Page 5 of Freefall

You must be the groom.

She thinks Emory is my fiancée. It would make sense. I never told her my sister’s name when we were together. Harper was an open book, but I was closed off even back then. I never introduced her to my family because I wanted to keep her separate.

“No,” I say firmly. “She won’t be joining us today.” I offer no further explanation, and even though I know I should correct her, I don’t. It’s none of her damn business anyway, so I choose neither to confirm nor deny her assumption.

“Oh, okay.” She fiddles with her wrist again, and this time I do glance down to see the colorfully beaded bracelet she’s playing with. It has five squares in the middle with black letters printed on them, but they are twisted so I can’t make out what they spell. I briefly wish there were six or even four letters instead of five. It doesn’t make sense. Her name has six letters.

“I’m going to grab my bag, and then we can get started.” Her soft voice interrupts my thoughts before I can spiral any further.

I nod, and she walks backward a few steps before turning toward her car.

“Do you want to sit over there?” she asks, nodding toward the row of picnic tables when she returns.

I don’t answer, but walk toward one of the tables. It’s fairly clean for a park picnic table.

“So, as I explained to your fiancée…” She clears her throat.

“Emory. As I explained to Emory, I just need some basic information, and then I can put together a quote for you guys.”

“Okay.”

She takes out a notebook from her giant purse, along with a purple gel pen, because of course she doesn’t have a regular colored pen. She opens to a page that’s been dog-eared. I watch her eyes scan the page while she chews on the top of the pen. I guess it’s true that old habits die hard. There’s a blue Nalgene bottle sitting on the table that I didn’t notice before. It’s filled almost to the top. Instantly, my mind goes to all the times I had to fight with her about drinking enough water. I wonder how much she’s drunk today.

“So I understand both the ceremony and reception will be at the Baybridge Inn, but you want to take pictures here beforehand? Is that right?”

I didn’t have a chance to look at the notes Emory supposedly emailed me, so I just nod.

“Great, are you thinking of posed or more candid lifestyle shots?”

I should probably check my email for Emory’s preferences, but as the groom, I should know the answers to these questions, right?

“Candid,” I say confidently. My sister hates posing for photos.

“Perfect.” She scribbles something in her notebook before returning the pen cap to her mouth. It shouldn’t be sexy. If anything, it should remind me that, despite the way the years have intensified her natural beauty, she’s the same person. She has the same habits and presumably the same penchant for running away when life gets tough.

“Can you stop that?” I blurt out.

The pen stills in her mouth, her teeth pausing mid-chew. She stares up at me, those ridiculously large hazel eyes scanning my face before she lowers the pen to the table. There’s the thinnest string of saliva connecting the pen to her lips that disappears when she sets it down, and I must be going out of my mind because the mere sight of it makes my cock twitch.

Fuck.

This is not what I needed today. Sitting here with Harper feels surreal—like I’m dreaming. Maybe I am. Maybe this one is a nightmare because not only did she leave, but she had the nerve to fucking come back.

“Sorry.” She interrupts my thoughts. “Bad habit. I have a lot of those. Always getting myself into trouble.” She narrows her eyes, and it might be my imagination, but I swear I see her eyelashes bat.

Is she trying to mess with me?

I don’t respond, but my dick does, and now it’s straining against my dress pants.

“Anyway, will you be doing a first look?”

First look?

She must notice my confusion because she smirks before saying, “It’s when you see the bride for the first time just before the ceremony, so I can capture that mome⁠—”

“I know what a first look is,” I snap.

“Of course you do. So…”