Page 28 of Love Under Snowfall

Jonathan clapped Benjamin firmly on the back. “Now that I know who Frankie was bitching about, I can only assume she exaggerated a few things.”

“Hey!” Frankie complained. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

“My fealty is strictly reserved for my beautiful bride.” He stepped past Benjamin, wrapped his arms around Lucy’s waist and lifted her so they faced one another eye to eye. He abandoned all decorum and kissed her passionately as though no one else was around.

“That went better than I’d expected,” Benjamin murmured closer to Frankie’s ear than she’d liked. The cloying scent of warm cinnamon and autumn leaves surrounded her as his hot breath tickled her neck. She stepped away, adding some distance between herself and the aromatically delicious man.

“For you, perhaps. But the night’s still young.” She eyed him over her shoulder. “I’d watch your back.”

His endless blue eyes held hers and he arched a thick brow as though to saylet the games begin.

“Let’s eat. Everyone, help yourselves and sit wherever you’dlike,” Jonathan called out, disrupting the tingly staring contest and pulling Frankie back to the event. “After a bit, we’ll talk game plan.”

With a belly full of rich, garlicky goodness as well as a heaping scoop of dread, Frankie peered down at the paper in front of her. Jon and Lucy had created an itinerary for the next week, complete with everyone’s responsibilities and tasks. Nothing on the list was overly taxing (perhaps the snowshoeing would be physically so, but she lived for that kind of challenge), yet seeing her name partnered with the best man washed her in trepidation.

The plan was for Benjamin to keep his distance, but how was that possible when she was the maid of honor and he was her groom’s side equivalent?

“The schedule may seem a bit dense,” Lucy continued, “but it’s all meant to be fun.”

“Is everything mandatory?” Todd asked. It was well known that Lucy’s best friend and the couple’s officiant was not a nature fan. “Specifically, the snowshoeing?”

“Yes, Todd.” Lucy placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at her impeccably dressed friend. “If I have to clomp through hell frozen over, then so do you. I’ll need all the emotional support I can get.”

Frankie snorted into her mulled wine. The excursion must have been her brother’s idea because Lucy, who hated the snow, was a fair-weather adventurer all the way. Snowshoeing was a special activity that Jon and Frankie used to do with their dad and likely Jon had insisted on going as a way to honor the beloved man.Lucy would never say no to something so important and being the bride, she’d decided that the rest of them couldn’t either.

Frankie’s phone buzzed in her lap.

Sheriff Howards:

Hey, princess! What are you up to after Jonathan and Lucy’s dinner?

Oh, Clint. She didn’t have the energy to deal with one more bullet point on her itinerary. No matter how chiseled and sexy that bullet point may be.

“Princess, huh?”

Frankie clutched the phone to her chest and scowled at the raven-haired pain in her ass sitting directly to her left. How—or why—Benjamin ended up sitting beside her through dinner was a mystery.

“This is private.Shoo.”

“Why isn’t your boyfriend here making merry with the rest of your friends and family?” Benjamin whispered.

“Clint’s not my boyfriend, he’s just—” She clamped her mouth closed.Shut up, Frankie. You don’t owe him an explanation for anything.

“Oh.” Benjamin cleared his throat and sat up straight. A flicker of something skittered across his features before he set his expression to his recent default: mild amusement. “He’s just a ‘friend’ right? Someone to scratch an itch, perhaps?”

His quiet, suggestive drawl heated her insides. For the briefest of moments, she felt embarrassed. Then the anger took over.

“Who do you think you are?” Her voice was harsh yet low so as not to disrupt the . . . announcement? Meeting? Whatever the hell you’d call it. But the lava in her chest was gradually rising to the surface, and she struggled to manage her volume. “You agreed togive me some distance, and yet here you are,” she gestured, “glued to my side and reading my texts over my shoulder.”

“Uh, Francesca—” he tried to interject.

“No,” she continued, allowing the wrath to take hold. “My life, my family, my messages are not your business. So, butt the fuck out, Clark.”

“Francesca Miller,” a deeply maternal voice scolded. No matter how old she got, her mother’s “I mean business” voice always managed to stop her in her tracks.

The room went silent except for a few snickers and the gentle clinking of flatware. Frankie could feel her cheeks flush red. Everyone stared at her and Benjamin with curiosity.

“Should we separate those two?” Lucy asked Jonathan, who chuckled behind his hand.

---