Not fair—or accurate. Charlotte’s shop was cute, with turquoise walls, trendy wall art, and gleaming mahogany tables, each boasting a teal and brown striped table runner. A chalkboard stand advertised the day’s specials by the entrance. Just yesterday she had hung a beautiful crimson and orange autumn wreath on the door. Charlotte bit her lower lip, reeling in the sarcastic responses that crowded her mind. Too bad the customer was always right. Because so many things about Brittany were just plain wrong.
The man in the ball cap fist-bumped Mr. Not-So-Right over Brittany’s head. “Sorry we’re late.” Wait, what? They knew each other? Oh. His friend he said was meeting him here. Then that meant . . .
Not his wedding.
Hope rallied, then immediately deflated. Melissa still existed, even if she wasn’t quite ring-worthy yet. Charlotte needed to quit this train of thought, right now. She’d hold out for an accountant or a lawyer. With suspenders. And a bow tie.
Definitely not distressed-denim jeans and a dark gray button-down with the sleeves rolled halfway up.
“It’s okay, you’re not late.” Mr. Right turned back to Charlotte. “I was just telling . . . um, Ms. . . .?” His voice trailed off and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to fill in the blank, but the direct eye contact made her forget.
He didn’t know her name.
Well, at the moment, she didn’t either. She knew his favorite football team was the Saints and he knew she had an addiction to all things Jane Austen—but he didn’t know her name. How had they never actually introduced themselves?
“Char—Charlotte.” Great. This was college all over again—stuttering and moony-eyed over a hot guy who would inevitably break her heart if she handed it over. Chemistry wasn’t everything. Hadn’t she learned that the hard way? She was a grown-up, a mom, with her own business—and the debt to go with it—and had no time to waste on what-ifs that shouldn’t be. She squared her shoulders. “Charlotte Cantrell.”
“Charlotte. Right.” His voice dipped low, and he held his hand out across the counter. “I’m Will Martin.”
She shouldn’t have taken off the glove she’d used when gathering his order. The contact of her palm against his sent a shiver down her spine and a burst of heat through her chest. “Nice to meet you.”
“You might think otherwise in a minute.” Will turned back to the bride and groom. “This is Brittany and Adam—the happy couple.”
“Is that what we are?” Adam joked, and Brittany elbowed him in the gut.
“Very funny.” Her glare proved it wasn’t. “And we’re not late. We’re early.”
Adam shrugged. “I told Will we’d be here at five thirty.”
“Our appointment isn’t until six o'clock.” Brittany’s eyes narrowed further, suspicion clouding her face. “Wait a minute. Why did you tell Will to meet us, anyway?”
Adam’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Brittany’s eyes narrowed to slits. Charlotte watched back and forth like an observer at a tennis match. She should be going to grab the cake samples to intervene, but instead she held her breath and waited to see if maybe they’d just cancel the wedding altogether.
“This is our wedding, Adam.” Brittany pressed her manicured finger against his chest and then poked at her own. “Mine and yours. Not Will’s. I know you guys were inseparable in college but believe it or not, you can actually do things without—”
“Actually, Brittany . . .” Will stepped between them, and draped an arm around their shoulders, his voice calm and soothing. The way you would address a wild stallion—or a tantrum-pitching three-year-old. Charlotte remembered those days of parenting all too well. “Adam just needs to give me the tux rental information he’s got in his car. So he thought we’d meet here, since he knew I’d be coming to get Melissa’s cookies this afternoon.”
“Melissa?” Brittany pressed her lips together, one eyebrow quirked. There was so much more the bride obviously wanted to say, Charlotte could practically see the unspoken words dancing in her eyes. Say it, say it. Solve the mystery of Melissa! “You mean to tell me you’re still—”
Adam coughed. Loud and hard.
“Whatever.” Brittany flipped her hair back. “Never mind.”
Disappointment rivaled relief. Oh well. She might never know about Melissa. And maybe that was for the better.
Brittany turned her steely gaze then to Charlotte, and Charlotte fought the urge to take a step backward. “We’re ready now.”
In other words, hurry it up.
Charlotte gritted her teeth and retrieved the samples from the kitchen without a single sarcastic comment. A huge, secret victory.
Brittany shoved a square of frosted cake into her mouth, handed one to Adam as an afterthought, and then picked up another, studying it an inch away from her nose as if she could visually inspect every ingredient. “The vanilla is decent. I guess.”
Standing behind Adam, out of sight, Will suddenly held up three fingers. Charlotte frowned, trying to decode his gesture while not making it obvious she was staring over the couple’s heads as they debated the pros and cons of vanilla cake. What was he trying to say? She turned the tray so Brittany could access the next flavor in the lineup.
Will pointed intentionally at Brittany, then with an expectant grin, held up three fingers once more.