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2
ARIA
Ipushed my cart away from Will, keeping my eyes straight ahead. There was no sense looking back. Literally and figuratively. I was at the store getting supplies for a date tonight, and it wasn’t with Will. It was with a man who saw me as the smart, competent woman I was, not the little girl next door. I needed to focus on that. On a potential future where I’d finally find what all the brides I work with had found.
And as much as I wished it weren’t true, Will had made it clear on more than one occasion that the only thing he felt for me was brotherly love. And it sickened me. Because the kind of love I felt for him was nothing like the way I felt about myactualbrother. Instead, it was a deep longing that had kept me up at night more times than I would ever admit. But after what happened on Valentine’s Day, I promised myself I would never cry a single tear over Will Paxton again.
I thought back to that night as I moved through the aisles of our local grocery store. It had all started with the elaborate five-course dinner I’d coordinated at the B&B. I’d been running around making sure everything was going smoothly, and when there seemed to be a break in the action, I’d sat down to rest my aching feet. My new Louboutins–the ones I wore today–had been a Galentine’s present to myself, so they’d yet to be broken in properly.
I’d pulled out my phone, stupidly thinking it was a good idea to mindlessly scroll on Instagram. That had been a mistake right from the start. What single woman in her right mind would want to browse social media on the day when every happy couple she knew posted nothing but their highlight reels? I saw post after post with gooey captions talking about how grateful they were to be with their significant others. It made my stomach turn, bringing up all kinds of fears over never finding love. But for some reason, I kept torturing myself, continuing to scroll.
That was when I saw it. A tagged photo of Will—the man I’ve always loved—with some blonde girl. They had big cheesy smiles on their faces and the caption had all these heart-eye emojis and nonsense about how hot her Valentine was.
And she wasn’t wrong. Willwashot. Infuriatingly hot. He had been since he was the quarterback in high school, looking all sweaty and triumphant after a win. I’d drooled over him as a cheerleader on the sidelines, internally fainting every time he looked my way with his crooked grin. He was even hotter now as a Marine. He’d aged like fine wine and only gotten more appealing. But staring down at that picture and seeing that he washervalentine instead of mine infuriated me just as much as his hotness. And before I could hold them in, the tears fell, streaming down my face.
Stumbling to the bathroom like a blubbering mess, I’d run into Shelby. She had been at my event on her first official date with my brother. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin their night, but man, I’d kept my love for Will a secret my whole life. Maybe it would feel good to finally get it off my chest and confide in her.
Of course, she was worried right away. I wasn’t the crying type. When there was a problem, I put my head down and fixed it. I didn’t waste time crying over spilled milk, so to speak. But then, right before I could confess my deepest, darkest secret to one of my best friends, I’d looked up at her face and had instantly known something was wrong. Shelby had a heart condition, and before I knew it, all of my drama was cast aside as we plunged into one of the scariest nights of my life.
My throat tightened at the memory as I reached for a loaf of Italian bread and stuck it in my cart. I remembered standing outside the hospital, shivering in my short black dress. Inside, they worked on Shelby, and we had no way of knowing if she’d be okay. Will had come rushing up from the parking lot, concern all over his handsome face.
“Hey, how’s Shelby?” he’d asked, out of breath from booking it over to the hospital so fast. Presumably, he’d been with his blonde valentine when he’d heard from Paul, but I (thankfully) hadn’t been able to dwell on that fact considering the seriousness of the situation.
I’d gulped, the words sticking in my throat. “I don’t know. They’re doing everything they can.”
Will’s shoulders sagged forward, then he’d run both of his hands over his cropped hair as he paced in a small circle. “Man. I can’t even believe this. Where’s Paul? Is he with her?”
“He’s inside, but they rushed her away. I don’t think he could go with them.”
Will nodded like that made sense, then he’d looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. “You look nice. Are you cold, though?”
Before I even opened my mouth to answer him, he’d raised his arms and pulled his hoodie over his head. My eyes had tracked his movement, flaring slightly when the hem of his tee rode up high enough to reveal the perfectly sculpted torso beneath it.
My brain had invisibly exploded all over the ground in front of us then, and not because it was the first time I’d seen Will without his shirt. He’d tortured me by showing off his ripped body on countless beach days and pool parties over the years. But at that moment, there was something about my wrecked emotional state that had me ogling him like I’d never seen any man’s six-pack, let alone his.
Then, he’d taken the hoodie off all the way and pulled his shirt back down, coming over and holding it out to me. “Here, put this on.”
I’d stared wordlessly at the black sweatshirt with the logo of his unit that he’d held suspended in the air between us. I couldn’t wear his hoodie. I couldn’t wrap myself in the soft fabric, still warm from his body, and not melt into a puddle right in front of him. With the way I felt for that man, wearing his hoodie seemed akin to volunteering for a torture chamber.
“Aria, take it.”
I shook my head to clear it. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re shivering. Take it.”
“Will—”
He’d thrust the hoodie closer then, and I caught a whiff of his cologne as it neared my face. “I’m not going to take no for an answer. Just take the freaking sweatshirt.”
I’d done as he’d instructed, grateful that my shaking hands could be blamed on the chilly February air. “Thanks.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
Even though it was months later, I still remembered how warm and soft his hoodie had felt against my cold skin. How delicious it had smelled as I’d pulled the fabric tighter around my neck, snuggling into it. How dangerously swoon-worthy he had looked as he’d nodded, pleased that I’d complied with his request, even as he was left to stand there in only his thin T-shirt and jeans.
But that was what caused me to make the fatal mistake that I wished more than anything I could take back. I closed my eyes against the memory as I grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf, internally berating myself once again for the way I had launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and pressing my cheek tightly against his chest.
For a minute, I’d felt like my heart had finally found its home. As dumb as it might sound, when Will closed his arms around me and returned my hug, I’d felt like everything in the world would be okay—that Shelby would be okay. I’d felt the full weight of his comforting embrace as he’d silently rubbed my back.
