The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,633

them my wedding date? And you’re still coming out a week early, right?”

“Final fitting is tomorrow,” I say, keeping my voice calm in hopes that it rubs off on her. “Seamstress can work with the dates.”

“Good, good. And did you book your room yet? The block at the hotel is filling up,” she says.

“Yep. Room is reserved.”

“What about the bachelorette party? Have you started planning that yet? I talked to Farrah and she said she hadn’t heard from you. Neither had Courtney,” she says, referring to two of the other bridesmaids. “They can take that off your hands if it’s too much.”

“I’ve got it,” I lie, biting my lip. My entire plan consisted of forcing my sister to wear the gaudiest sash and veil I could find and parade her around to all the bars on Sweet Water’s main drag like the show pony she loves to be.

“If you’ve got it, Love, then why haven’t you sent out invites? We’re less than three weeks out,” she says, pitch rising. She’s trying not to go off on me, but I imagine her blood pressure is through the roof.

Good thing there’s a doctor in the house.

“It’ll be low key,” I say. “I figured since everything else is so proper and formal and fancy, maybe we could have one night of small-town fun?”

Cameo makes some sort of groaning noise. Either she’s worried or she disapproves. Maybe both.

“You need one night to let loose and unwind,” I add.

My sister pauses, mulling it over, before breathing into the phone. “Fine. Just … no penis straws, okay?”

I almost choke on my spit. I’ve never heard Cameo use the word “penis” before, and for some reason it’s hilarious to me. That or I have the same sense of humor as a twelve-year-old boy tonight.

“You have my word,” I say, holding back a chuckle. “No penis straws.”

Jude.

I’d completely forgotten about Jude.

And now, I can’t help but laugh because he thanked me for the kiss and I left him hanging … I ghosted our conversation.

“You still there?” My sister asks.

“Yep, yep. I’m here.”

She prattles on about the groom’s cake next, how the doctor all but demanded German chocolate, but she finds it to be tacky and middlebrow, but within the same sentence she moves onto her future stepdaughters and how they posted a #tbt image on Instagram of their parents’ on their wedding day twenty-some years ago.

I manage to appease her with the occasional and strategically dispersed “Oh, man,” and “That’s awful,” and “Wow!” But after a solid ten minutes, I’m distracted by a quick knock at my door.

Slinking across the apartment, I peek out the spyhole and find Jude standing on the other side of the door, a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips and faded, gray t-shirt strangling his muscles.

As soon as I get the door, Jude begins to say something, but I lift my finger to my lips before showing him that I’m on the phone. Without saying a word, I wave him in and close the door.

He takes a seat on the couch, one dark brow raised as he studies my wincing face.

I mouth the word “sorry” to him and he sinks down into my sofa, his legs slightly spread and his hands lifting behind his neck. He looks like he’s got all the time in the world to wait for me to wrap up what could easily be a never-ending conversation.

“Okay,” Cameo says, tone lighter than it was a moment ago. “Next order of business. Your plus one.”

Rolling my eyes, I glance at Jude before saying, “No change there. Still just me.”

“Okay, but …” Cameo sighs, and I brace myself. I place Cameo on speaker because my hand is going numb and my ear is getting sweaty, “… who are you going to dance with? What are you going to say when Aunt Edie asks what happened with Hunter? Aren’t you going to be bored at the reception?”

Composing a message to Jude, I write, “My sister called. She’s getting married in a few weeks and everything’s a matter of life or death right now.”

Our eyes catch and his phone vibrates.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” his types back, gaze flicking back to me.

I nod, pointing at my phone.

He returns his attention to his phone, tapping out another message: “You have a date for her wedding?”

“You sound exactly like my sister,” I type, adding a sad face emoji before pressing send.

He smirks when he reads it, sending back a simple, “Ouch.”

“Love, are