Me.
The feeling of slowly suffocating hits me anew as I look at him, and it isn’t until Tripp pulls me to my feet that I can take a real breath.
“You okay?” Tripp asks as we walk through the gorgeous wedding grounds on his farm. It used to be our grandfather’s farm, but when he passed, he split his massive holdings into the original family farm, which went to Tripp, and Carville Industries, which went to my father and our family. Tripp has more of a passion for agriculture than I do, but I love business and enjoy working for my dad and with my brothers.
Oh, and owning a baseball team. I’ve thrown myself into learning the sport over the last several weeks, and the challenge has become almost exciting. Something to look forward to after work. Something to think about instead of wedding planning.
Or marriage.
“I’m doing better than you are,” I tell my cousin. The twinkling lights overhead illuminate a red stain on his dress shirt. “You spilled cocktail sauce.”
He clicks his tongue and directs us over to the open bar. “Sean,” Tripp says to a man with a thick black beard and slick hair, “could you get me a club soda and a cloth?”
The bartender nods and ducks his head behind the long wrap-around counter. A moment later, he pops up, and I flush when his blue eyes land on me for a split second before they move to Tripp. My reaction isn’t because he’s an attractive man—although he is—but because of how deeply his eyes peer. If I were the type to hide things, I wouldn’t want this man near me.
“Here you go,” the bartender says, handing Tripp the cloth and club soda. Tripp pours the liquid onto the stain, dabbing at it.
“Can I get you anything?” the man asks me in a low voice I probably shouldn’t be able to hear over the music. His face matches his build—broad, strong, and a bit imposing, with justa hint of softness to his lips that catches me off guard. I tuck my hair behind my ear.
“Nothing, but thank you.”
“Wow,” he says, looking at my hand and leaning back a few inches. “That is a statement.”
I follow his gaze to my ring, and I find myself sticking my hand behind my back with a shake of my head. “Oh, that. I know. It’s silly.”
“I don’t thinksillyis the word I’d use.”
Tripp snorts.
“Oh, stop,” I say to my cousin. “Like Jane’s wedding ring isn’t big?” It’s also a tasteful three carat princess cut that isn’t trying too hard to prove itself to the world.
“I’m not sayin’ anything,” Tripp says. He looks at Sean. “But her fiancé is, ain’t he?”
The bartender—Sean—nods, his thick brown eyebrows raising. I can’t disagree, so I shrug and plant my elbows on the counter beside Tripp.
“Kayla, this is Sean. Sean owns a bar with his brother and is the captain of the local minor league hockey team. Sean, this is my cousin, Kayla, the new owner of the Mudflaps.”
“Pleasure,” Sean says, taking my hand in his thick one and shaking it. His hands are so thick and muscled, I look down at our clasped hands. I don’t know why his hands throw me. It’s not like Aldridge’s hands are dainty. “So, Kayla, what’s your vision for the Mudflaps?” he asks me, his blue eyes steady and piercing. “Are you sticking with the playbook or fixin’ to go off script Savannah Bananas style?”
I smile. “It’s adorable that you think I have any idea what you’re talking about.”
This earns a laugh from Sean and Tripp. “Don’t listen to her,” Tripp says. “She may still be learnin’, but Kayla has a business sense to rival Elon Musk.”
“It’s adorable that you think I have any idea what you’re talking about,” Sean says, and it’s my turn to laugh.
“What are you doin’ here tonight, anyway?” Tripp asks Sean. “Shouldn’t you be on the road?”
“We have a homestand,” Sean says in the same accent as Tripp. I grew up in Atlanta, but I have no accent to speak of. “I could have asked another bartender to come, but your wife and the women running this wedding insisted they needed the best.” With that, he grabs an open bottle, flips it behind his back without spilling a drop, and then pours a glass for a nearby guest.
I clap, and Tripp elbows me. “You really need to get out more if you think this is impressive. You should see what this guy used to do on the ice.”
“Used to do?” Sean asks.
Tripp grins. “You’re getting old, man.”
Sean shakes his head and moves on to help another wedding guest.
Tripp and I turn around to look at the dance floor. His wife and a few of her friends are dancing with Juliet and my new friend, Liesel. I’m not sure how they all know each other, but they have an easy camaraderie that makes me smile. Female friendships can be hard to develop, and seeing so many women come together makes my heart sing.
