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“Ahem!” Maude Alice’s voice was a ruler slapping against chalkboard, and everyone in the room snapped to attention. “Does everyone remember their places? The ceremony starts in less than thirty minutes.”
Setting the pillows back on the couch while scowling at his unruly children—as if he hadn’t always been just as bad—Conor said, “I’ll make sure they’ll all be where they’re supposed to be, Maude Alice.”
“Wonderful. I’d better head back out there. Mira just arrived with the cake.”
Cole’s head whipped up. “She did?”
“A few minutes ago. She’s setting the table up now.” Staring down at her red nails, Maude Alice snuck a sideways glance in Cole’s direction. “She may need some help.”
“If you’re good here, Mad,” Cole said, slipping out of his suit jacket and hanging it back on its hanger, “I’m just going to go make sure the cake is, uh, up to your standards.”
“Hisstandards?” Brady asked dubiously, hooking a thumb toward Madigan. “Does it have sugar in it?”
“And frosting?” Sean added.
“Then it’s up to Mattie’s standards,” Darryn said conclusively.
“At least I don’t drink pickle juice straight from the jar,” Madigan countered, magically in possession of another couch pillow, making his brothers run for cover while Brady snapped, “That is a family-only secret!”
“We’re all family here,” Madigan said, laughing as the pillow he’d hurled bounced off Sean’s face.
Maude Alice linked her arm with Cole’s. “I think we’d better get out of here before a brawl breaks out.”
“Good idea,” Cole replied, ushering her from the room to the sound of the Madigan clan descending into a full-on no-holds-barred pillow fight, having fun the way they always did when Cole lived with them in his teens, before everything with Madigan went so dark, before they’d all fought and endured and survived to find the light on the other side. Before they’d all taught Cole what family really meant. Shutting the door behind them, he made a mental note to call Becks later and check in, tell her he missed them.
“It’s interesting,” Maude Alice said as he walked with her down the stairs to the dining hall.
“What’s that?”
“When I mentioned Mira, you perked right up. Reminded me of Murphy when I open a bag of treats.”
He really needed to work on his poker face.
“But what was evenmoreinteresting,” she continued, “was Mira’s four-alarm blush when I told her you were busy getting into your tux. I’ve known Mira since the day she was born, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her blush before.”
“Thatisinteresting,” Cole said, unable to hide his grin.
“I didn’t realize you two had met.” She raised a brow. “Shows how little I know.”
This was laughable. Nothing slipped past Maude Alice, and she knew it as well as he did. Leaning in to kiss her cheek, he told her, “You look beautiful tonight.”
She touched her silver hair, pulled back into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck, then glanced down at her dress, a classic midnight blue sheath that hit her mid-calf. Her smile was rueful, her eyes shining. “I wore this dress to my own rehearsal dinner with Max so many years ago I’ve lost count. Ashley wanted me to wear it today. She wanted it to be her ‘something blue.’”
“It’s stunning.”
Clearing her throat, she regained her composure. “Thank you, dear. I’m just thrilled it still fits. But you might want to save some of that charm, because once you see our baker…”
Rounding the corner into the dining hall, Cole halted in his tracks, frozen in place, a gasp caught in his throat.
“I did try to warn you,” Maude Alice said, patting his arm before striding across the room to greet the few guests trickling in.
The late day sun slanted in through the windows, centering Mira in a golden, dust-moted spotlight. She hadn’t noticed him yet—too busy arranging delicate flower petals around a stunning three-tiered wedding cake with ivory frosting and intricate lace details piped around the edges. So he took his time noticing her.
She’d pinned her raven waves back, revealing a simple black helix piercing in her left ear. Her exposed neck sloped gracefully to meet her bare shoulders, and his fingers, remembering how soft her skin had been there, twitched at his sides. Was that a tattoo peeking out beneath the strapless bodice of her red dress, right over her spine? It had to be. If he released her zipper an inch or two, would he be able to tell what it was? Or would he have to pull her zipper all the way down to see the whole design?
He’d noticed her body last night. It had been impossible not to when he’d held her close on the dance floor, his hand following the dip of her waist, her breasts soft and full against his chest. But now, in that dress, the way the silky red fabric clung to her curves like it loved them, her body could make an hourglass jealous. It almost hurt, knowing he wouldn’t remember this precise view of her. Maybe he could sneak his phone out for a second and—no, that’d be weird.
Why was he being weird? Why did he want to take a hundred pictures of a woman he barely knew and might not see again for…who knew how long? It was the wedding, the nerves and excitement and expectation buzzing through the air. Or maybe it was her tarts they’d had for breakfast. Madigan had been right. They were amazing—buttery, sweet, perfect.
