Page 79 of The Weekend Crashers
Chapter Thirty-Five
The hug from her mother feels so good. She just wants things between them to get back to normal.
Back in the heart of the lobby, it’s clear the party hasn’t had time to gel. It’s like a middle school dance, with the boys on one side of the room and the girls on the other. In the center, Barclay stands alongside Belinda. He’s not dressed in his usual outdoorsy clothes, but instead is wearing khaki pants and an argyle sweater. Belinda is wearing an aubergine cable-knit sweater dress and white opaque tights and furry low boots. Her white hair is in one long braid down her back. She’s beautiful, exactly the way Piper hopes to look when she’s an older woman.
“We want to commend you all on the spirit of competition that you brought to this weekend,” Barclay says. “And we know there’s a bunch of cash on the line, but Belinda and I chewed it over, and it’s hard to pick a winner when it’s clear both groups stepped far outside their comfort zone. And I have to say, that’s what bushcraft is all about.”
“And knitting!” Belinda adds.
“You gotta face your fears,” Barclay continues. “You gotta learn by trial and error. Do things badly before you do themwell. As long as you let yourself experience these things, you’re a winner. So instead of cash exchanging hands, we hope you’ll accept these tokens as reminders of what you all accomplished this weekend.”
Some of the guys hoot and holler. Piper can’t tell if they’re being ironic or they’re genuinely excited as Barclay and Belinda hand out little gift bags tied with twine. The bachelors’ bags are silver foil; the knitters’ are red. Piper glances at Cole and he walks over.
“Did you know about this?” he asks her.
“No! How would I know about it?”
They turn to Maggie.
“Don’t look at me,” she says. “I lost control of this thing the second Barclay and Belinda got involved.”
They open the gift bags; Cole’s contains a knitter’s starter kit, complete with straight bamboo needles, a prewound skein of wool and a tape measure. Piper’s holds a small wooden hatchet and a “Nature’s Fire Kit” of pine cones, twine and wax. The room is buzzy with conversation—some of the guys are still arguing that they won, and Lexi’s loud voice rises in defense of the knitters. Amidst this clamor, Scott stands up on a chair, raising a tumbler of whiskey in the air.
“You guys are the best,” he says, his words slurred. He continues, his words running together and trailing off. Aidan is waving him down, and he wraps up with: “Thanks for the best bachelor sendoff any guy could ask for. And Cole—dude, no hard feelings. I just want you to be happy.”
Piper feels all eyes in the room turn in her direction since she’s standing with Cole, and then he walks toward the spot where Scott made his speech.
“Scott, you’re the closest thing I have to a brother. And even though we haven’t seen eye to eye lately, that doesn’t meanI’m not wishing you and Ashley a long and happy marriage. And as for me—don’t worry. I’m good. Better than good.” He raises his glass. “To Scott.”
Everyone raises their glasses and echoes with a chorus of, “To Scott.”
Then Cole does climb up on the chair. This time, he turns his back to the cluster of bachelor partiers and looks toward the back of the room, where his eyes settle.
“One more thing: Kalli Dimitrou, I love you. And I promise, our bumpy start will have a happy ending.”
Piper looks at Kalli. Everyone looks at Kalli. But Kalli’s eyes are locked on Cole, and she walks to him. As soon as she’s close enough, he jumps down and hugs her.
Piper turns to Maggie, who’s sharing a glance with Aidan. The intimacy of the look between them suggests to Piper that whatever happened last night was more than a hookup. Good for her mother.
The room erupts in chatter, but Piper is still able to hear her phone ring in her bag. She fishes it out and sees it’s Ethan calling.
“Hey—it’s kinda loud in here. I’ll go to another room and call you back,” she says, covering one ear with her hand and walking toward the Purl.
“Come outside,” he says.
She stops in her tracks.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m here. At the inn. On the front porch.”
Is this real? She looks around, as if anyone in the midst of the merriment has any clue what’s going on. They don’t, of course. It’s remarkably easy to slip outside unnoticed.
He’s sitting on the porch swing, bundled in his navy peacoat and a black hat she knit for him two winters ago.
“Ethan! What are you doing here?”
He stands up and she runs over, throwing her arms up around his neck, pressing her body against his. He holds her tight.
