Page 9 of One Weekend On Mackinac Island

We were forty-five minuteslate for lunch at the Yankee Rebel Tavern, but I didn’t mind one bit. That time I spent with Owen, alone and uninterrupted, proved to be a deeply insightful and revealing experience. He was just as fun to be around as he always was, but there was a seriousness to him as well that made him super sexy. And when I’d tripped, conveniently falling into his arms like some romance movie heroine, I so thought he was going to kiss me. At the time, I didn’t know if I was ready for that or not.

But after seeing the way he’d looked at me while taking pictures of me with the lilacs . . . whew . . . my blood was still boiling.

It was time to stop fighting my attraction to him. I had to figure out a way to make him mine.

But then again . . . what if I was reading too much into it? What if I only saw what I wanted to see in his eyes? What if, while he’d held me against his hard chest?cue full body shiver?I only imagined his gaze lingering on my lips? What if I made a move and he pushed me away?

Devastation.

That’s what.

I’d be destroyed.

I’d never be able to show my face in front of him again.

He was my brother’s best friend. I wouldn’t be able to avoid him if disaster happened.

No.

I couldn’t risk it.

Our friendship was more important than my starving lady bits.

Shocker . . . that thought had my mind turning to how mind blowingly amazing I imagined being with him would be. I’d wanted him since I’d read my first romance novel and understood what sex was. Knowing him, I'm sure he would show the same level of generosity in bed as he did in life.

My fantasy bubble burst as I heard my name. “What?”

“The rings,” Todd was saying. “You didn’t forget the rings, right?”

I rolled my eyes. It was so like my brother to think I’d flake out on something so important even though I’d never flaked out on anything my whole life. “Of course not. They’re locked up tight in my room.”

“Good. Because we can’t get married without them.”

The conversation moved on from there, and several times throughout the meal, I noticed Scott and Stephanie with their heads together as if discussing something important, just like Owen had mentioned during the bicycle incident. I noticed Owen's gaze lingered on them, his eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, and realized he had been observing their behavior as well. I wasn’t a suspicious person by nature, but even I couldn’t ignore the weird vibe they were throwing off.

As everybody rose to head outside for the next wedding weekend event, croquet on the lawn of the Grand Hotel, of all things, Tria’s phone rang. Her dismay during the conversation with the caller caught everyone’s attention.

“No! Oh, my God. No!” She plunked down in a seat as if her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Todd asked as he crouched down beside her.

“Flowers,” was all she managed to croak out while holding up her phone. The faint sound of the other person’s voice on the line made me realize the call was still connected, so I grabbed her phone.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Dowd,” the person said. “We have no idea how this happened. We will, of course, refund your deposit.”

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “Could you start at the beginning? What happened?”

“The refrigerator where we’d stored your wedding flowers got unplugged. This has never happened before. It must have occurred sometime last evening. Unfortunately, the flowers have all wilted beyond saving. And there is not enough time to get a new shipment of flowers in to replace them.”

My gaze swept across the faces of my friends and family, their expressions a mixture of concern and anticipation as they waited to hear about the crisis. But it was Stephanie’s barely perceptiblesmile that snagged my attention and sparked suspicion. Was this her doing? And if so, why?

My mind raced with possible solutions as the flower shop owner poured out her apologies. I interrupted once more as an idea came to mind. “If I can get my hands on some fresh flowers, do you think we have enough time to put together a few bouquets and some other decorative arrangements?”

“I-I suppose,” she hedged. “If I had enough help.”

“Great. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll see what I can do.”

Hanging up with the flower shop lady, I turned to my best friend, who was on the verge of a meltdown. The bride was starting to unravel, so I put on my maid of honor hat and prepared myself to offer some much-needed reassurance and guidance.

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