A spasm of anxiety rippled through her chest like a bomb hitting a pool of water. “The Abbotts must hate me! Lori must be livid!” she said, lowering herself to sit in the tub under the spray.
Footsteps caught her attention as Soren entered the bathroom, his outline visible through the shower curtain.
“Nobody knows you were baked. At least, I don’t think they do. Tanner told them you were suffering from altitude sickness, and then I got you out of there,” he said, his voice taking on a gentler note.
She rested her head on her knees. “Do people with altitude sickness talk to eggs and steal cake?”
“That would be funnel cake, which you wolfed down like a champ. And no, people stoned out of their minds talk to food and engage in petty theft.”
She glanced at his form on the curtain. “Why did you help me?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “What do you mean?”
She sighed as rivulets of water trailed down her body. “Isn’t this what you wanted—for the Abbotts to hate the Dasher sisters, and cast us off, so you can run off with your best friend and a gaggle of bimbos?”
Soren didn’t reply right away, and she glanced up to see the man’s outline had slumped a fraction.
“I want Tom to know that he doesn’t have to make any rash decisions,” he answered with a somber edge.
“By ruining his wedding?” she shot back.
He straightened. “By whatever means possible.”
She stood and wiped the water out of her eyes as another piece of last night’s puzzle came to her. “You kissed me yesterday.”
“Yes, but only because you were molesting a Hershey kiss, and I had to make you stop,” he grumbled but not as grumbly as usual.
She shook her head, her gaze locked on his form. “No, I remember that kiss. There was another one.”
She closed her eyes as a flash and a pop echoed through her mind.
“We also kissed in a photo booth,” he conceded.
“That’s where we were,” she said as the evening came into focus.
“It was a lapse in judgment,” he answered, still without the usual bite.
She stared down at the swirling water. “We seem to have a lot of those lapses.”
He touched the shower curtain. “We do.”
There he was—the man who’d made love to her with such tenderness, who’d held her in his arms and twisted her hair between his fingers before she’d fallen asleep.
She slid her fingertip up the shower curtain but stopped just below where his index finger rested. Beads of water ran down the slick surface as they stood inches apart. She should detest the man on the other side of the curtain. And she did hate his intentions when it came to Tom and Lori’s wedding, but there had to be more.
Or not.
The knot in her belly twisted.
Was there more to Garrett or even Gaston? Hadn’t she hoped that her connection to them was real, or at least, based on mutual respect, only to learn, that in both cases, she was just some nice girl who didn’t make the cut?
Why did she always assume there was more to others and never more to herself?
You’re the most stifled, stuck person I know. I feel sorry for you, Bridget.
Jagged and rough, Garrett’s words cut through her.
But now was not the time to dwell on her failings, on all the missed opportunities and forgotten dreams—all the should haves and could haves.
This was who she was and perhaps all she’d ever be.
But one thing was certain. She needed to stick to the plan and make Lori’s wedding a success. Grandma Dasher had entrusted her with her little sister’s welfare, and she couldn’t fail the woman who had taken them in when there was no one else.
She drew back her hand, then turned off the water. With newfound resolve coursing through her veins, she was ready to do whatever it took to get the job done when a ping rang out in the bedroom.
“Is that my phone?” she called.
“No, it’s mine. And it’s a text from Tom.”
She wiped the water from her eyes.
Game on.
10
Bridget
“What does the text say?” she asked, doing her best to keep her tone light and breezy.
She could not let on that anytime these two communicated, it set her pulse racing.
“Tom says to tell you that the cakes are in the freezer. Do you know what that means? Are you making ice cream cakes or funnel cakes that require refrigeration? Why the hell would you need a freezer for a cake?”