“So.” I take a deep breath, bracing. “I’ve been thinking.”
Loren shuts the door. Rounds on me.
“First things first.” She meets my gaze. “Tell me you didn’t elope with Rosalind.”
Chapter Six
Loren
Bridger’s mouth closes and opens again, like he’s one of those claw games at Chuck E. Cheese I used to play until the quarters my parents stacked on the table ran out. One time, I snagged a stuffed unicorn before the claw slammed shut. That was before my mom got sick. Before everything changed for our family. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now.
What are we talking about?
Oh, right. Rosalind.
“Duh, I’m kidding,” I say, swatting at his arm. I probably shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee. “I just wanted to lighten things up after the heaviness yesterday. You know. Keep the joke going from our text. But the way you’re staring at me now …” I cut myself off and peer up at him, examining his features.
Big gray eyes. Hint of scruff on a tense jawline. Shoulders stiff.
“Wait a minute.” I swallow. “Are you actually—you can’t bethinking about—” I gasp. He ducks his head. “Bridger, no. Whatever you do,don’tmarry her!”
He sets down the toolbox and swipes a wave of hair from his eyes. “I might, though.”
“You … what?” I squawk like a wild bird caught in a cage. “Seriously?"
“I want to do good, Loren. I want tobegood. I want the Adams name to mean something positive in this world.”
“But this isn’t the nineteenth century. Therehasto be a better way than marrying a woman you don’t love to satisfy an old-fashioned clause in some antiquated trust.”
His eyes drift to mine, holding steady. “It’s the easiest way.”
Wow. Apparently, I’m going to need even more caffeine than I’ve already had.
“Hold on. Don’t go anywhere.” I poke him in the chest, like that will make him stay put and unmarried, then I rush to the kitchen, my hands trembling as I top up my coffee.
After that, I pour Bridger his own mug and add a splash of milk, no sugar, the way I’ve seen him prep his coffee a million times.
Okay, maybe not a million times, but still.
I might be the tiniest bit unhinged.
Hurrying back, I push the mug into his hands, then I nudge him over to the sofa. “Sit,” I command. He does as I say, and I drop down next to him, tucking my feet up. “Let’s start over,” I say. “You obviously came here to tell me you’re marrying Rosalind so I could talk you out of it. Yes?”
“No.” He sets down his coffee. Unsipped. “I just need to tell my mom I’m on board, so we can get this show on the road. And I was hoping you’d be with me when I call her. Since you’re my only friend who knows.”
“Or, as an alternative, we could callSayla and Dexand tellthemyou need an intervention.”
Bridger shrugs. “We probably should call them. I don’t want to wait until after I get married to?—”
“Stop saying you’re getting married!” My voice pitches a full octave.
“I think I am, though.”
I don’t know why my heart’s fluttering so much, but I assume it’s because of the coffee. And also, one of my best friends in the whole world is about to throw himself on some stupid sword.
And for what?
“You’d better swear you aren’t doing this for me.” My statement is more like a strangled rasp, and I take a big gulp of coffee to avoid choking.