“We’ll be fine. Like two chestnuts roasting over an open fire,” she replied, quoting Dan in quite a precarious tone.
“Marvelous! We’ll see you both for the spaghetti dinner at Kringle Acres in the village,” Grace said, patting his cheek before hugging Bridget goodbye.
Denise and Nancy broke off from the group to gather the kids as a glum Russell trailed behind his family toward the ski lift. But Tom stopped, said something to Lori, then jogged back to where he and Bridget still stood.
Holy hell! Was it that easy? Could it be that just seeing each other in person had miraculously broken the Dasher spell and brought Tom back to his old self?
“I’m glad you’re here, Scooter,” Tom said.
He nodded as his pulse kicked up. “I’m always here for you.”
Tom’s features grew pensive. “Good, because I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
His mind raced. If Tom needed to make a quick getaway, they’d need a vehicle. He spied an old pickup truck parked on the side of the mountain house. There! Knowing places like these, the keys were probably tucked above the sun visor.
Tom reached into his pocket, removed a small black velvet bag, then shook the contents into his palm.
Oh shit! The rings!
“Best man duties. I’m trusting you with these,” he said, handing them over carefully.
Soren held his friend’s gaze and remembered back to the day Tom dragged him onto the train to spend his first Christmas with the Abbotts.
“You’re trusting me with the wedding rings?” he asked, trying not to sound like a fox who’d been given the keys to the henhouse.
Tom chuckled. “Yeah, of course, I am. You’re my best friend, Scooter,” the man finished with a pat to his shoulder before hurrying to join Lori at the ski rack.
He pulled his gaze from his best friend and stared at the gleaming bands.
This was not what he was expecting, not by a longshot.
“You better put them someplace safe,” Bridget warned.
He nodded, hardly able to believe he held an essential piece to Tom’s wedding in his hand. Without thinking, he put the rings back in the pouch, unzipped his coat’s interior pocket, and tucked the bands inside.
“Hey, Birdie! Don’t let Scooter slack off,” Denise teased, throwing him a little wink as she helped Cole and Carly put on their skis.
“Don’t you worry. I plan to make him work for it,” Bridget answered.
Thrown off by Tom’s request, he met her gaze. A man could get drunk off the confidence brimming in her eyes. She thought she had the upper hand—thought she was holding all the cards. He parted his lips, ready to knock her down a peg when a pat to his back caught his attention. He turned to see the judge, eyeing him closely.
Soren shifted his weight from foot to foot. The rings in his pocket weighed nothing, but a strange heaviness had set in.
“Have fun cleaning up in poker,” he said, aiming for easy-going, but Tom’s grandfather didn’t move.
“There’s something about you two,” he said, wagging a finger at them.
Bridget blushed. She had to work on her poker face. Luckily, he was the king of suppressing his emotions.
“You’re right, Judge. We both care about Tom and Lori and want them to live their best lives,” he answered, leaning on his law degree with that statement. It wasn’t a lie. He wanted Lori Dasher to have a nice life—far the fuck away from his best friend.
“Hmm,” Judge replied, sharing a look with Dan.
When did these two become thick as thieves? Maybe it was an old guy thing.
The judge was a fascinating man. He’d spent his career in the family courts, which sounded like a goddamn nightmare. But the man’s office was littered with thank you cards and photographs of people he’d married, adoptions he’d overseen, even divorcees, who couldn’t stand each other but maintained a soft place in their hearts for the man.
There typically wasn’t a jury in family court, and the judge alone is tasked with ensuring justice—something that Franklin Abbott took seriously. The man was unequivocally fair and unwavering in his deployment of justice, but he did it with compassion. When he’d taught him how to fish, the judge’s steady demeanor, so different from what he’d experienced with his parents, had made him the man’s biggest fan. He’d never met the judge’s wife. The two had been high school sweethearts, and she’d passed away years before he’d met Tom. But the man still carried her high school photo in