Charlotte smiled, as sweetly as always, her cheeks a rosy pink. In fact, they were always pink, as if permanently flushed from the warmth of the bakery. The sight of it melted a bit of his stress. “No worries.” She shrugged. “It’s good business.”
Business. Right. He should remember that’s all it was, too, though something about Charlotte’s electric blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair made him want more snickerdoodles. As in, every day, til death do us part.
He shook his head as the phrase took hold in his mind. He’d apparently been around Adam and Brittany’s wedding planning way too long. He was not the marrying type. They hadn’t called him Free Willy all through college for nothing.
It was still true. Just now for an entirely different reason.
He winced. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
She shrugged. “I deal with difficult brides all the time, it’s nothing new.”
Oh. He meant his strong reaction to Charlotte, but yeah, that too. He struggled to clear his head. The scent of cinnamon and sugar was getting to him, making him soft. He didn’t have time for anyone, even someone as sweet as Charlotte. He had more duties than just Adam’s wedding to attend to, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of putting Melissa last—ever again.
In fact, he should probably get moving. She’d be expecting her cookies.
“I’d better go.” He took the bakery box from the counter and then held up his left wrist bearing his favorite waterproof watch. “But I’ll be back.”
“Right. Next Tuesday, at 5:40?” Charlotte stopped, her pink cheeks now a fiery crimson.
She knew his schedule. Habit from the military—he liked patterns and routine—but he never thought she’d notice. “No, actually, I meant sooner. To discuss the cakes and whatever else Brittany wants for all these wedding parties.” He never understood the point of showers, anyway. Didn’t people just bring gifts to the actual ceremony?
Melissa had never made it to hers. He tightened his grip on the box.
“Oh, of course.” Charlotte, still crimson-faced, nodded furiously. “Right. Sooner, then. Tomorrow, maybe?”
Tomorrow. He’d promised Melissa he’d take her out, but maybe he could come by afterward. It had to get done, like it or not. Brittany would kill him otherwise—and after surviving ten years of service including several year-long deployments, he really didn’t want to go out because of a five-foot-two woman with a grudge.
Still, the prospect of working with Charlotte made the whole dessert-planning responsibility seem like much less of a chore.
“Tomorrow sounds good.” Too good, unfortunately. He didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have the right to enjoy it.
But he did a little bit, anyway.
“So tell me. How did buying snickerdoodles turn you into a wedding planner?” Melissa shook her head—silky dark hair swinging below her chin—and laughed, that easy, musical laughter that used to come so easily. The laugh reminiscent of a few years ago, before life got so complicated. Before everything changed because of one rainy night and one bad decision on his part.
Will reached forward and tucked the blanket tighter around Melissa’s feet, covering her toes that peeked out from under the edge of the fringed quilt. Sitting with her here, both of them on the couch, surrounded by pillows and snacks, almost made him forget she was paralyzed.
Almost.
The wheelchair by the edge of the sofa was a stark reminder, as was the lower placement of the light switches on the wall and the ramp he’d built to the front door.
“Not the wedding.” Knock on wood. Just let Adam get that idea next. He definitely didn’t need his best friend getting any crazy matchmaking schemes. “Only the wedding cake.” And the other prewedding events, which apparently involved even more desserts, but he wouldn’t think of all that yet. Charlotte could help figure that out . . .
“You know the cake is like the secondary star of the show, right? Next to the dress.” Melissa nibbled another bite of her cookie, then pulled it away and studied it. “Are you trying to make me fat, by the way? It’s not like I can go jog this puppy off my hips.”
She grinned, her bright green eyes twinkling, but Will was reminded once again that her handicap still bothered him a lot more than it bothered her.
But that’s because she didn’t have the guilt of it weighing on her shoulders, a constant shadow by day and heavy ache by night. He shifted on the couch, simultaneously glad she could joke about it but wishing she wouldn’t. It was awkward. It hurt.
He couldn’t fix it.
Growing up, he’d fixed all of Melissa’s problems. That’s what a big brother should do. Broken doll? Superglue. Friend mad at her? Make prank phone calls. Boyfriend trouble? Fistfight in the parking lot. It was always easy.
But this . . .
He tried to shake it off. “Whatever. You weigh, what? A hundred and ten pounds? Your weekly snickerdoodles aren’t going to hurt.” His sister was tiny. He’d always been able to throw her over his shoulder whenever he wanted.