Page 92 of Not Your Average Vixen
“What would you think of you and I breaking off from the group and grabbing dinner in the Village? We can call Dan when we’re ready to head back to the mountain house. I feel like I’ve barely gotten to see you, Scooter. It’s a pretty low-key night. Right, Birdie?” Tom asked, meeting Bridget’s gaze with his trademark good guy grin.
Bridget glanced between the men, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. There was no way in hell the wedding Hun wanted him out of her sight. But what was she to say? Tom was the one initiating this guys’ night.
Perhaps not all was lost.
“Walk with me, Birdie. The ladies won, and Carly is demanding ice cream up at the mountain house to celebrate,” Judge said, offering her his arm.
Bridget glanced over her shoulder at them as the judge led her toward the course’s exit.
And then, it was the two of them—Scooter and Tommy—just like it had been all through high school, college, and grad school. And life felt…off, as if something had whittled its way into their usual rhythm.
He shook off the strange feeling. It was nothing. He was still recovering from a Bridget Dasher encounter. That could make any man question his sanity. After a couple burgers and many beers, he’d be right as rain, or snow in this place.
“Lori didn’t have any objections?” he asked as they entered the town square which only looked more North Pole-ish to see it freshly kissed with a dusting of snow.
“Not at all. I told you, Scooter, she’s amazing.”
“Right, sure,” he answered in a tone that screamed, I call bullshit.
Tom pointed toward a Swiss chalet two-story structure with Kringle Tavern illuminated in white lights. Like everything else in this town, the place looked like it was straight out of Santaville.
“Russ says the Kringle Tavern is the happening place in town,” Tom said as they crossed the square and entered the dark, yet mindbogglingly wholesome-feeling tavern.
They grabbed a booth looking out onto the square. He stared out the window at the goddamn photo booth as Tom asked the waitress to bring them a couple of burgers and two pints of beer. He’d been in this town no more than two days, and Bridget Dasher was already everywhere.
“I need to ask you something, man,” Tom said, leaning onto his elbows.
“Shoot.”
“Is everything okay with Birdie?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake! He couldn’t escape her.
“What do you mean?”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems like there’s something weird between you two.”
Weird was an understatement, but he’d barely had a moment to talk with Tom away from a Dasher sister and wasn’t about to waste it.
“Maybe the weirdness you’re feeling is your own?” he tossed back, playing devil’s advocate like they used to do in law school.
“This again?” Tom said with a sigh as the waitress set two giant steins of beer on the table.
Soren took a sip. “Think about it. You’ve never been one to rush into anything—and now you’re going balls to the wall toward something as huge as marriage?”
“I’m not rushing.”
“You’re making a decision without all the facts.”
“What facts are more important than love and…”
“And nothing,” he interrupted. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with love. Fall in love ten times over. I don’t give a damn. It’s marriage. It’s a big deal, and as your best friend, I’m telling you, I think you should wait. You don’t want to make a mistake that would hurt Lori, would you?”
“Two Dasher burgers, boys,” the waitress said, setting the platters teeming with fries and burgers on the table.
“You’re kidding?” he said, staring at Tom, but the waitress answered instead.
“Nope, I’m not kidding. It’s Dasher night here at the tavern. All our burgers are named after Santa’s reindeer. Dasher’s a little spicy. Watch out for those jalapeños!”
