The Wrong Bridesmaid
: Chapter 15

“You have achieved greatness,” the talking panda in lederhosen says, his paw over his heart. “In protecting the realm, you’ve become a legend among all peoples. No longer will cake threaten the land.”

I wipe the last of the pink frosting from my lips, shrugging. “Wah no problem.” Oops, a cascade of cake crumbs spills out with the words, and the panda recoils a bit.

Okay, maybe the panda should have waited until I washed my mouth out with milk. I mean, it was a twenty-foot-tall cake. Give me a chance to clear the tract.

“For your bravery, we, the people of the realm, award you with a prize worthy of an adventurer as noble as yourself . . . the Cuirass of Penbron!”

The panda waves his hand—er, paw—and in the shimmering air, a golden breastplate appears.

“Oooh, gimme gimme gimme,” I say, reaching out grabby hands.

I look down at what I’m currently wearing, a simple leather piece that exposes my stomach and arms, so different from what the panda is offering. I can’t wait to don the fancy gear. No longer will I be leered at in the tavern, treated more like a wench than a sword maiden. No longer will I have to depend on “magical distraction” to avoid being gutted by enemies. No, with the Cuirass of Penbron, I can be a proper warrior, admired for my skills and not my figure.

I reach out, smiling, and with more befitting appreciation, I say, “Thank you. As for you, Cuirass—”

My fingers touch the scalloped edges of the armhole, and suddenly the entire piece shimmers. It’s not real! The beautiful armor is nothing more than a floating hologram. I whirl, or I try to, but my overfilled cake-belly won’t let me move that quickly right now. I manage to weeble-wobble around to face the panda, though, and he throws his hands out wide, unapologetic. “The cake was good, though, right?”

“Dammit!”

“Don’t you be cursing when I call your name! Getchur ass outa bed, girl!” Mom’s voice rouses me from my dream, but it’s far away and I’m fuzzy enough that I ignore it, roll over, and pull the covers over my head.

“Nooo,” I mumble. “I want real armor, Mom.”

“Armor?” Mom laughs. “Must be some dream.”

I grumble, waking enough to realize that was a weird-ass fucking dream. “Don’t work until noon. Lemme sleep.”

Yeah, like that’s going to happen in this house.

The blankets are unceremoniously ripped from my body, and I hiss like a vampire whose crypt has been opened into the sun. Jerking into a fetal position, I hide my face beneath my hands and growl, “What the fuck?”

When I was younger, I wouldn’t have dared speak to her that way, but I’m a full-grown-ass woman, with two—count them, two—jobs; a home—granted, I inherited it, but I pay the taxes and insurance like a responsible homeowner; and a foul-mouthed pet that will probably outlive me given my proclivity for mouthing off.

Doesn’t matter to Mom as she repeats, “Getchur ass outa bed. Family meeting in sixty seconds at the kitchen table. Preferably with pants on. Already making coffee.”

I don’t see her leave, my face still buried in my hands, but I sense that I’m alone. And wearing only panties because I fell into bed after getting home from the wedding. Part of me is shocked I even got my dress off.

So yeah, my mom just saw me mostly naked.

Not a stellar start to my day.

I groan and rub the sleep from my eyes but realize that I hear voices in the kitchen. As in, plural. Not only Mom, but Aunt Etta, Jesse, and Lester too.

“Great, the gang’s all here.”

I lift my legs in the air, swinging myself up to a semi-vertical position. Getting up, I yank on a pair of sweats, a sports bra, and a T-shirt, and though I know I won’t replace one, I still look around for a suit of armor because nothing good has ever come from an impromptu eight a.m. family meeting.

Regardless, I need a massive dose of caffeine for this. Thankfully, I can smell the rich brew that Mom promised. In the kitchen, she’s made herself at home with the coffeepot and the stove, slapping sausage and eggs into a large skillet. “Sit down. We’ve got some stuff to talk about.”

I look at Jesse, hopeful for a clue, but he grins and touches the tip of his nose. “Not it,” he mouths.

Fucker.

“Bawk! Trouble, I smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E!” Lester sings to the tune of the old Travis Tritt song. I’d yell at him, but I’m afraid he’s right and I don’t want any extra attention.

Aunt Etta sets her half-empty mug down. “How was the wedding, Hazel?”

A seemingly innocuous question the morning after the biggest wedding this town’s ever seen, but I don’t think it has anything to do with fancy events or my BFF’s big day.

Nope, she’s the opener. Which makes Mom the closer this morning.

At least that lets me know the game plan, because they’ve been using the same moves on Jesse and me since we were kids too stupid to know better. Probably did the same thing when they were kids to Gran.

But that means I know the countermoves too. “It was gorgeous, fancier than anything this town’s seen before or will ever see again. And Avery was really happy, shockingly so, considering the groom.”

I laugh lightly at my own sarcastic joke, but no one laughs along. Dammit.

I look from Aunt Etta to Mom, who’s stirring the eggs around thoughtfully. Whatever this is, it’s an old game being played at a whole new level.

So maybe it’s time to break the rule book.

I ignore my coffee and lay my hands flat on the table. “How about we skip all this shit and get down to whatever led to me getting dragged out of bed at sun-thirty? Hit me with it, let’s go.”

Mom’s eyes jump to me as quickly as her free hand pops to her hip. “Excuse me, young lady?”

Once upon a time, that would’ve scared the piss out of me. But I’m a big girl with a big mouth who’s short on sleep today, so I double down. “What’s going on? If you’re here, the bakery’s closed”—I point at Mom, then swing my finger to Etta—“and you’re working the late shift today, so you should be asleep too.” I look at Jesse. “And you should be doing community service hours to clear up your probation.”

“What probation?” Mom snaps, horrified.

Jesse glares at me, but says to Mom, “She’s fucking with you. I ain’t on probation.”

He’s not, but it worked to my satisfaction, so I smile as though we’re having a perfectly pleasant conversation. “Good, so now that we’ve established that we all have better things to do, can we get down to what this family meeting’s about?”

Finished with the food, Mom sets filled plates in front of Jesse and me, then turns around to get hers and Etta’s.

Jesse manages to say, “Looks goo—” before stuffing a forkful into his mouth.

Mom and Etta share a look that has my fork pausing halfway to my mouth. At least by the way Jesse’s eating, it’s not that Mom spiked the eggs with ghost peppers. But beyond that, I have zero guesses.

Mom says, “Well, I’ve got good news and bad.”

Around a fourth mouthful in half as many seconds, Jesse murmurs, “Good.”

I think he means good news first and isn’t continuing to praise Mom. Then again, he really needs to get more home cooking, based off what I normally see him stuffing in his mouth. I know he works hard, but I’ve seen him put away an entire family pack of Hot Pockets for dinner and then look for dessert.

“The good news is, the wedding cake and midnight desserts were huge hits,” Mom says, getting to business. “Like huge. The planner, that crazy woman, actually called me last night. Said she’d been worried I couldn’t handle it, had tried to talk Avery out of using me to the point that she’d actually contacted a backup baker, just in case, you know.” Mom does air quotes with her fingers along with a decent impression of Cara. “Can you believe that nonsense!”

Etta interrupts with a confused look as she asks, “This is the good news?”

Mom shushes her and continues, “But apparently, she worried for nothing because the cake was elegant and delicious—her words, obviously. And the cupcakes, pudding shooters, and stuffed strawberries were, and I quote, the most orgasmically delicious things she’s ever had. She actually ordered some of the strawberries to take back to Newport with her. And . . .” Mom pauses dramatically and we all freeze. Even Jesse stops with his fork midway to his mouth. “She wants to add me to her list of approved vendors for all her weddings.”

Mom’s smile is brighter than the noonday sun in summer, her excitement obvious, but . . . I don’t get it. I’m not the only one either.

“So she’s putting you on a list?” Etta asks. “That’s the good news?”

Mom gives us a patient look. “Not a list. The list. She’s big-time, like hundreds of weddings each year, so for her to recommend me, a nonbridal bakery, for her events is basically like winning blackout bingo on your first night at the lodge.”

“Bawk! BINGO! Bingo! B-I-N-G-O, and Bingo was his name-o,” Lester adds in his infinite wisdom.

I can’t help but laugh at Lester and at Mom. “Why are you surprised, Mom? You’re amazing, so of course she wants your cakes.”

“Yeah, congrats, Mom!” Jesse adds.

Etta’s caught on as well and gives Mom a smile. “Good job, sis. Did she say anything about the burger bites and fries? You know Tayvious is gonna pitch a hissy fit if she didn’t.”

Mom shrugs, chagrined. “She didn’t say anything, but it’d be hard to travel to Newport with fresh fries and burgers. Cold cakes are a lot better than cold fries. And you know, maybe nothing will even come of this. There might never be another bride that wants one of my cakes, but the compliment was unexpected.”

She’s trying to soften the blow, but there’s no need. We all know Tayvious is a magician in the kitchen, so if Cara didn’t recognize that, it just means we’ll get our dinner a little faster and keep Tayvious to ourselves.

Mom does a little happy wiggle in her chair, eating a few small nibbles of food, and I can see how truly excited she is. Her bakery is her baby, just as much as Jesse and I are, and she’s worked hard to make her dream a reality. Some validation from someone in the biz with lots of experience is a big fluffy peacock feather in Mom’s hat.

“Well, I hate to ask,” Etta says as she takes another bite, “but what’s the bad news?”

Oh yeah. There was more. And Etta’s leading the opening into act 2, scene 1.

“Yes, about that,” Mom says, her eyes shifting to pin me in place.

Shiiit.

I was afraid it was about me.

But I haven’t done anything wrong.

Does casual sex with a Ford on the rooftop during the fireworks finale of your best friend’s wedding ring any bells?

Okay, at least nothing she’d know about. Why can’t it be Jesse this time? I’m sure he’s done something stupid recently.

But like the good sister, and future blackmailer, I am, I don’t throw him under the bus.

I sit up straight and meet Mom’s eyes directly.

“Yesss?” I ask, innocently batting my lashes like I’ve never done anything bad in my entire life.

“You can stop with the innocent act, missy,” Mom says. “The whole town’s jawing about you and Wyatt.”

“They are not,” I argue, though I have no idea whether that’s true. I’ve been in a sort of postsexual coma.

At the same time, Jesse and Etta talk over each other, eager to drink up the spilled tea. “Tell us what they’re saying!”

Mom flashes me one of her infamous Mom Glares that used to get me to spill my guts in two seconds flat, but I’m stronger than that now and press my lips together. My mouth’s Fort Knox, Mom.

“Fine, I’ll tell them,” Mom says after a moment. “Apparently, Miss Thang over there has been playing hide the hot dog with Wyatt Ford. Rumor has it, he’s quite smitten with her, going so far as escorting her down the aisle instead of the maid of honor, and then disappearing with her while the newly wedded couple made their post-fireworks escape off to their honeymoon.”

Etta turns to me, confused. “I thought you were the maid of honor?”

I duck my head. “I was. But Rachel really wanted to walk with Wyatt, so I switched with her so she could.”

“But he wasn’t having none of that, now was he?” Mom summarizes, and I have to shake my head. She adds judgmentally, “Bet he does whatever he wants most of the time.”

The desire to defend Wyatt is strong in my chest. He came to my aid at the bar, helped make those amazing cupcakes, and sacrificed himself to rampaging Cara, so he can’t be all bad.

And he definitely doesn’t like Jed Ford. But singing his praises seems like a surefire way to piss off my family, so I try . . . “What was I supposed to do? He was standing there with his elbow out right in front of me! It would’ve been more of a scene if I’d snubbed him.”

Mom hums in agreement, but I can tell she doesn’t agree one bit.

“And I bet nobody even noticed us missing with literal fireworks going off and Avery and Winston making their getaway. Besides, at least half the people there weren’t even from town.”

Mom raises an eyebrow, noticing I didn’t deny our disappearance.

Jesse snorts. “Winston invited the whole company. Basically, everyone from the crews up to the head honchos. I’m sure a few guys got cleaned up for a free dinner and open bar. I would’ve, but I didn’t want Mom to put me to work as her bakery bitch.”

Shit. “Okay, even so, what business is it of theirs who I’m spending time with?”

“You mean fucking?” Jesse asks. “I think a lot of people around town would be damned interested in that, especially considering you’re you and he’s a Ford.”

“Fuck a Ford!” Lester adds in to the tune of the classic goofy children’s song “Kiss A Cow.” “Fuck a Ford! Fuck a Ford, fuck a Ford, fuck a—”

Mom, Aunt Etta, and I all yell simultaneously, “Shut up, Lester!”

“Bawk!” With that declaration, he flies off to the living room to pout. I’ll have to give him a treat before I leave for work or he’ll peck at the corner of the TV stand while I’m gone as retaliation. I’ve already had to sand and revarnish that damn spot twice due to him.

I sigh, setting my fork down because I’m not going to eat another bite this morning, and get ready to throw down the gauntlet. “Fine. Let’s be blunt. I fucked Wyatt Ford. It was awesome.” Jesse makes a disgusted face but quickly begins turning red and gritting his teeth, like I’ve got some honor he’s supposed to protect. “And very, very consensual. And casual. It didn’t mean anything. He’s here for the wedding, and now that it’s over, he’ll be leaving. No big deal.”

“And the hearing?” Aunt Etta asks. “He gonna be here for that?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It didn’t come up when I had his dick in my mouth.”

Mom frowns. “Hazel.”

But Etta smirks. “I’m just saying . . . it might be good to have an inside track on what they’re planning for the hearing.”

I look at her in surprise. “I am not asking Wyatt to spy on his family!”

To my surprise, Jesse agrees with me. “She’s right. When I met him before the wedding, he didn’t have a clue about the subdivision thing. Honestly, I think he was pumping me for information. And he definitely didn’t act like he gave two shits for his Uncle Jed.”

“Two points for him in my book then,” Aunt Etta says. “One for the ‘awesome fuck’ and one for hating that asshole, Jed.”

Oh no. I do not want to get Aunt Etta off on a tangent about her younger days and how Jed Ford did her wrong right before their wedding day. It’s bad enough to listen to her rant about how he’s screwing up the town now, which he is, but old stories where he’s the bad guy, which he also was, were a soundtrack to my childhood that I don’t care to repeat.

“Good,” I declare in a voice that says this chapter of our conversation is over. “Now that that’s settled, I think I’ll get ready for work a bit early. I bet Charlene would appreciate a few extra hours with her kids today since we’re both working all evening.”

Etta nods. “I’m sure she would. She works so hard for those babies.”

I get up, grabbing my plate, but Jesse snatches the sausage from it before I can scrape it into the trash. I put the last bits of scrambled eggs into a shallow dish and call Lester. “Hey, birdbrain, you feeling cannibalistic?”

Lester flies to my shoulder. “Lester likes eggs. Baby bird yummy.”

He mimics a robotic, zombielike voice that I taught him after learning that eggs are good for birds and keep their feathers healthy. I gesture to the dish, and he hops down to the counter, pecking away to eat the few bites.

Mom makes a disgusted face. “That’s so wrong, Hazel.”

Etta laughs, disagreeing with her sister. “He’s not eating parrot eggs, so waste not, want not. You think the pigs care about eating ham?”

I leave the two discussing the animals Gran used to have on the land when she was alive and how she fed and cared for them. I’m also abandoning Jesse to the hens, because now that they’re through with me, Etta and Mom are sure to zero in on him shortly. But he can use a little grilling, in my opinion.

I hop in the shower, washing my face and body quickly, but noting the pleasant soreness between my legs. It had been a while, and Wyatt stretched me in that way that hurts so good.

The replay of last night flashes through my head, and despite what Mom said about everyone gossiping, I don’t regret it. Wyatt Ford isn’t what I expected, and I’m glad he took the time to show me that. I just hope that after he’s gone, Cold Springs can deal with the Jed shitshow.

No rest for the wicked, I muse as I cross the busy floor at Puss N Boots. Especially not tonight, where it seems that my newfound temporary infamy has brought in a lot more lookie-loos.

And just think . . . I wanted to let Char come in late just to face this. Thankfully she shot me down, probably in expectation of this.

“Listen here, Pork and Beans,” I tell the two guys in sweat-stained shirts that are ripped to show off their hairy armpits, one Metallica, the other Red Sox, somehow making the nicknames I came up with on the spot seem appropriate, “either you order or get the fuck off my table. This isn’t a spectator-sport situation. It’s my bread and butter.”

“Yeah, I heard you like a bit of butter on your bread,” Pork says, already chuckling at his own joke so much that he barely gets it out. They’ve been sitting here taking up space in the place for about an hour, just leering and eating peanuts without ordering anything, and I’m tired of it.

“Ford-brand butter,” Beans adds needlessly, not making a lick of sense. Still, it pisses me off some more.

I cut my eyes left and right, taking their measure. “Is that supposed to be some sort of commentary on me and Wyatt fucking after the wedding? Were you hoping to get all the dirty, filthy, nasty details? You wanna know how many times he made me come? Or skip straight to how big his dick is?”

Their mouths gape open in shock, definitely not expecting me to go on the offensive or be so . . . loud about it. Loud enough that I’ve gotten the attention of just about everyone in Puss N Boots, and considering we’re mid-dinner rush, that’s a fair number of people, all of whom have been eyeing me and gossiping all day.

Do they think I’ve not heard the whispered conversations that stop when I approach, not seen the pointing fingers and knowing nods, or felt the judgment from people I’ve known since I was a kid?

Even my skin’s not that fucking thick.

Ironically, most don’t care about my one-night stand, but are only interested because Etta’s niece got it on with a Ford and they’re questioning my loyalty. But Etta gave Wyatt two points of approval, and if that’s good enough for me, it damn well should be good enough for everyone else.

From the kitchen window, Tayvious calls out, “I’d like to know how big his dick is! But only if he’s open to some switch hitting. Otherwise, keep that shit to yourself so I’m not stricken with jealousy. I see the way you’re walking!”

Charlene pipes up: “Honey-baby, you can tell me all those details so I can live vicariously through you.”

I sigh, my fire flaming out in resignation. I might’ve shut down Pork and Beans, but more than just Tayvious and Charlene look mighty interested in actually hearing the story of last night.

I need to handle this, one and done.

“You nosy assholes, listen and listen good,” I declare, staring lasers around the room. “I’m here to get your beer and food, ring you out, and if you’re lucky, I’ll feel good enough to beat a few of you at pool later. Other than that, my business is just that . . . mine. I will not be answering questions about Wyatt, or me, or Wyatt and me.”

“Not even for me?” a voice behind me says.

I can hear the tease in the question and whirl, ready to unleash new fury on whoever is daring to challenge me. But instead of a regular who’s found enough balls to speak, I replace myself looking into a gorgeous pair of blue eyes that are dancing with laughter.

“Wyatt.”