Author: Kristan Higgins

BY THREE O’CLOCK that afternoon, Parker was finally satisfied. Everything looked…well, stunning; she really had to give herself credit here.

The gazebo was twined with garlands of ivy and hydrangea blossoms, most of which she’d, er, appropriated from a lush bank at the edge of the Pines property. Collier wasn’t around, but Parker figured that he wouldn’t mind—or even notice. On the wide steps leading into the gazebo were two huge arrangements of pine, lupine, twigs and more ivy and phlox, a riot of color and deep, dark green. Parker had filled eight tin buckets with smaller versions of the arrangements and set them out at intervals along the makeshift aisle.

Inside the tent, she’d strung up fairy lights; Vin had had some in a closet, and last week, Parker had emptied a going-out-of-business craft store of its cache. All the supports and poles were lit up like the old Tavern on the Green in Central Park and twined with more blossoms of hydrangea, wild roses, baby’s breath and lupine. For the centerpieces, Rolly had helped her drill holes into split white birch logs, into which Parker had put tall white candles, then set that into a bed of pine, roses and fern.

It was magical and lush and uniquely Maine, and she couldn’t wait to see the look on Maggie’s face.

Lavinia was delivering the bouquets and boutonnieres to the bride and groom, so Parker was free to go. She took one more smug look around the tent. Time to go home, shower and change. Good thing Lucy had convinced her to bring a really nice dress in case of a fling.

And speaking of flings and weddings, it was hard not to remember Esme’s big day, when Parker had ended up with James. He’d been little more than a stranger back then.

This time, she had reason to like him.

The thought made her knees wobble a bit.

* * *

LIKE MOST MEN, James wasn’t crazy about most weddings. Ceremonies were mostly the same, give or take. Brides looked pretty. Food was mediocre and took too long to be served. The expense always seemed a little grotesque. Single women tended to eye him the way a starving coyote might eye a plump, blind baby bunny, then make their predictable and unsubtle advances. In fact, that’s how he and Leah had met. A New Year’s Eve wedding. She’d been cute, she eyed him, she kept positioning herself closer and closer, till she could accidentally bump into him and apologize, with plenty of hand laying and hair tossing.

Parker’s wedding pass had been, by far, the least subtle ever. She’d been no sneaky coyote, no. More like a strike from a great white. Didn’t see it coming, was completely stunned.

Not that he’d complained.

This wedding, he acknowledged, was nicer than most. Parker and Vin had done a great job on the flowers; in fact, Maggie’s mouth had dropped open when she got out of the limo, and people couldn’t stop talking about how pretty everything looked. Every time he heard someone gushing, he felt a little rush of pride for his housemate.

And speaking of, she looked…perfect. Wearing a long blue dress cut low in the front and low in the back. Hair up in a twist. She wasn’t wearing shoes, and the sight of her toes peeping out from under the silky fabric was getting him a little aroused. Didn’t take much where she was concerned. Whether she wore that horrible Yankees cap and stained jeans or a gown, she was beautiful.

She was also avoiding him. She’d waved. He’d waved back. She seemed to be arming herself with babies; first Chantal’s fat little package, then a smaller baby, then one that could walk.

The bride herself appeared. “Jamie, you don’t have to stay glued behind the bar,” she said, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “Eat something! We can pour our own wine.”

“You sure look pretty, Maggie,” he said.

She smiled, and for a second, she looked exactly like the cute waitress he’d had a crush on way back when. “Thanks,” she answered. “But go. I’m the boss of today, right? Go eat something. Dance with someone. Parker, for example. Malone said you have a huge crush.”

James shot Malone a look. “Thanks, pal.”

Maggie leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you came up this summer.”

“No kissing other men,” Malone said. “Wife.”

“Oh, that’s right, we’re married,” Maggie said. “I forgot why I was wearing this white dress.” She slid her arms around Malone’s waist. “Go, James. I am queen and therefore dismiss you. Have fun. Oh, hang on, there’s Parker. Parker! Over here!”

“She’s really bossy,” James muttered to the groom.

“Ayuh,” he agreed.

Because Maggie was queen, Parker came over, and James felt his nerve endings do the now-familiar howl.

“Parker, these flowers are amazing! I can’t get over it!” Maggie said, hugging her.

“Thanks, Maggie. So glad you like everything.” She paused. “Hi, James.”

“Parker. Always lovely to see you,” he said. Her cheeks grew pink. James smiled. Used to be, he could only make her ears turn pink. Now he had the whole face. Progress.

“Oh, I love this song,” Maggie said. “Come on, Malone, let’s dance.” Malone grimaced—what straight guy wouldn’t—it was something by Beyoncé about all the single ladies.

“You have to obey her,” James said. “She’s the queen…”

“Thanks for nothing,” Malone muttered, following his wife as she dragged him onto the dance floor. Poor slob. Well, he wasn’t that poor. He was smiling.

James turned to Parker. Her blush deepened. “Did you have fun last night?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“You stayed at your uncle’s?”

“Yep.” She smelled so good. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she answered, then cleared her throat. “You look very…um, nice to see you dressed.” She winced, closing her eyes. “Dressed up, I meant. In a suit. More like yourself. Whatever, don’t listen to me. Nice wedding, don’t you think?”

She was nervous; he could feel the electrical current radiating from her. She licked her lips—God—and the blood made the cheerful and familiar flight from James’s brain straight to his groin. “The flowers look great.”

“Thank you.”

Such pleasant chitchat, when what he really wanted to do was…her. Yeah. That was right. Just clear off this table and tip her back on it, and let nature do its sweet thing.

A lock of her hair slipped out of its twist, brushing against her cheek. James reached out and slowly tucked it behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her silken skin, touching her earlobe. Her lips parted. He looked in those green eyes, which had grown soft and unguarded, and felt his heart slow to thick, solid beats.

The Beyoncé song ended, and something slow came on. “Want to dance?” he murmured.

“Excuse me?” she whispered.

“Would you like to dance, Parker?”

She blinked and seemed to come out of the trance that had wrapped around them both. “Oh, I should— I have to check something. Um, rain check?”

“Okay.”

With that, she turned and fled, like a scared little horse or something, stopped and fussed with an arrangement, and glanced back at him, then looked quickly away.

James felt a smile begin in his chest. Parker was afraid of dancing with him. Had to be a good sign.

He looked over the guests. There were a couple of age-appropriate women there, giving him the coyote stare. Not today, ladies, he thought, and approached a tiny, ancient old lady who was looking at the group on the dance floor with a bit of longing on her face. Bingo. His date for the evening. “Would you do me a favor and dance with me?” he asked.

“Oh, my word!” she exclaimed. “I can barely stand, let alone dance, sweetheart!”

“I’m extremely handsome and strong,” he said. “You sure you want to turn me down?”

“Fine. You’ve convinced me,” she said, standing with the help of her cane. She came up to his chest. “What’s your name, young man?”

“James Francis Xavier Cahill.”

“Oh! What a lovely name! I always did love the name James! I was so sorry when they shortened James Stewart to Jimmy.” She patted his shoulder fondly. “You can call me Bess. Do you know it’s been at least a dozen years since I danced?”

“I think you’re lying,” he said, maneuvering very carefully among the other dancers. “You’re too pretty to be on the sidelines. You must have at least three boyfriends.” He grinned as she laughed.

Parker had made herself scarce.

Well. They happened to live together, so she couldn’t hide forever.

James also danced with Lavinia, danced with Maggie’s mother, dodged a pass from a woman he didn’t know, and made his way back behind the bar and stayed there, watching the crowd. Parker stayed on the sidelines, though she did dance with one of the Three Musketeers, the guy whose wife died earlier this year.

She didn’t come his way again.

A while later, his uncle approached, sweaty from having danced with Maggie’s twin. He sat down in front of the bar and eyed James. “Why don’t you go home, kid?” he said, wiping his forehead. “We’re all set here.”

“No, I’ll stay, Unc. Help you pack things in later on.”

“Nah. You did all the setup. Don’t worry. The McConnell kid will do it. He needs a little money. Going off to Dartmouth this fall.”

James hesitated. “Okay.” He started to walk off, then stopped. “Dewey,” he said, “I wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

“For letting me come stay with you when I was a kid. When things were tough.”

Dewey’s expression changed. “Sure, kid. Now go home. Go. Git. I’m gonna see if Chantal will dance with me for old times’ sake.”

* * *

LITTLE MONKEY WATCHED the other monkeys swinging through the vines. Gosh, it looked like fun! But what if she missed the vine? She might fall, breaking her bones as she crashed through the branches, possibly rupturing some organs as she fell to the jungle floor, where Hungry Jaguar was waiting to gobble her up. On second thought, maybe she’d stay in the tree instead, make a martini and call it a day.

Parker sighed, put aside the red notebook and sat back in the old wooden chair. She’d slipped away from the wedding and was down on the dock, still in her dress. Beauty lay at her feet, contentedly staring out at the water, which was a purplish-blue under the darkening sky.

Lovely wedding. Just lovely, all that happiness so palpable. She’d laughed and eaten and truly enjoyed sitting with Lavinia and watching the bride and groom. Little Violet Jones fell asleep on her lap, an achingly wonderful moment, the sweet smell of the little girl’s head, her limp, warm weight so welcome.

But mostly, she’d felt James. Felt his every smile, directed at her or not. When he’d touched her face, his eyes so dark, she’d been unable to even breathe. Thought he might kiss her for a second. So, in typical fashion, she bolted, but from that moment on, she’d felt him. His laugh hit her in the stomach in a warm, aching squeeze, and each time those smiley, dark eyes met hers…well, hell, there it was again, that strong, tingling pull she’d only ever felt around him.

Music from the reception drifted down from the green and out over the water, the thump of bass and occasional roll of laughter easily heard from the dock. The music changed from fast to slow…something by Norah Jones, the words just out of reach.

The tingling pull started again. She turned her head, and there he was, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, his tie loosened, standing at the foot of the dock, watching her. Beauty’s tail swished.

“Hey, James,” she said mildly.

Mildly, right. Her heart was shuddering, it was beating so fast. Jump him, Spike advised. He’s a guy. He’ll love it. In her mind, the former child angel wore a black leather jacket and squinted through a haze of cigarette smoke. She should look into medication for this.