Page 5 of Bumping into You

“Yes, Greg and I both checked our lists twice. I’m just ready and excited to be so close to the wedding date now! A few moredays and we’ll be on the cruise, hanging out, relaxing, drinking mocktails by the pool.”

“But you have everything you need for the wedding—your dress, the rings, your vows?”

“Yes, Gwen, we have everything,” she says. “Stop worrying so much, you are supposed to be having fun on this trip. Remember, Courtney is supposed to be taking over most things so you can relax. You’ve been working so hard lately, throwing yourself into your work more than ever. We haven’t really seen you in months, and you seem different lately, not as spunky as you normally are. We want you to use this cruise to spend time with us as friends and get back to your old self.”

“I know. I will,” I say.Once I know everything is all set and perfect for the wedding itinerary and the wedding rehearsal, of course.“I’ll let you know once I get to the hotel, and you text me once you land in Miami, okay?”

“Sounds good. See you soon,” Holly says before hanging up.

Glancing at my to-do list, I check off the last item after slipping my passport into my purse.Everything’s all set for my flight to Miami tomorrow. Now, time for a bubble bath.

Chapter 4

Niall

Pulling into my hotel in Miami, I see a long line at the valet. Realizing it may take a moment, I take out my phone and shoot off a text to Greg, letting him know I made it to the hotel. Just as I hit send, this beautiful lass opens my passenger door.

“Umm, you’ve got a lot of stuff in the front,” she says as she looks around at the things strewn about the front seat of my rental.

My dress bag and suitcase lie haphazardly in the backseat, and the clothes I’d changed out of are thrown on the ground. In the front seat is my half-empty backpack with some of its items strewn on the seat and the floor. I’d been in a rush when I left the airport, and then I thought I’d left my passport at home. Luckily, I’d found it in my backpack when I managed to rummage through it at a stoplight. So yeah, my rental is a little messy. But why does this valet care? Don’t they just get paid to drive? Besides, most of this stuff will come into the hotel with me.

“I guess I do have a lot of stuff,” I say, eyeing her curiously.

As she catches my Irish accent, her head snaps up. It happens so often I almost don’t notice people’s reactions anymore. Except I notice hers because she sucks in a breath of air, making a cute little noise in the back of her throat.

“Okay, so do I sit in the back then?” she asks, bending in to look at the backseat. As she leans closer, the sweet scent of strawberries and cream floods my senses.

“What? Sit in the back?”

Narrowing her eyes and sighing, she says slowly, “Yes, where am I supposed to sit back here?”

I shake my head. “Umm, you don’t? You sit in my seat and take my keys?”

It has to be this lass’s first day on the job. But even so, what kind of valet asks if they sit in the back? Don’t they always come round to the driver’s side to take your name and information? Did I miss a sign somewhere? Maybe I’m not in the right place, and she can’t pick up my car here.

Her gaze flicks upward before she says, “What are you talking about? I drive your car? That’s ridiculous. I’ve never driven the rideshares I’ve booked before. Is this new?” She’s still leaning halfway in my car, and as she shakes her head, the intoxicating scent of strawberries and cream once again fills my senses.

It takes me a moment to realize what she’s said. Rideshare? She thinks I’m her rideshare driver. She most definitely is not the valet then. Though, to be fair, her outfit does look a bit similar to what you’d expect a valet to be wearing. She is dressed in black slacks, a button-down shirt, and a vest with coffee mugs on it. If I’d paid more attention to her clothes, those coffee mugs would’ve told me she definitely wasn’t the valet. But man does that outfit look class on her. The pants hug her lean figure, and the vest and partially unbuttoned shirt accentuate her—

No, not going there. Concentrate.

Glancing out the window, I see a bloke with a button-down shirt and bowtie finishing up with the car in front of me. He must be the valet.

“I believe you’re mistaken. I am not your rideshare driver. I’m waiting for the valet.” I motion toward the bloke with the bowtie. As realization dawns in her starburst eyes, my cheek quirks.

“Well, that’s not embarrassing at all,” she says. “Sorry for barging into your car, er . . .”

“Niall,” I offer.

“Right, Niall.”

Just then, a car identical to my rental pulls up across the drive. “Oh, that must be my rideshare,” she says, gesturing to it. “Well, I’ll just be going. I’m sure the actual valet will be with you shortly.” As she pulls herself back out of my car, she hits her head on the top of the door frame. The pink on her cheeks brightens to match the red hues in her hair.

She gives a small nod before she shuts the door, then she turns and rubs the back of her head. She glances back at me before sliding into her rideshare.

The scent of strawberries and cream stays behind, the only reminder of thebeore, the beautiful lass who just rode out of sight.

A light knock on my door alerts me to the actual valet. I roll down the window and give my name and information before unloading my items. And the bloke doesn’t even ask about all the stuff I have in the back. A bellman helps carry my belongings as I head inside.

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