.
I pick up the last item. A tiny pair of white shoes.
I hold them up to Sophie. “These look like they’re a little too small for you.”
Her cheeks flush. “They’re… for a friend.”
Once again fighting the foreign impulse of grinning, I drop the shoes in the bag and straighten up the backseat.
“I bet you aren’t much for babies either.”
“Nope.” I close the door and slide into the passenger seat as she eases back behind the wheel. “They’re okay for other people.”
“But you’re not interested?”
“Not even a little.”
“Surprise, surprise.” She shakes her head, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a flicker of disappointment on her face. “The guy who doesn’t want to get married doesn’t want to have kids either.”
I give into the urge to chuckle then. It sounds a little rusty to my ears at first. But then it’s as easy as breathing.
“I have my reasons.”
“And those would be?”
I lift a shoulder. “My reasons.”
The amusement falls from her face, and I don’t feel much like laughing myself anymore.
“Ready to head to the lodge?” she asks.
I nod.
Oddly enough, for the first time in a long time, I find myself looking forward to being around people. Especially if Sophie is one of them.
FOUR
CLIFF
Whoever thought over-serving people whiskey and beer before handing them a bunch of axes was an idiot.
Or a genius. An evil genius.
I can’t decide if I’m more amused or scared as friends and family line up to take their turn at ax-throwing. It’s a bonding outing my sister and future brother-in-law planned for the day before the wedding. Because, I guess, we aren’t already spending enough time together.
Some people can’t handle being alone for more than an hour at a time. They wouldn’t last a whole weekend back in my neck of the woods.
It also happens to be Valentine’s Day, and I suppose throwing axes at a wall isn’t the worst way to celebrate a supposedly romantic day.
Not wanting to lose an eye—or my neck—I give the more enthusiastic wedding guests a wide berth from my perch near the bar. That’s where my sister finds me, still nursing my first beer.
“You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
I lift one of the shoulders. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, I know you better than that. You look worried.” Winter slides her arm through mine and rests her cheek against my shoulder. “What do you have to be worried about?”
