She made an odd noise in the back of her throat. “I like you. But you’re my roommate and you’re Dean’s friend and—”
He cleared the anger from his vocal cords. “So, it still comes back to Dean?”
The world stopped spinning for an instant. Not enough to throw it off its axis but enough to throw him off his.
“No.” She shrugged her deflated shoulders. “Yes. I mean, it’s complicated.” Her face flushed, and she looked away to the porcelain serving bowls.
Apparently, the elaborate options for silverware held particular appeal to her as well.
His heart skipped several beats. “You said you didn’t think about him.”
She backed up. Her thighs bumped a frilly tablecloth and rattled the wineglasses. “I don’t. I haven’t. But you’re…you’re you.”
His throat went uncomfortably thick.
“I mean you’re not here permanently. You’re leaving soon. And while you’re here, we have to cohabitate. We can’t risk messing that up.”
“You’re shitting me.”
She stared him down. “I assure you, Brek. I’m notshittingyou.”
He flinched at her choice of words. Cussing didn’t fit her. He wanted to shove the dirty word back into her mouth. “He on the fuckin’ spreadsheet?”
“Who?”
“Dean,” he clipped.
Her shoulders dropped further as she gripped the round table behind her, her knuckles matching the white lace. “He’s the reason I started the spreadsheet.”
Blood rushed in his temples. Now the universe was just screwing with him. “That so?”
What a clusterfuck.
“Brek!” Sophie squealed from across the warehouse. “I think we’ve found the linens.”
He ground his teeth together. “Be right there.”
“I’m sorry about all this.” Velma’s cheeks flushed. She smoothed her skirt. “You’ve got clients.”
“I’m not giving up on you.”
“Brek?” Sophie called again.
“I think we need to be done here.” Velma pushed past him, heading across the warehouse to their overbearing bride.
Velma was right about a lot. But she was wrong about this. They were not done. Not even close.
Chapter Nine
After surviving a tedious planning session with Sophie, Brek hopped on his bike. He rolled the tension from his shoulders. He needed a day of open road followed by a night of rock ’n’ roll. Unfortunately, he would have a day of cake tasting followed by a night of figuring out how the hell to create a Swiss Family Robinson tree house from swizzle sticks, coffee filters, and Elmer’s glue. Okay, there would be lumber involved, and possibly a chain saw. But the whole thing felt like an excercise in futility when Sophie would change her mind again in a week.
Brek stepped inside Jase’s flower shop. The metal cowbell Jase used to announce customers clunked heavily against the glass door, and an old Cyndi Lauper song played through the overhead speakers. Two glorious hours before he had to go meet up with Dean and Claire and shop for wedding cake. And he needed a beer.
Jase glanced up from clipping stems using brown-camouflage-patterned shears.
Eli apparently had the same idea as Brek. He already had his ass planted at Jase’s workstation shooting the shit and generally not dealing with the bridal crap that had enveloped Brek’s life.
Brek settled onto a stool across the table from Jase.
