Page 16 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

Me: He danced with me without looking miserable.

I groaned and kept reading.

Me: Okay fine. My old crush on your best friend isn't as dead as I told you it was.

Everett: Define "old."

Me: Tenth grade? Maybe earlier. I don't remember when it started. Just that I stopped admitting it out loud after he made it clear he couldn’t stand being in the same room as me.

Everett: And now?

Me: Now I kind of wanted him to kiss me tonight.

I dropped the phone onto my chest and stared at the ceiling.

Everett would tease me about this for the rest of my natural life. Possibly beyond. He'd find a way to include it in my eulogy.

Hopefully, he'd get over it eventually. And hopefully he’d never tell Grim.

I sat up, pushed my hair out of my face, and decided not to think about it anymore. I had bridesmaid duties to fulfill and a full day of avoiding James while pretending Grim hadn't stopped himself from kissing me last night.

The morning wedding activities were happening back at the ranch where Lyra and Carson would exchange vows tomorrow afternoon.

The venue sprawled across acres of rolling hills, with a restored barn used for wedding-week setup, a ceremony site overlooking the valley, and a back lawn cleared for the reception.

Lyra had organized a brunch for the wedding party, followed by a final walkthrough and photo session. I arrived early to help set up, carrying boxes of decorations from my car to the barn.

Grim showed up twenty minutes later.

He had on jeans and a dark henley, his sleeves pushed to his elbows. The casual version of him shouldn't have been more emotionally devastating than the suited version, but somehow it was.

He caught my eye across the barn and nodded.

I nodded back and returned my attention to the floral arrangements. But I was acutely aware of him throughout the morning. Where he stood. Who he spoke to. How many times he checked his phone.

I pulled out my own phone and opened the message thread with Everett.

Me: He keeps looking at his phone. Who is he texting?

I watched Grim glance down at his screen. His jaw tightened slightly. Then he typed something and returned the phone to his pocket.

My phone buzzed.

Everett: You.

I stared at the message.

Read it twice.

Then I scrolled to the top of the thread and looked at the contact name for the first time since I'd opened it this morning.

Evan.

Not Everett.

Evan.

Time stood still. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel my fingers any more.