was all over the place when it came to him and the revelations from yesterday.
The man owned—at least for the meanwhile, before he sold it off piece by piece—the Cupid Bakery chain and hadn’t said a word about it until the Angels walked in out of the blue and outed him.
One minute, she wanted to drop kick the guy off the top of Kringle Mountain. And the next, she’d find that she’d wasted the better part of an hour lost in a cloud of lust, her body tingling at the thought of his touch, his kiss, and the way he’d hold her in his arms as if she’d finally found a place where she belonged.
It wasn’t like she was trying to think about him, but her treacherous mind kept replaying the moments of when they couldn’t seem to take their eyes—and hands and lips—off each other like a soundtrack stuck on repeat.
The night they shared as strangers, cocooned in orgasmic bliss.
Their kiss in the car when they’d arrived at Kringle Mountain House.
Their almost kiss two minutes later on the front porch.
The kiss in the mountain house kitchen, laced with chocolate and the scent of peanut butter, that made her dizzy with desire.
Not to mention, the shower, the bakery under the mistletoe, and when she’d taken him out in the snowball version of capture the flag.
A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of his green, cat-like eyes devouring her in one titillating glance.
It was honestly a miracle she’d gotten anything done for this wedding with all the kissing and almost kissing the two of them had done in the last forty-eight hours.
He and Tom had rolled in well past one in the morning and must have really tied one on last night. She’d heard Soren enter the room, but before she could get out of bed and confront him, she’d found him snoring and out like a light, sprawled across the suite’s sleeper sofa with his phone still in his hand. And that’s where she’d left him this morning, still asleep and smelling like he’d ingested a distillery.
Bridget straightened the bow and came to her feet, grateful for the distraction. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Lori ran her hand along a garland made of fragrant evergreen branches. “I had to come to see for myself before the big day. Birdie, it’s everything I dreamed it would be. But I wish you’d let me help you put it all together.”
Bridget took a few steps back and stood at the altar as Lori came to her side, and the sisters took in the simple splendor of the Kringle Chapel. Reached only by a lone gondola, on the outside, the chapel appeared to be a modest stone structure with a pitched roof in keeping with the town’s Bavarian architecture. But once inside, the secrets of the petite sanctuary were instantly revealed. With four polished oak benches flanking each side of the aisle, the real beauty came from the view. Beyond that altar, a giant window framed the awe-inspiring snow-covered peaks and valleys of the majestic mountains that exacted their tranquil beauty from every angle. It was an extraordinary place that, while remote and set apart, wove its solitude together with kinship and a deep connection to all those who had set foot in the fairylike space.
A thick blanket of clouds had rolled in, and the gentle sprinkling of snow that began last night had continued throughout the day. It cast the space in a hazy blue glow, and while two antler chandeliers that mirrored the ones in the mountain house lit the space in pools of golden light, they flickered each time the wind whipped up.
Bridget squeezed her sister’s hand. “You know there’s no way I’d let you do that. It’s your wedding. This is my gift to you—and you know Grandma Dasher would have agreed. She was all about taking care of others, especially on special occasions. Plus, Dan and Delores have been great. They made sure everything I needed was up here. So, it wasn’t like I had to lug anything up and down the gondola.”
She’d ordered candles, garland, and white satin bows to decorate the chapel to look just as it had when their parents wed here nearly three decades ago.
And she’d succeeded.
Lori sighed, a deep contemplative sound.
Bridget bumped her sister’s shoulder playfully. “What is it?”
“This,” Lori answered as she walked over to the front row bench, sat down, then picked up one of the many photos scattered across