Always a Bridesmaid
By Cindi Madsen
Copyright © 2020 by Cindi Madsen. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
The ironic thing about whenever Violet Abrams entered Uncertainty, Alabama, was how uncertain she felt about being there. It hardly helped matters that back home, in what used to be her favorite chapel, a grand ceremony was taking place without her.
Yep, the irony was strong today.
Maybe she was using ironic the wrong way—words had never been her strong point. She captured images that could say a thousand words without uttering a single one.
Or she used to, anyway.
Before a jerkface who’d promised always and forever had made a mockery of her best-laid plans. Obviously he hadn’t meant it in the classic every single occasion, without exception, without ending definitions.
Which brought her to the annoying word never. As in how she’d sworn that she’d never, ever live in Uncertainty, Alabama, again. Not unless someone dragged her kicking and screaming.
And yet, there was the sign that welcomed her to town.
Memories from the last time she’d been in Alabama drifted to the surface, prompting her to eye the rearview mirror.
Violet jerked her chin level and gripped the steering wheel that much harder. She was trying to let the past go. Finding silver linings and redirecting her negative notions and emotions. “While my closest girlfriends are in Spanx, binding dresses, and pinchy high heels, I’m rocking the hell out of these comfy yoga pants.”
The clerk at the 7-Eleven she’d stopped at earlier to refuel and re-caffeinate had definitely noticed. He’d checked her out quite thoroughly, and considering she had on yesterday’s smudged makeup, she was slightly flattered.
Even if he had focused a bit too much on her butt.
Funny enough, the woman in the chip aisle had also examined Violet’s backside. And she’d wondered if she was accidentally putting out the wrong vibe, thanks to recently swearing off men.
It wasn’t until Violet had removed the nozzle from the gas tank and caught her reflection in her car’s side mirror that everything clicked into place. Turned out her lilac yoga pants were light enough to display the bright pink hearts and scribbled ciao for now on her panties.
Suffice it to say, Victoria’s Secret was out.
While it’d been super embarrassing, at least she’d worn her pretty underwear and not the granny kind.
Look at me, being all optimistic.
The brakes squealed as she pulled her car to a stop in front of Maisy’s Bakery, and the binder Violet despised but couldn’t quite bring herself to toss slid out from underneath the passenger seat.
So much work. So many beautiful images that’d once brought her joy. All contained in a bulging, glittery purple binder that made her want to cry. “I’m working on positive thinking right now, thank you very much. And you’re not helping, Mr. Binder, so just go to your…room.”
Violet stretched over the console and shoved the cursed object back under the seat, along with the discarded soda bottle and empty candy wrappers from her four-hour road trip from Pensacola, Florida.
Ooh, what if I call this a sabbatical?
No, a journey of self-discovery. Like Eat, Pray, Love.
Or Wild, but with less walking and outdoor shit.
The last page of her inspiring memoir formed shape in her mind: And in the end, I discovered eating pastries in the middle of an air-conditioned room and boinking burly mountain men who showered on a regular basis was the true way to happiness.
Ah, I feel enlightened already. Since she was an all-or-nothing girl, Violet brought her hands up in prayer position and added a “Namaste.”
It worked like a charm, too. Her uncertainty, along with the other crap twisting at her insides, eased as she took in the gilded letters that spelled out Maisy’s Bakery across the window.
Excitement fired through her, and she pulled on the sides of her messy bun until the elastic band hit the crown of her head. To ensure her butt got less attention this go-round, Violet snatched her hoodie off the box in the front seat.
Multicolored frames stuck up from the box, providing a striped peek of the pictures inside. Just enough to determine which wedding they’d been taken at. The jeweled magenta headband meant Leah, the first from their crew to tie the knot. The other picture was upside down, the mauve dresses Amanda had chosen for her bridesmaids on display, along with the strappy silver heels that’d cut off circulation to their toes.
Seven used to be Violet’s lucky number. But Maisy’s wedding marked her seventh time acting as a bridesmaid, and after how disastrously that turned out, Violet had given up all things wedding-related.
Problem was, it was hard not to think of weddings when a) your biggest jobs involved them and b) your favorite pictures were from your closest friends’ weddings.
Think about Maisy and cupcakes and baby cheeks. She wouldn’t even have to work on stifling her warring emotions once she got ahold of those three things.
Violet climbed out of her car and hit the auto lock button, even though Uncertainty was one of those idyllic places where the only crime was not waving.
All her belongings were inside, though, including the expensive Canon 5D Mark IV camera that’d once felt like another limb.
I’ll get there again. Maisy and I have a plan, and everything will be better if I can just make it through the last few hours of the day.
The door to the bakery chimed as she stepped inside, and Maisy was waving to a customer as she said, “Bye. Have a sweet day!”
“Violet!” Maisy shouted, loud enough that the customer jumped. Her half sister rounded the counter at a sprint, and Violet took a few large strides herself.
A moment before they met in the middle, she hesitated, a pinch dubious about going all in, since they’d never done the squealing/huge-hug combo before.
But Maisy closed the last foot of space and gave her a hug worthy of a python, squeezing Violet’s breath out over her shoulder, and it’d never felt so reassuring to be breathless.
Due to their complicated family dynamics, they hadn’t been close growing up, and the embraces they’d previously shared were quick and robotic. Their conversations had been about the same up until the past few months.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Maisy said. “Obviously the bakery is in severe need of a sprucing—not that you have to get started right away. I’ve just been waiting all day, and you’re actually here, and in case you can’t tell, I’m super excited.”
“I think the term is ‘high on sugar.’”
Maisy laughed and leaned in, as if she were about to divulge trade secrets. “I also invested in an espresso machine. After too many nights with too little sleep, it went from a want to a need.”
The chime over the door sounded, and Maisy glanced at the family of five walking in.
“Don’t mind me,” Violet said, stretching her neck from side to side to work out the kinks the long drive had left her with. “I’ll have a look around and start making plans. We’ll catch up once you close shop for the day.”
Maisy bobbed her head and hustled over to assist the family studying the glass display of treats. Her chatter filled the air, and Violet wondered just how many espressos and cupcakes Maisy had downed today. And if she would hook her up with enough sugar and caffeine to counteract the bittersweet thickness coating her throat.
Being here was…surreal.
Speaking of surreal, let’s focus on art! Violet propped her fists on her hips and studied the dingy walls of the bakery. They definitely needed freshening, and she was confident she could do better than bleak white walls and sparse, dusty decorations.
The wall underneath the front counter could use a duskier color that’d turn the glass display into more of a focal point. The wood floors were beautiful, and with a bit of buffing and perhaps a coat of varnish, they’d be perfection.
There’s a lot of potential. As she watched Maisy place her sugary works of art in a pale-pink box while beaming at her customers, it was so obvious her sister was doing what she loved. Out of nowhere, a wave of affection slammed into Violet so strongly her knees wobbled.
It was so good to see Maisy in person again.
She’d thought the phone calls would fade, especially once Isla had been born—a whole month early. New babies were time-consuming, so Violet completely understood.
But if anything, she and Maisy talked even more.
And when Violet had broken down, spilled her guts, and added how much today was going to suck, Maisy insisted she come and stay with her for a while. At least until she got her feet back under her.
“I don’t want to impose,” Violet had said. Maisy had clucked her tongue and told her that with her husband deployed, she was desperate for company. Plus, she happened to have an extra room, no charge.
Not wanting to feel like a freeloader, she’d insisted they strike a deal: Violet would renovate the bakery while she was in town.
Which, if she had it her way, would only be a month. Two, tops.
“Have a sweet day,” Maisy said, bidding farewell to the final customer. She flipped the sign on the door to closed and walked to where Violet stood, still staring at the wall.
Blank canvases used to give her happy tingly vibes. Sadly, the spark didn’t magically ignite and spread.
“So?” Maisy asked. “What do you think?”
“The place has great bones, as they say. And the flooring is amazing.” Violet stomped on it, as if that were a proper test. “Fresh paint, color accents, and well-placed artwork, and it’ll reflect how people feel when they bite into one of your delicious desserts.”
Maisy’s smile was a lot like her mother’s, but unlike the “smiles” Cheryl Hurst gave Violet, Maisy’s was genuine. “I’m so glad you’re here to help. When I first bought the place, I had to focus on updating the appliances. After that, I hardly had money for ingredients. Now I finally have the means to revamp the rest, but, thanks to my adorable baby, not the time. Plus, I’m no good at decor.”
“Yeah, I remember your childhood bedroom. It was like a color-blind person had decorated it.”
Maisy shoved Violet’s shoulder. “Hey. It wasn’t that bad.”
Violet huffed a laugh. “As someone who’s been trained in complementary colors, I can confidently say it was. You also had a poster of that caveman-esque dude with the big head, large nose, and oddly tiny mouth above your bed.”
The gasp Maisy made echoed off the wall. “It was a One Tree Hill poster, and you must not’ve watched the show if you don’t understand the allure of Nathan Scott.”
“I have, and Lucas Scott was the better-looking brother by far.”
“Seriously? He has a squishy face. And he never fully opens his eyes.”
Violet started to argue but then slowly let her mouth close. “Fair point on that last part, but he had great hair. Besides, guys with the pale skin and dark hair combo aren’t my type.”
Maisy swept a chestnut strand that’d fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “You’d rule a guy out just because of that?”
While Violet had never accepted the Hurst last name, she didn’t have a choice about sharing the same dark reddish-brown shade as her father, half sister, and half brother. Whenever she visited, it was the trait that left the locals saying “Oh, you’ve got so much Hurst in you.”
As if that wasn’t a disturbing way to put it.
During her teenage years, she’d highlighted her hair uber-blond to avoid blending in to the family she’d never belonged to.
Sure, staying away from anyone semi-resembling her father was a flawed theory at best—one that hadn’t done a great job saving her from pain—but she clung to it anyway. Too many other things had changed in the last several months, and she craved the familiar. “I have a very precise system. Basically, I look at a guy, and if he’s a hot douchebag who strings me along for years and years, I decide he’s the one.”
Thanks to being based in reality, the joke didn’t quite land.
Before Maisy could send any pity her way, Violet swiped a hand through the air. She’d gotten good at pretending losing an entire decade of plans didn’t get to her. “Anyway, that was my old system, before swearing off men in general. Who needs ’em?”
“I do.” Maisy sighed, a dreamy lilt to her words when she added, “I just wish mine wasn’t so far away.”
Violet winced, and not only because the words pricked the spot over her heart. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I know how much you miss him, and Travis is one of the good ones.”
This time, it was Maisy who waved a hand through the air. “Not a big deal. I get what you mean.” She draped her arm around Violet’s shoulders and rested her head against hers. “I do hope that someday, when you meet the right person, you’ll change your mind.”
A nice sentiment, but when it came to the “right” person, Violet had decided it wasn’t in the cards for her, and most days, she was fine with that.
It wasn’t like getting married was her main goal in life. And in spite of what her ex or anyone else who’d been around her this past decade might think, her near-obsession with planning her own nuptials truly hadn’t been about the wedding.
Back when the photography muse was being kind, weddings had been her favorite jobs. They runneth over with emotion, and Violet had mastered the art of capturing unscripted moments: the father of the bride choking up as he no longer became the main man in his daughter’s life; grandparents reminiscing on the day they’d wed as they shared a dance; kids sneaking cake in their fancy clothes; and the bridesmaids laughing together, working to ensure the bride had the perfect day.
Then there were the vows.
That was her very favorite part of weddings and what always made her cry. Declaring to everyone that you were choosing this person to spend your entire life with. Pledging to continue doing the little things that’d make them feel cherished.
Always and forever… The prick over her heart turned to a stab, one that reopened old wounds.
“Violet? You okay?”
Violet blinked, annoyed to find wetness clinging to her lashes. “Sorry. I’m so used to working in silence that I began mentally flipping through color schemes.”
Skepticism flitted through the tight press of Maisy’s mouth, but she was nice enough not to call her a liar, liar, wedding plans on fire.
“Does this mean my idea might work?” Maisy asked, a whole heap of hope in her voice.
During art school, Violet had dabbled in several mediums. The theory was that taking on a low-pressure job would get her creative juices flowing.
As the image of the renovated bakery took shape in Violet’s mind, the tingles she’d searched in vain for earlier flickered.
“Stripes or large dots in cheery colors will go on that dividing wall.” A familiar buzz skated across her skin and kickstarted her pulse. It wasn’t as strong as when she used to peer through her camera lens, but it whispered that passion was still somewhere inside her. “We could also paint and re-cover the chairs to match.”
“I trust you,” Maisy said, and a string tugged in the center of Violet’s chest.
Maisy’s phone chimed. “Time to pick up Isla from day care. I used to be organized, but having her zapped my brain. I kept losing track of time, so I set an alarm. Occasionally I bring her back to finish up, and today is gonna be one of those days.”
“Do you mind if I stay and brainstorm?” In addition to wanting to take advantage of the creative spark, Violet didn’t want to see people in town. Namely, her father and his wife. With everything else messing with her head today, she couldn’t handle an uncomfortable interaction with the rest of the Hursts.
“Not at all.” Maisy slipped off her apron and tossed it on a nearby table. “But could you do me a favor? I poured batter for a couple batches of cupcakes but was waiting for the oven to preheat. Can you stick them in for me?”
“Just stick them in?” A simple request, but Violet’s nerves stretched thin at the idea of anything involving baking. She’d told Maisy she would gladly assist with the selling and eating of goodies but not to expect help in the kitchen.
“Yep. And set the timer for fifteen minutes.” Maisy swung open the door. “The place isn’t far, so I’ll be back soon.”
Just put in the cupcakes and set a timer. Sounds simple enough.
“Before I forget, are there almonds in any of the pastries? Not that I’m going to eat everything, but I also might eat everything, and I’d rather not go into anaphylactic shock when I do.”
Maisy laughed. “Steer clear of the poppy seed muffins and the bear claws. You can see the slivered almonds on the top of those, though. Other than that, chow down.”
Violet rounded the wall that separated the front of the bakery from the kitchen. She found two giant cupcake tins, the batter pink, cream, and brown. Suddenly she was craving Neapolitan ice cream.
Heat blasted her face as she opened the enormous oven door. Wow. I bet this fancy equipment practically bakes the cupcakes itself.
Her phone chimed and then rang as she put in the second tin. Violet fished the vibrating thing out of her pocket and, when it was the college roommate responsible for her first time as a bridesmaid, answered. “Hello?”
“Oh, hon,” Leah said. “How you holding up?”
Shit. Violet should’ve known better than to answer. All this conversation was going to do was remind her exactly what day it was. “I’m fine. I’m with my sister and—”
“Your wedding would’ve been so much classier. The bride’s gown is totally making guests uncomfortable. Girl’s one movement away from a nip slip, and I’m about to passive aggressively play ‘Rock Your Body’ so we can relive Justin Timberlake ripping off Janet Jackson’s top and calling it a wardrobe malfunction. Amanda and I sent you pics through the group chat so you can see for yourself.”
Violet shut the oven door with her hip and stared at the strange buttons and controls. And she’d thought the stove in her apartment was perplexing. She hit one, five, and searched for the timer button.
“Benjamin made his choice, and honestly I hope they’re happy together.” The words scraped on the way out, leaving her throat achy and raw. Okay, so while she was trying to be the bigger person, she wasn’t quite there yet.
“I give the marriage less than a year,” Leah said.
“Six months,” Violet heard in the background, meaning Amanda was chiming in and they were seated next to each other.
“Just promise me if the bastard comes crawling back to you, you won’t take him back.”
The beep, beep sounded as Violet pushed more buttons. The digital readout didn’t begin counting down, so she tried a few more. “I won’t, I swear. Right now, I’m trying not to think about him or the wedding at all.”
Or the fact that he popped the question at month two and got married within six months of meeting her.
“I know, I know. We just thought it’d make you feel better to know that Crystal went the tacky route. You’re so much funnier and more down to earth…”
AKA, plainer, with a witty personality that made up for the plainness.
“But now I’m also thinking…” Leah shifted from gossip mode to weepy in two seconds flat, which meant she’d been enjoying the open bar. “It’s my fault for introducing you two in the first place. I wasn’t even going to come to this sham of a wedding on principle, but Ben is Casey’s best friend”—sniff—“just know that I know the jackass never deserved you. You’re going to find someone so much better.”
Informing Leah she’d sworn off men would only make her cry more. Then she’d grab Amanda so they could FaceTime and lament how it was supposed to be Violet. Perhaps even suggest single friends, even though they’d been in the same group of friends forever and knew all the same people.
Violet assured Leah she was fine and suggested she go enjoy dancing with her husband, who was a great guy regardless of his taste in friends.
Since she wasn’t sure if she’d set the timer right, she noted the minutes on her phone, doing her best to ignore the group chat they’d titled “The Bridesmaid Crew.” Since her friends from college had busy lives and were active at different times, they’d created it to stay connected no matter what.
Beads of sweat formed, the heat driving Violet toward the front of the bakery, where she snagged a frosted sugar cookie.
As she perched herself on the edge of a table, she pressed her phone screen against the worn fabric of her yoga pants. It began to burn her thigh, urging her to flip her cell over and study the pictures of her ex’s wedding that she absolutely didn’t want to see.
Why would she torture herself?
As if someone else were in charge of her wrist, it twisted. Without permission, her thumb tapped on Leah’s message.
Then there they were. Her ex-basically-fiancé and his blushing bride.
I’d blush, too, if I were wearing that gown. The neckline of Crystal’s dress plunged halfway to her belly button. On a slender, small-breasted woman, it might look classy, but Crystal’s fake boobs were about to make their escape. The tapered waist showed off the fact that, unlike Violet, Crystal didn’t need to lose twenty pounds, and the skirt and train were detailed with—what else?—crystals.
Maybe the gown was on the risqué side, but there was no denying how radiant the bride was.
Leah had added a GIF of Heidi Klum making a face, the word wow along the bottom, and Amanda had added a yikes one that showed Britney Spears pulling the kind of face you did when you’d just seen something bad.
With the torture already in full swing, Violet shoved the last of the cookie into her mouth and scrolled to the next picture—this one sent by Amanda.
Violet’s heart ceased beating when she spotted the bride’s bouquet and the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses. The image blurred as her eyes filled with unshed tears.
There were only so many colors, but purple? Seriously? Benjamin couldn’t tell Crystal, Whoa, hold on there, Violet’s favorite color is purple, and I’ve seen pictures in a dream wedding binder that are eerily similar to everything you’ve picked out?
How dare they take that from me. My name freaking means purple!
No longer fully in control of her body, Violet stormed out of the bakery. She yanked open the passenger door to her car and dug around for the stupid binder she never wanted to see again.
Her bun snagged on one of the screws underneath the seat, prickling pain accompanying the tug that freed it. A mad sort of dizziness set in as she withdrew the binder.
As if to spite her, it glittered in the last rays of daylight.
Violet grabbed the lighter out of her glovebox and stormed into the alleyway beside the bakery.
“Someday, my curvy ass!” Someday had been Benjamin’s favorite lie. The way he strung her along for an entire decade.
We’ll get married after we graduate college.
After I land this job.
Once we have more money saved.
I’m so stressed right now, babe. Let’s wait till after I get the promotion.
Someday soon, but I really need a new car, and it’s the smarter investment.
After every single wedding they attended together—most of which she’d been a part of—Benjamin would lovingly peer into her eyes and say, Babe, we’re next.
Ten years she’d waited.
Toward the end of Maisy’s reception, where she’d once again been a bridesmaid, Violet had gone in search of her boyfriend. She’d resolved to tell him it was high time they set a date and do the damn thing already.
Only when she finally found him in an abandoned room of the reception hall, one of the female wedding guests had been straddling him, her skirt up around her waist and Benjamin’s tongue down her throat.
“That asshole.” Violet chucked her wedding binder against the outside wall of the bakery. Satisfaction mixed with the anger coursing through her as she watched pages scatter across the dirty ground.
She squatted and ripped out more pages, which wasn’t easy to do, since she’d slid everything into reinforced plastic sheet protectors. She shook loose the glossy magazine spreads with their beautiful tiered cakes and bridal dresses and bouquets, all in varying shades of purple.
That should be enough kindling to set the rest on fire, she thought as she rolled her thumb over the lighter.
A blue-and-orange flame flickered to life, and she couldn’t wait until it grew and decimated her former hopes and dreams.
…
“For the bridesmaid dresses, I’m thinking super-low-cut tops with short skirts,” Ford said as he flopped on his couch for the first wedding-planning meeting of what he’d been informed would be many. “Not short enough that I’ve gotta tuck my junk, but I want to show off the muscular thighs my firefighter training has given me.”
Addie, one of his very best friends and the bride-to-be, giggled.
Lexi blushed.
The three German shepherd puppies that’d been delivered to him earlier this week ran amok.
A lot of life-changing events had happened within his tight-knit group of friends last fall. His buddy Shep—Will Shepherd to most everyone else—had married Lexi, the blond debutante currently tilting her head at Ford. Then, in the middle of all the pre-wedding activities, two of his other closest friends had gone and fallen in love.
At first, Ford had hated the idea of Tucker and Addie. But once he’d seen how hard Tucker worked to win over the girl beside him, how good they were together, and—most importantly—realized the group wasn’t going to be split by their merger, he got on board.
Now they were soon to be hitched.
When Murph, known as Addison Murphy to the rest of the town, had asked him to be her bridesdude/man of honor, of course he’d said yes. He’d do most anything for his friends.
Lexi, one of the other bridesmaids—along with Addie’s sister, Alexandria, who was lucky enough to get out of wedding planning on account of living the next state over—withdrew a giant binder and a few thick magazines from her bag. She tossed them on his coffee table next to the dog toys and the remotes, where they starkly contrasted the pile of Alabama Outdoor News.
“This should get us started,” she said, notebook and a pen at the ready.
“Started?” Addie blinked at the stack. “Are we startin’ a fire? ’Cause that’s what that pile of nonsense makes me wanna do.”
Lexi sighed and crossed one leg over another, the skirt of her red dress flaring with the motion.
Like he said, he’d do anything for Murph, who’d always been one of the guys, but wedding planning tiptoed mighty close to the line. Her brown eyes were as wide as he assumed his were, though, and they’d sworn long ago to never leave a man behind.
Since he was the best dude and Addie didn’t know the first thing about being a girly girl, Lexi was the only one experienced in everything a wedding entailed, so here they were.
Staring at a color-coded binder.
Addie reached for the six-pack of Naked Pig Pale Ale beer. After taking a large glug from her bottle, she hesitantly lifted the binder off the table.
Give him a fire to fight, a lost hiker to find, or a destructive force of nature to contend with, and he’d jump right in, no fear. But wedding to-do lists filled with line upon line of gibberish? Well, he was about to cry for his mommy.
Time to nut up. Unfortunately, he needed to put the puppies through search and rescue training after this meeting, so he’d be getting through it sober.
Ford grabbed a non-alcoholic beer and cracked it open.
Murph flipped to the section marked tables and blinked at the contents. “Um, I guess we’ll start with…table decorations?” She glanced at him, as if he had any idea what kind of decorations would go on tables. Wasn’t that what plates and food were for? Everything else just got in the way of eating.
The leather of his couch creaked as he shifted closer and peered over Addie’s shoulder. “Sure. Those tablecloths look nice,” he said, gesturing to the rows of multicolored fabric.
Lexi frowned. “Those aren’t for tables; they’re for the chairs.”
“Chairs need tablecloths?” he asked, and Lexi sighed.
Addie nudged him with her elbow. “Yeah, didn’t you know that, Ford? That way, instead of using the tablecloth as a napkin, you’ve got one on your chair, too.”
“Smart.”
They laughed. Lexi pursed her lips.
Over the course of being one of Shep’s “groomsmen,” Addie had grown close to Lexi, but moments like this brought out how different they were. If it were up to Addie and Tucker, they’d keep the ceremony small. Around here, though, weddings were as much for family members and townsfolk as the couple, and it was easier to go with the flow than catch flack the rest of their lives.
The puppies barked as they began play fighting, yelps and growls filling the air. Pyro, Ford’s trusty black German shepherd, lifted his head from his bed by the fireplace. While his dog was over the extra company already, Pyro couldn’t help but help. It was why he was the best rescue dog in all of Alabama.
That and because Ford, who trained K-9 units for search and rescue missions, had trained Pyro himself, from the time he was a bouncy puppy.
Lexi glanced at the dogs. “I’m not denying your new litter is ridiculously cute, but we can’t plan a wedding like this. They’re so noisy.”
“Noisy” was a given in the beginning. “You’ll be amazed at how much better they are in a week or so.”
Ford hadn’t named the puppies yet, but the biggest troublemaker lifted his leg and peed on Lexi’s high-heeled shoe.
To her credit, she didn’t shriek or even scold the puppy. The arched eyebrow she shot Ford, on the other hand, made it clear he was in the doghouse. “Can I please have an hors d’oeuvre to go with my odeur d’pee? Oh, that’s right. You didn’t make any.”
To say Lexi was used to playing hostess was an understatement. Normally he’d let her have at it, but if he left the puppies alone too long, they’d destroy the house. “I brought out the tub of jerky and a six-pack of beer, didn’t I?”
“I think we just picked out the wedding meal,” Addie said. “Jerky and beer for all.”
“Hear, hear.” Ford tapped the end of his piece of jerky to Addie’s, and then they both took giant bites.
Judging from the unamused expression on Lexi’s face, they were both in the doghouse now.
“We’ll have the next meeting at your place,” he said in a placating tone.
“I know it’s overwhelming, and I’m here to help.” Lexi leaned over the coffee table and flipped to the tab marked color scheme. “Once we pick your colors and pin down other major details, the rest will fall into place.”
“All’s I care about is that it’s not crimson,” Addie said. “No offense,” she added because they’d given Shep shit about crimson being one of his wedding colors. “But I work for Auburn, and it’d be embarrassing to have the coaches at my wedding wonderin’ if I’m a traitor.”
Ford lifted his can of beer. “War Eagle!”
Lexi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Not this again. As I’ve explained, I just like red. And while I realize I said ‘pick whatever you want,’ an orange wedding would be hideous. I doubt you want your bridesmaids to look like they recently broke out of prison.”
“Considerin’ the guy next to me, it wouldn’t be a total shock,” Addie teased.
Pyro lifted his head and barked, and Ford’s spine went stick straight. From the puppies, he wouldn’t think twice, but Pyro didn’t bark unless there was a reason.
“What is it?”
Pyro jumped out of his bed and barked again, his nose aimed toward the fireplace.
“McGuire,” Addie said to him, plenty of scolding in that one word. “Didn’t we talk about turning off the scanner and being present? About how you’ve got to keep yourself from getting burned out?”
His friends got on him about how he never took a break and answered every call, no matter how big or small. Sometimes they were the next town over and he’d show up about the time things were wrapping up. He was attempting to regain more balance in his life, but so far, he’d mostly failed.
Problem was, he never wanted another “what if?” on his conscience.
When Ford heard the chirp of his beeper—not the scanner that he had turned off—he stood and retrieved it from the mantel. He hit the recall button and listened to the message.
Smoke reported at Maisy’s Bakery.
“It’s a fire.” While there were several paramedics throughout the county, there weren’t many volunteer firefighters in town. It was almost a relief he had a solid reason to take the call so he didn’t have to wonder how it’d gone all night, and Lexi and Addie both nodded their understanding.
The radio crackled as Ford clicked it on and depressed the button. “I’m responding to the situation at Maisy’s Bakery.”
“Copy that,” dispatch said. “The caller said there’s not much smoke, but she wanted to err on the side of caution. Darius is near the station and is gonna bring the truck, just in case.”
Ford’s keys jingled as he scooped them off the mantel, and Pyro stood at his side, ready to leap into action. “I’ll meet him there.”
…
I realize now what we were missing. Why I could never set a wedding date.
The explanation Benjamin had given Violet after catching him in flagrante flayed her right open, but the javelin to her exposed heart came when he explained that with Crystal, it was love at first sight.
“And when you think about it,” he had said, delivering the final, decimating blow, “it’s a good thing she and I met before you and I made a huge mistake and got married.”
“I’ll show you mistake,” Violet said now, the metal gears digging into the pad of her thumb as she reignited the flame that’d flickered out. She lowered the lighter to the crumpled bridal magazine pages, thinking how cathartic it would be to watch the blaze consume the entire pile.
Smiling brides shriveled in on themselves as the edges curled and turned black. Plastic sheet protectors melted to the papers Violet had reverently cut out to add to her collection.
Then a breeze kicked up, the mound she’d formed glowing bright orange. A couple of partially burned pages fluttered and blew off the top of the pile, one landing against a dried-out weed, which caught.
“No, no, no.” She stomped it out, chased after the other sheet, and did the same to it. As her heart pounded from the adrenaline, she thought of how easily the fire could spread and burn out of control.
Just like that, Violet returned to her body, the possessed, jilted woman no longer in control.
This was stupid. Dangerous.
And in the end, nothing would change.
Violet peeled off her hoodie and used it to beat out the blaze, adding stomping to her efforts once the flames flickered and sputtered. As soon as she was sure the pile had been extinguished, she plopped on the hard ground.
Defeat weighing heavy on her shoulders, she slid her melty binder from underneath the charred heap, gathered it to her chest, and let loose the tears she’d tried to hold back all day.
She sniffed and swore she smelled smoke—different than the scent that’d accompanied the burning of the magazine pages. Less…chemical, maybe?
She lowered her mangled binder and stared at it, double-checking that it wasn’t aflame.
Her eyes stung, and acrid fumes burned her nose.
What the—? Violet sprang to her feet when she saw puffs of gray belching from the back door of the bakery. “The cupcakes!”
She sprinted over and tapped the handle with her fingertips before wrapping her hand around the metal. When it didn’t scald her palm, she tugged.
Luckily, the door wasn’t locked. As she rushed inside and took in the hazy air and the flames flickering around the edges of the oven door and crawling up the wall, she didn’t feel so lucky.
A quick scan didn’t reveal the location of a fire extinguisher, so Violet grabbed a potholder and tried to yank open the door.
It wouldn’t budge, and intensifying heat seeped into her skin, making it impossible to hold on.
“Wait. Why are you at six hundred degrees?” she shouted at the oven when she caught the temperature on the display.
Since the appliance didn’t answer and the smoke was growing thicker, Violet dialed 911, hoping it wouldn’t take forever for someone to respond in this dinky town.
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