A crowd was beginning to form around Will.
The flashback started, grainy around the edges, then gaining clarity. Zoe’s father, football helmet tucked under his arm. Laughing with the college cheerleaders while she stood awkwardly behind him. Zoe’s father, with his password-protected cell phone and constant texting.
No. She shook herself free of it.
A tall, dark-haired girl wearing a red and black long-sleeved shirt plopped down on the ottoman that had been pulled up next to the couch. She smiled at Charlotte.
Charlotte’s hopes lifted. Maybe she could find an ally in this sea of strangers.
“Hi. I’m Charlotte.”
“Nice to meet you. Mia.” They shook hands.
Mia sipped from her cup of red punch. “So . . . are you a friend of the bride or groom?”
Charlotte gestured to Will, still talking beside her. Warmth radiated from his arm pressed against hers. “I’m with the best man.”
It felt good to say—maybe a little too good. One of those dangerous good feelings, the kind that nudged the subconscious and shouted Warning, warning, you’re putting too much into this! But she ignored it. She wanted to belong, and right now, her claim to Will was the only thing keeping her anchored in the room.
“Will Martin?” Mia brightened. “I haven’t seen him since college! Where’s he been?”
“I—I don’t know, really. He did some time in the army.” She didn’t really want to disclose how little she knew of Will’s past. “He’s a personal trainer now.”
“I’ll say.” Mia winked over the rim of her punch cup. “Sign me up for that workout regimen.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but Mia didn’t give her a chance. She leaned in closer over the arm of the loveseat, lowering her voice. “So how’d you do it?”
Charlotte blinked. “Do what?”
“You know. Catch Free Willy.” She gestured with her cup.
“Free—who?”
“Free Willy.” Mia rolled her eyes. “We dubbed him that in college. He was the permanent bachelor type, you know. Never going to get married?”
Charlotte’s tense shoulders relaxed. That made sense, after the comments Will had made recently about not getting out much and how this wedding was the first big social thing he’d done in forever. “That much of a hermit even then, huh?”
Mia almost sprayed her punch. She choked, laughing and pounding herself on the chest. “Will Martin? A hermit? Oh, that’s a good one.”
Okay, now that didn’t make sense. A sinking sensation filled Charlotte’s stomach—like being trapped in a roller-coaster car perched high at the very top, about to speed down the hill, with no way out.
Mia must have caught her confusion, because she calmed down and set her cup on the end table. “How long have you known Will?”
“A few months.” Charlotte didn’t bother to clarify that their first date had only been about a week ago.
“Ah.” Mia’s know-it-all smile held two parts pity and one part condescension. “Well, let’s just say he didn’t earn his nickname for lack of female options.”
And the roller coaster roared down the hill.
Charlotte had often been accused of baking with her emotions. And right now, The Dough Knot’s counters were littered with bottles of cayenne pepper, Louisiana hot sauce, and candied red hots.
She’d suffered through the end of the couple’s shower last night, forcing smiles and participating in just enough conversation with Will to avoid causing a scene. It wasn’t difficult, distracted as he was by most of the female party guests. To his credit, Will had made several attempts to draw Charlotte into the conversations, but after Mia’s nearly endless accounting of the ghosts of girlfriends past, her heart wasn’t in it.
Charlotte had always thought Zoe’s father had been the consummate life-of-the-party frat boy. But apparently Will could have taught him a thing or two.
She sprinkled a liberal helping of cayenne pepper into her batter for chocolate chili cupcakes. The bakery was closed this Sunday afternoon. Zoe was in the front of the shop with the doors locked, coloring and whistling off-key while Charlotte took her aggression out in new recipes. Baking cleared her mind, gave her perspective, an outlet.
She glanced at the far counter holding two pans of Mexican hot chocolate brownies and a dozen spiced cookies.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Her cell phone buzzed in her apron pocket. She pulled it out, saw Will’s number, and dropped it back in. He tried twice more, and she forced herself to keep stirring. As much as she wanted to give him the opportunity to explain his way out of this, she knew what she’d seen. What she’d heard. What her instincts shouted.