Chapter Two

~ Jenna ~

After being raked over the coals by Grace Marie, I just want to close the books on the Taylor-Buxston wedding.

I make a mental note to never, ever agree to plan the wedding of anyone I’ve dated in the past, no matter how casually, no matter how good the money or prestige.

It just isn’t worth it.

With all the attention focused on her, Grace Marie seems in better spirits at the rehearsal. She’s stone cold to me, but it’s okay.

If that’s what it takes to put a wrap on this event and avoid a potential runaway bride situation, then so be it. I can handle the silent treatment. Instead of making her talk to me, I direct all my last-minute questions to Patricia.

After the rehearsal, I go back to the office and work late smoothing out last-minute details for tomorrow’s reception, which will happen at the Hemlock Golf and Country Club.

I’ve done everything I can, and I feel confident that all the details are covered, but just in case, I have several alternate plans up my sleeve—I have a contingency for every possible scenario.

Now, I am finally home.

I can’t suppress a yawn as I let myself inside. I need a good night’s sleep so I’ll be fresh tomorrow.

I live in an apartment that comprises the entire lower level of Mom’s house. It’s a great setup. The three-story structure is built on the side of a mountain, which makes it conducive for dividing it into two separate living spaces.

Six months ago, when I returned to Hemlock from Raleigh to open my own event-planning business, Mom was thrilled to have me home. I moved to Raleigh after I graduated from the University of North Carolina to work for a commercial event planner, but after a couple of years, I was ready to strike out on my own. And I was homesick.

Not only was it good to be closer to my mom and grandmother, but Mom was excited to share her office in the back of the shop with me. Our businesses could feed each other.

At home, we pooled our money and hired a carpenter to put a door at the top of the staircase that leads down to the lower level to give me a sense of privacy and my own space. We also turned an area that used to house a wet bar into a small kitchenette.

I have my own entrance at the back of the house. Mom’s is off the front. The two of us share the driveway. It’s a great setup.

I’m not going to live in her house forever, but I do appreciate her giving me the opportunity to save money while I’m getting my business off the ground.

When I got home, I noticed Mom’s car was gone and then I remembered she was meeting with her cozy mystery writers group tonight. I’m proud of her writing endeavor and I’m happy she has such a good support group full of like-minded writers. She works so hard during the day running the bridal shop, I’m glad she hasn’t given up her dream of publishing a book someday.

For now, the only thing I’m dreaming of is a hot bath and a warm, cozy bed.

I’m ready to step into the bathtub when I hear the knock on the front door.

Good grief, it’s after 11:00. Who would come over at this hour?

Suddenly, I freeze with fear that something happened to Grandma, or maybe Mom had an accident. The temperature dropped about twenty degrees after the sun went down. A light snow had fallen, but it was a dry snow, not the wet stuff that would freeze and pose a hazard to drivers. But deer tended to pop out on the winding mountain roads no matter the weather.

I pull on my pink terry bathrobe, hurry to the door, and flick on the porch light. I’m both relieved and bewildered to find not the police, but Riley slouching against my doorjamb.

“Riley Buxston, what on earth are you doing here at this hour? You’re supposed to be at your bachelor party tonight.”

Riley staggers back a few steps and before he has a chance to open his mouth, I smell the alcohol and the stench of stale cigars.

“I was at my bachelor party, but my brother sent me home. I wasn’t ready to go home.” He leans in. “So, I came to see you.”

He jabs a finger in the vicinity of my shoulder, misses, and stumbles forward. I stick out a hand just in time to keep him from falling into me and push him out of my personal space.

There are few things I hate more than a sloppy drunk. “Please tell me you did not drive in your condition.”

I wrap my arms around myself for warmth against the cold and look to see if Riley’s car is parked up on the driveway. From my vantage point, I can’t see anything.

“Don’t be silly,” Riley slurs. “You were always so silly, Jenna. That’s one of the things I love about you. Jenna. Jenna, Jenna, the winna. Bo binna. Fe fi fo fenna. Jenna!”

He leans in toward me for the last word of the song. His acrid breath could start a fire. Again, I push him away.

No. I was never the silly one in our relationship. That was one of the many reasons we are no longer together.

“Ben put me in an Uber because he had to go home to Elizabeth. His old ball and chain.” He exaggerates the words. “I told the Uber driver I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to go see Jenna. Because you get me, Jenna. You’re the only one who ever understood me.”

Riley throws his head back and laughs, then breaks into a slurred, off-key rendition of the Phil Collins song 'Against All Odds,' singing about watching someone walk away.

Mrs. Wimberly’s three dogs start barking and howling next door, as if singing backup.

I put my finger to my lips. “Shhhh! Riley, stop it. Please. You’re going to wake up the entire neighborhood.”

“Jenna, oh, Jenna, my love. My unrequited love. Grace Marie wasn’t wrong, ya know. I love you. I’ll always love you. I’ll marry you right now if you’ll have me. Heh! But you won’t have me. Will you?”

“Riley, be quiet. You’re drunk.”

“I am so drunk.” He laughs. “And ya know what? I don’t care. And anyone who does, can kiss my big, fat hairy behind.” He slaps himself on the butt. “Did ya see what I did there, Jenna? I said behind. I didn’t say the word ass because I respect you so much.”

His words are one sloppy slur and he sprays a little spit as he talks. The Christmas wreath bounces as I take cover behind my partially open front door.

“But ya know what they say about getting drunk, don’t ya? Do ya know what they say, Jenna? They say looker listens the loops—uh—the licks. Uh—No. Wait. That’s not right. Wait.” He holds up his hand and staggers back a step. “The lips. Looker loosens the lips. It makes you tell the truth. I’m here to tell you the truth, Jenna, my love. I love you.”

This is my worst nightmare come true.

At least in the realm of the Taylor-Buxston wedding, which could devastate my business if it crashes and burns.

“Grace Marie would be so pissed at me if she knew I was here right now. Or if she knew I was drunk.” Again, he throws back his head and laughs, losing his balance and staggering into the porch rail. “Did you know British people call being drunk being pissed? Grace Marie would be pissed at me for being pissed. I couldn’t come to her like this, but you—” He points a wavering finger at me. “You totally get me, Jenna. That’s why I love you. You get me.”

He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Jenna Bell gets me, everybody! I want the whole world to know. And I want everyone to know that I love her. I love Jenna Bell!”

The dogs start barking again, and Mrs. Wimberly opens her door and scolds the animals.

I grab Riley’s arm and pull him closer to hiss in his ear. “Shhhh!”

“What? Whas wrong?” Riley looks around with exaggerated gestures. “Don’t worry, Jenna. I’ll protect you.” He steps in front of me as if he can defend me when he can barely even stand up.

“No,” I whisper, whacking him on the back to get his attention.

“Ow! You’ve always been a feisty thing, haven’t you?”

I gesture in the direction of Mrs. Wimberly’s house and press my index finger against my lips, trying to make Riley understand that he has to be quiet. The last thing I need is for Mrs. Wimberly, one of the founding officers of the Gossip Brigade, to see drunken Riley at my door at this hour.

“Come on, lemme in, Jenna,” Riley whines. “I’m cold. And no one will hear us if we go inside.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow his voice is even louder now than it was before. I make one more futile attempt at shushing him, but all it does is agitate him.

“I don’t care who knows, I love you, Jenna. I. Love. Jenna. Bell.”

“Jenna, is that you over there causing this ruckus? Who’s with you?”

Mrs. Wimberly’s back door is on the same level as the entrance to my apartment. The older woman opens the gate that separates our properties and walks over to the edge of my porch.

“Young lady, do I need to remind you what time it is—” Mrs. Wimberly stops midsentence and gasps. “Riley Buxston, what on earth are you doing here at this hour? Aren’t you supposed to be getting married tomorrow? Of course, I wasn’t invited to the wedding, but I hardly think it’s appropriate for you to be sneaking around your ex-girlfriend’s house this close to midnight.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Wimberly,” Riley slurs. “I had to see Jenna. She understands me. She gets me. Don’t tell Grace Marie you saw me here. She said she’d kill me if she found out I was fooling around with Jenna.”

“And we most certainly are not fooling around,” I add. “Mrs. Wimberly, I am so sorry Riley disturbed you. This is not what it looks like. He was at his bachelor party and, as you can see, he had a little too much celebration. He said Ben put him in a car to send him home, but for some reason Riley had the car stop here.”

Mrs. Wimberly eyes my bathrobe. Her puckered mouth and crossed arms tell me all I needed to know. She’s not buying it and it seems like the more I say, the deeper I dig myself in.

“Jenna, let me come inside,” Riley whines. “It’s cold out here and I don’t feel so good.”

“You’re not coming inside, Riley,” I say. “Stay here while I go get dressed and get my car keys and my purse. Then I am going to drive you home. You are just having wedding jitters. After you get over your hangover tomorrow, you are going to marry Grace Marie and you two are going to go on your honeymoon and live happily ever after. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Wimberly?”

The older woman shrugs. “If I were Grace Marie, I don’t know if I’d want to marry him. Showing up at his ex-girlfriend’s house the middle of the night before his wedding. Riley Buxston, you should be ashamed of yourself. And Jenna, you should know better—”

“Mrs. Wimberly, can you not see what’s really going on here?”

“Oh, I can see plenty from where I’m standing.”

Riley’s face crumples. “I am ashamed of myself. That’s the thing. Grace Marie is a good girl. She’s a sweet girl. And she’s going to make somebody a really good husband—Uh, I mean a good wife. I don’t deserve her. She doesn’t deserve to get saddled with a loser like me. I’ve done some bad things, Jenna. I’ve done some really bad things and I just don’t want to drag her into it.”

“Mrs. Wimberly, would you please stay here with Riley while I go get dressed? I’ll take him home.”

I let myself inside the front door before my neighbor has a chance to answer. I turn the lock on the door handle just in case Riley tries to follow me inside.

Dressing as fast as I can, I throw on jeans and the first sweater I can grab. I pull on my coat and snow boots. By the time I return to the porch, Mrs. Wimberly is nowhere to be found, but Riley is sitting on the first step, with his head in his hands.

“Come on, Riley, let’s get you home.”

Ten minutes later, I steer my car into the Birkshire Condominiums parking lot. Riley’s complex. It’s a new development built by his dad’s company.

Sometime along the short ride, Riley passed out. Before he did, he was alternately humming that Phil Collins tune to himself and muttering about what a screwup he was.

I didn’t say a word. I just let him hum and mumble himself to sleep. It was better than the alternative of him getting sick in my car, which, by the grace of God, he didn’t do.

After I park, I walk around to the passenger side and prod Riley until he wakes up and manages to stagger to his feet. Leaning on me, he lets me guide him through the empty glass and chrome lobby, to the elevator. He gives me his key card and the lift takes us to his condo on the top floor of the six-story building.

During the ride up, Riley tries to kiss me. I turn my head just in time. The would-be kiss ends up being more of a sloppy lick on the cheek.

I elbow him away. “Riley, stop it. Even if you weren’t getting married tomorrow, there is just no way—” I stop midsentence. I want to make it clear that I am not interested in being his drunken conquest. For that matter, I’m not interested in being his sober conquest. But even though I’m irritated, there is no sense in being cruel.

“You listen to me. Grace Marie is good for you. Do not ruin it by doing something stupid that you’ll regret tomorrow. Do you understand me?”

Riley nods.

“Good. Tomorrow you are going to show up at the church and we are going to pretend like tonight never happened. Got it?”

He nods again and spends the rest of the elevator ride contemplating his shoes.

At six stories tall, the Birkshire Condominiums is the tallest building in Hemlock. Charles Buxston prides himself on that fact, but being only six stories, I can’t see how they can justify calling Riley’s condo the penthouse even if it does occupy the entire top floor. Aren’t penthouses on top of skyscrapers?

I hoist Riley’s arm over my shoulder and walk him out of the elevator into what appears to be a beautiful luxury home. It’s the first time I’ve seen his place. It’s posh. I find it interesting that Charles and Patricia gave Riley and Grace Marie the best unit in the building.

Patricia delighted in telling me all about the condo gift during one of our wedding planning meetings. She also took great pride in the fact that Grace Marie wasn’t moving in until after the wedding. It’s probably a good thing she is staying with her bridal party at the Hemlock Hotel tonight. She’d probably kill us both if she saw us together at this hour.

I consider knocking on Mrs. Wimberly’s door when I get home to show her I’m alone. Maybe I should have a heart-to-heart with her. The last thing Grace Marie needs on her wedding day is for the Gossip Brigade to whisper about Riley’s drunken late-night visit to his ex-girlfriend’s house, which he is likely to either regret or forget by the time he’s in his tuxedo and standing at the altar.

I stagger-walk Riley over to the sofa. It’s a nice piece of furniture, brand new and of generous proportion, and made of Cordovan-colored leather.

Riley falls down onto the sofa, in a half sitting half lounging position, muttering his appreciation and undying love for me before he passes out and his nonsense gives way to open-mouthed snoring.

His head is on the sofa’s armrest, but his legs are hanging off the edge of the seat. I bend down and carefully lift his legs onto the cushion so he is completely prone.

After he’s in place, I stand stock-still, praying that the jostling didn’t wake him. He mutters something as he turns onto his side, then the snoring resumes.

When I’m sure the sleep has taken hold, I sigh, blowing out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Oh, Riley,” I whisper. “You are your own worst enemy. Why would you come over to my house tonight? Why would you do this to yourself and to Grace Marie? Especially after the scene in my office today.”

Even though Grace Marie has nothing to worry about when it comes to me stealing her man, I can’t blame her for being upset.

“You’re lucky to have a woman like Grace Marie, you big dummy,” I whisper, hoping it will sink into his subconscious. “She must really love you to put up with your nonsense.”

He answers me by snoring louder.

I glance around the condo. It’s neat and clean and decorated nicely in expensive-looking wood and leather. Several antique rugs lie atop the wide-plank, weathered gray pine floors, defining the space throughout the open-concept plan and pulling the design together. Probably the handiwork of Grace Marie or Patricia. Wedding gifts are all over the place, in various stages of being opened.

I pick up a beautiful crystal brandy decanter that’s sitting on the coffee table in a large tissue-lined gift box and look at it. Its fine facets reflect the light, reminding me of the huge stone on Grace Marie’s finger.

I run my own finger over the delicate Waterford sticker. There’s a small card in the box. I set down the decanter and read it.

Much love and many blessings in your new life together. Bebe and Harris Bailey.

Just as Patricia insinuated, this could’ve been my life, my wedding, my brandy decanter. I shudder, feeling as if I’ve dodged a bullet, and set down the decanter like it’s burning my fingers. But, with all this finery, no wonder the average person thinks I’m crazy for not wanting to marry Riley, for not jumping at the chance to become part of the wealthiest family in Hemlock.

Riley snorts then burrows his lanky frame deeper into his bed on the couch, murmuring something that sounds like my name.

Obviously, money doesn’t buy happiness. I study his handsome face, his chiseled features, and, to the uninformed, it probably seems as if he has it all. Despite the struggles with his family, he has made his way back into their good graces.

Please don’t mess it up again.

At heart, Riley is a good guy. He’s just spoiled and loves to party and have a good time—all the time. After flunking out of college, he always had a crowd around him; he was generous with his money and attracted the wrong people, who tended to take advantage of him.

If I would’ve gotten back together with him, I would’ve always been the adult in the relationship. Even though I have no romantic feelings for him, he will always have a place in my heart.

I spy an expensive-looking chunky woven throw, tied with a ribbon and displayed in an open box, obviously another wedding gift. I untie the ribbon, unfold it, and gently spread it over him.

“Riley, this is your chance,” I whisper. “Don’t blow it.”

As I brush a blond curl off his forehead, I silently wish him well and say a prayer for Grace Marie, that she will be strong enough to help Riley keep his act together.