Velma tugged at her rubber gloves and plunged the last of the plates into scalding water. The hot water stung, but she ignored it and scrubbed off the crusted remnants of mashed potatoes. A night spent faking excitement for her sister’s wedding had left her drained.
Not that she wasn’t happy for Claire. If anyone deserved to win the husband lottery, it was Claire. Velma just wanted her shot at happiness, too. Maybe not with Dean—for the obvious reasons—but with a guylikeDean.
“I hope Brek’s sister is okay.” Dish towel in hand, Claire glanced to the living room where Dean and Brek huddled after he’d returned.
Dean frowned. Velma’s hand would’ve usually twitched to smooth the creases on his scrunched-up forehead. But he was her sister’s future husband. Thoughts like that were not allowed. Besides, tonight her thoughts kept drifting to the rock ’n’ roll–loving Brek, not to Dean.
Brek was wild where Dean was stable. Brek was someone for sexual fantasy dreams—not for her current project of finding herself a husband.
“Brek’s interesting.” Velma handed her sister the plate to dry.
“He’s fun. That’s for sure.” Claire ran the towel over the dish. “I’m pissed he tried to convince you I’m pregnant.”
“He wasn’t serious. I knew that.” Velma stared at the film of bubbles popping along the surface of the water. “I still can’t believe you’re getting married.”
“I know, who would’ve thought it’d be me? I always figured you’d crack that code first.” Claire bumped her hip against Velma’s like they’d always done when doing the dishes as kids.
Velma laughed, like she’d always done. Her sister was pretty awesome. She popped by with dinner when Velma’s work schedule got nutty. She surprised Velma with theater tickets—they both loved the same old musicals. Claire also never forgot Velma’s birthday, given they shared the day. It was nice to have someone always in her corner. And now, she’d do that for her sister. She’d be the best maid of honor Claire could have ever imagined.
“Aspen’s going to be okay.” Dean strode to where they worked. “Brek’s staying in town for a while. He’s handling the weddings for her.”
“That’ll be good. His family misses him.” Claire set a crystal wineglass next to the others in the cupboard.
Velma hesitated, tilted her head to the side, and gestured to the biker talking on his phone in her living room. “We’re talking about the same Brek. He’s planning weddings? Your wedding? That Brek?”
The Brek stalking across her living room toward the kitchen. Toward her. She glanced away from the intensity of his examination.
“Wait. Our wedding.” Claire turned to Dean, her eyes huge. “You said no. Right?”
Dean shrugged. “He plans concerts and manages a band. It’s practically the same thing.”
Velma didn’t know much about planning weddings. But it couldn’t be the same as managing a band. Not even a little. Not any more than Velma planning finances was like wedding planning.
“You still looking for money, Velma?” Brek tugged on his leather jacket.
Uh. Yes. But the way he said the words sounded slightly indecent.
“Real estate?” he clarified.
“I’m still exploring options for implementation of my five-year plan, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched at the edges.
“I think what Brek’s trying to say is that we’d like to ask you a favor.” Dean settled his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
Velma kept her expression as neutral as possible. She always felt as though she came across too eager with Dean. She needed to rein that in. “Sure.”
Dean dove into full sales mode. “Brek needs a place to stay while he’s in town for the next couple of months. We were hoping you’d let him stay in your guest room.”
A wineglass slipped from Velma’s soapy fingers and clanked against the sink. Um. No. Big ol’ negative. She did not need her sexual fantasy living in the room across the hall from hers.
Brek’s expression turned serious. “Aspen’s out of service for a while. I’m going to stick around and help with her weddings. Figured I’d take your spare bedroom for a few months. Help with the rent and all that.”
“Mortgage. I have a mortgage. Not rent.” The distinction gave her a grown-up feeling she liked.
“Then I’ll help with the mortgage,” he corrected.
“That’s not a good idea.” With him, anyway.
