CHAPTER ONE
AMES
“Okay,but you’re literally allergic to raspberries.” I don’t look up from the chanterelles I’m sautéeing, though my grip’s tight enough to make the pan handle squeak. “Why on earth would you get a raspberry wedding cake?”
Outside, the March wind’s blowing across Winsome, Vermont, battering against the dark windows of my apartment over Watchfire. But here in my kitchen, which permanently smells like woodsmoke from the restaurant below, everything’s cozy and delightful.
Or it would be, if the man I love would stop freaking discussing his wedding to someone else.
“Because I won’t actually eat the cake,” my best friend explains.
Robbie says this like it’s an obvious, logical solution. Like every aspect of the picture he’s painting—from his fiancée’s cake flavor choice, to Robbie’s reaction, to the fact that Robbie’s marrying Lissa in the first damn place and insists ontelling me about it—isn’t maddeningly wrong.
I glance over at him. He’s kneading bread dough withone huge hand like a professional, but somehow, he’s managed to dust his cheek with flour. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I rub it away with my thumb.
“That makes no sense, Rob. None.”
“It does, though.” Serious green eyes meet mine. “Lissa’s folks had raspberry cake at their wedding, and they’ve been together thirty-plus years. It’s a family tradition.”
“Hmm.”
I wonder if Lissa knew invoking the wordfamilywas the equivalent of whisperingabracadabrato Robbie Wojcik.
But what am I thinking? Of course she knew. She’s read my Robbie like a book since the moment they started dating… precisely three hundred twenty-nine days ago.
Not that I’m counting.
I shake my pan and set it back on the burner with more force than necessary. Not quite a bang. More of an enthusiastic rattle. “So while everyone else eats cake at your wedding reception, you’ll… what? Nibble a dinner roll?”
Robbie studies my face like he’s trying to suss out the reason for my bad attitude, to which I saygood fucking luck, Robert. The man’s pretty adept at reading people’s emotions. He knows when I’m tired, stressed, or hangry before I do. But even though it feels like half of Winsome knows I’m in love with him, Robbie’s never clued in.
Which is the closest thing to a miracle I’m likely to experience.
“It’s one day, Amesie. I truly don’t mind if I don’t have cake.Youknow that.”
“Yeah, Rob.” I sigh and turn my gaze back to my pan. “I know.”
And I do.
Robert Donovan Wojcik is practically perfect.
I’m not talking physical perfection, though his six feet and seven-excessive-inches of muscles, his pretty eyes, and his dimple are damn devastating. I’m talking soul-deep goodness. Intelligence. Kindness. Generosity. All those higher qualities that keep a fire burning long after the lust has flared and died.
And no, this isn’t me being blinded by love. Ask anyone in Winsome, and they’ll tell you how amazing Robbie is. Old ladies want to pinch his cheeks, dude bros want to be his pal, little kids want to hold his hand. And Robbie gives the people what they want because it genuinely makes him happy to see other people happy.
But the very trait they adore about him is gonna drive me batshit one of these days—watch it happen—because I wish Robbie would give as much of a shit about doing what makeshimhappy.
“It’s no big,” I repeat. I turn back to my mushrooms, flipping them with perhaps more violence than fungi require or enjoy. “Just like it’s no big that Lissa wants the reception at her father’s country club. Just like it’s no big that she doesn’t want your brother in the wedding party.”
“Hey now.” He bumps my arm. “You’rethe one who said to cut Mike out of my life, or at least stop telling you about him.Since when do you defend him?”
Ugh. Since never. I loathe Robbie’s deadbeat brother. I loathe how he manipulates Robbie, and that Robbie keeps letting it happen. Bringing him up is a sign of just how desperately jealous and unkind I’ve become. Enemy of my enemy and all that.
Not that Lissa’sactuallymy enemy.
“Not defending him,” I mutter. “I just think Mike should be disinvited from being a groomsman becauseyouwant him to be. Becauseyouchoose not to associate with him anymore. Not because Lissa decided.”
“Yeah, well.” Robbie clears his throat. “Does it matter who said it first?”
