Slay Bells Ring

Slay Bells Ring

Chapters: 21
Updated: 19 Dec 2024
Author: Nancy Robards Thompson
4.6

Synopsis

It's one thing to write a mystery, but when your daughter is the suspect -- you solve it. Wedding planner Jenna Bell doesn’t panic when the groom is a no-show to the ceremony – even though he is her former high school sweetheart and this wedding is the small town's event of the year. However, when he turns up dead and she is falsely accused… well, yeah, now it’s the time to panic. Jenna’s mother, Maddie, puts her cozy mystery writing skills to use to try to clear her daughter’s name, stepping on by-the-book Chief of Police Jackson Bradley's toes in the process. No matter how enticing he finds her, he doesn’t want this writer-turned-amateur-sleuth interfering with his murder investigation. With nearly all of Hemlock, North Carolina, picking sides and the town's own Gossip Brigade churning out the rumors, Maddie discovers the mystery isn't very cozy when it hits this close to home.

Mystery Romance BxG Unexpected Romance Wedding Police Procedural

Slay Bells Ring Free Chapters

Chapter One | Slay Bells Ring

~ Jenna ~

“A little to the left,” I say to Alicia Lopez, the assistant manager of my mom’s shop, Blissful Beginnings Bridal Boutique.

Alicia came in early to get a jump on trimming the storefront windows, decking them out for Christmas. I’m standing outside on the sidewalk, helping her with placement of the decorations since my first appointment isn’t until later this afternoon.

I’m an event planner. I operate my newly minted company, Champagne Wedding and Event Designs, out of an office in my mom, Madeline Bell’s, shop.

Alicia pantomimes the question, My left or your left?

I hold up my hands to double check my directions, then point. “Your left.”

She lugs the white and silver mesh reindeer into place between two bridal gowns we’re showcasing amid a backdrop of twinkle lights and shimmery silver snowflakes.

“Perfect!” I say as I rub my hands together in a futile attempt to warm up. My wool coat is no match for the arctic blast that blew in this morning. If the Hemlock Today reporter gets it right, this is the start of a downward winter weather spiral. It’s time to break out the parka.

I’m momentarily distracted from my hypothermia when Alicia flips the master switch and hundreds of white twinkle lights ignite. The sparkle and splendor of the bridal wonderland she has created warms me from the inside out.

“Oh! How pretty,” Mom says as she joins me on the sidewalk in front of the shop.

“Isn’t it?” I say. “Alicia is so creative. Look at the way she’s draped the lights and snowflakes. The twinkling makes it look like falling snow.”

We both sigh at the romantic picture she’s created. Through the window, other gorgeous wedding gowns are visible, but the most beautiful of the lot are featured on sleek white mannequins scattered throughout the store. The other dresses wait on the built-in hanging racks for their perfect bride to discover them. There’s a ballet-pink velvet Victorian chaise longue in the middle of the shop. It’s draped with veils, being jewelry, jewel-encrusted shoes, and other accessories. Freestanding full-length mirrors, encased in ornate gold frames, reflect the crystal chandeliers and pale pink walls.

It’s a shop fit for a princess.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a date and this window makes me want to try on bridal gowns,” I say.

“You’re working way too much,” Mom says. “You should be dating. Why aren’t you dating?”

“By the way…” I make a show of looking at my watch. “It’s nice of you to join us this morning, seeing how the shop opens in two minutes.”

“I know. Sorry I’m late. I lost track of time.”

“Too busy flirting with the chief?” I bat my eyes at her.

Mom’s cheeks color. “Jenna, we don’t flirt. He’s just a friend and a good source for the police procedural elements of my books.”

In addition to owning the bridal boutique, Mom is an aspiring cozy mystery writer. She hasn’t published anything yet, but I have faith that she will. She works hard enough. Every morning before she opens the shop, she goes to the Briar Patch Bakery across the street and writes two pages of her book.

Jackson Bradley, Hemlock’s new chief of police, has been an eager expert source. It’s no wonder. Mom is a babe. She looks cute today in her puffer coat and cobalt blue tunic, which she’s paired with black leggings and boots. She’s pulled her dark hair into a low ponytail. It shows off her cheekbones.

“How is Studly Do-Right this morning?” I ask.

“Chief Bradley is fine.” She gives me side-eye and pulls open the shop door.

I follow her inside.

Everyone knows the chief is interested in her.

In all fairness, I don’t know that the chief realizes he’s interested and my mother pretends to be oblivious. I’d love to see her happily in love. Of, course, she doesn’t want to talk about it. Even though it’s been eight years since my dad’s accident, she still considers herself married.

Plus, she’s far more interested in dissecting my nonexistent love life.

“By the way,” she says as she unlocks the cash drawer and puts the day’s money in it. “Mrs. Gott asked me to convey her condolences. She’s devastated that you’re not marrying Riley Buxston.”

She tries to deliver the line with a straight face, but she can’t suppress a laugh when she sees my horrified expression.

“She’s convinced you’re not going to survive the weekend.”

I roll my eyes. Riley Buxston and his fiancée, Grace Marie Taylor, are my clients. They’re getting married tomorrow. Riley and I used to date, but that’s ancient history.

“Why can’t everyone mind their own business?” I ask.

“That’s the beauty of small-town living,” my mother says.

“Why do they assume that I’m torn up? It’s ridiculous. I agreed to plan the wedding. I wasn’t coerced into it. Does the Gossip Brigade think I’d take the job if I was heartbroken?”

“Maybe they think you’re doing it so you can have the inside track for sabotage?” Alicia says as she pulls Windex and paper towels from the cabinet under the wrap stand.

I snort. “That’s a great business plan. A surefire way to grow my client base.” Then I sigh. “I hope the gossip hasn’t gotten back to Grace Marie. I feel so bad for her.”

“Do you think she’s heard?” Alicia asks.

“I hope not,” I say. “This nonsense just started a couple of days ago.”

“Yeah,” Mom says. “Isn’t that when Grace Marie got into town?”

I cringe. “You’re right. Why do people have to act so ugly?”

Since Grace Marie lived in Atlanta until this week, some considered her an outsider, despite Charles and Patricia Buxston pronouncing her good enough for their precious Riley.

The Buxstons were paying for the wedding. It would be an expensive and prestigious event.

Grace Marie’s mother passed away when she was a teenager, and, according to Patricia, the bride’s father doesn’t have the means to throw the type of wedding Patricia wants for her son. So, Patricia and her husband, Charles, opened the vault. The stipulations were that the wedding had to be in Hemlock, not Atlanta; Patricia got final approval of everything, including Grace Marie’s gown; and Grace Marie and Riley had to agree to move to Hemlock.

It was a lot of power to bargain away, but Grace Marie seems to be just as happy to turn over the decision making to Patricia, who has made sure the wedding has all the proper touches. Added bonus, Grace Marie is off to a stellar start in the role of dream daughter-in-law.

At first, I was surprised that Patricia had hired me to plan the wedding—surprised, but grateful—the Taylor-Buxston wedding is Hemlock’s social event of the year.

Soon, I realized that Patricia was making a point. She wanted me to know that this wedding could’ve been mine if I hadn’t broken her darling boy’s heart. It might have been annoying if she hadn’t been so hilariously blatant about it.

“Just two more days and it will be over,” I say. “But, right now, I need to call Patricia and touch base about a couple of things. Or should I call Grace Marie instead? If I sense any awkwardness about the recent gossip, it’ll give me a chance to address it. Wouldn’t it be awful to hear people gossiping about your husband-to-be and his ex-girlfriend? To know people think he should’ve married the ex, not you?”

“It’s a good idea to call her,” Mom says. “Get a read on the situation now so you can be proactive if need be. The good thing is, the Gossip Brigade will settle down after Grace Marie and Riley are married. They’ll move on to something else.”

I’m on my way back to the office to call Grace Marie when the bell on the door jingles.

“You have some explaining to do, Jenna Bell.” Grace Marie’s Southern accent drips venom, and her ice-blue eyes look positively murderous. Tall, athletic Riley slinks in behind her with a hangdog look on his face, as if this is the last place he wants to be but he can’t escape his fiancée’s invisible leash.

Obviously, she’s heard the gossip.

“Good morning, Grace Marie.” My smile feels too bright. “I was just about to call you.”

In my peripheral vision, I catch Mom exchanging a look with Alicia.

“Let’s go into my office where we can talk,” I say to Grace Marie and Riley. Even if there are no other customers in the shop, I do not want my client to pitch a hissy fit on the sales floor.

I’m relieved when Grace Marie and Riley follow me past the racks of billowing tulle, lace, and satin. Grace Marie’s angry footsteps are swallowed by the plush Persian rug that covers the hardwood floors.

“Would you like some coffee?” I offer as I shut the door behind us. The office I share with my mom isn’t as fancy as the shop itself. In addition to our two desks, which are shoehorned in, the room is cluttered with boxes of brochures, complimentary bridal magazines, catalogues, and fabric samples.

Grace Marie wrinkles her pert nose and flounces. “I did not come here for a coffee chat, Jenna.”

Her stylish, long wool coat looks brand new. I wonder if it’s a gift from Patricia. The bloodred color matches her lipstick and is a striking contrast to her blonde hair and ivory complexion. Grace Marie may not come from money, but she is adapting well.

She lowers herself onto one of the chairs across from my desk. That’s when I notice her hands are trembling.

“Grace Marie, what’s wrong?” I ask in my most concerned voice. “How can I help?”

“What’s wrong?” she sputters. “Are you kidding? If you want to help, stay away from my fiancé.”

She’s heard the gossip. Still, I play dumb.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Grace Marie sniffles. Her eyes are brimming. “It’s pretty low for the wedding planner to move in on the groom, don’t you think?”

“Grace Marie, Riley and I are just friends. I am not interested in your fiancé.”

I glance at him for backup. But he’s sitting slumped forward in the chair, his elbows braced on his knees. His attention is fixed on the floor.

Come on, Riley, man up.

“Riley, will you please tell your fiancée there is nothing between us.”

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me. He has the nerve to look wounded.

It takes everything I have to not yell, He’s all yours, Grace Marie. I had my chance. He proposed to me years ago. I didn’t want to marry him then and I don’t want him now.

Instead, I prod, “Riley?”

“There’s nothing going on, Grace Marie,” Riley says in a robotic monotone. It’s the voice of a man who has uttered these words countless times to deaf ears.

I’d wager Grace Marie picked out his expensive preppy clothes—khaki chinos and hunter green cable-knit sweater peeking out from his navy pea coat. They belie the dark circles under his eyes, which make him look as if he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. His blond curly hair looks a mess, like it hasn’t seen a comb in days.

That’s the Riley I know.

Grace Marie turns her weepy gaze on Riley. “Am I supposed to believe you? Why would everyone in town say you should be marrying Jenna if there wasn’t some truth to it? I just don’t understand why they’d do that.”

“Actually, Grace Marie, I have several ideas why.” I know she’s not asking me, but Riley isn’t even trying to get through to her. “You take a few hopeless romantics who have watched too may Lifetime TV movies, mix in a bushel of sour grapes because they weren’t invited to your wedding—because you do realize your wedding is Hemlock’s social event of the season, don’t you—fold in the small-town mindset that wishes Hemlock’s most eligible bachelor would’ve picked a hometown girl, and you’ve got a recipe for…this. But he chose you, Grace Marie. He wants to marry you. When you and Riley get home from your honeymoon, it will stop. I promise you it will.”

She squints at me and tilts her head to the side, reminding me of my mother’s corgis.

She nods, but then her eyes brim again. “I just have one thing to say to the two of you. Don’t make a fool out of me. If there’s something I need to know, just say it.”

“Honey, there’s nothing going on between me and Jenna. I don’t know what else to say to make you believe me.”

Grace Marie is studying him with watery eyes.

I hand her a tissue.

“I mean, sure, we loved each other once—and I’ll always kind of love her, but—”

Grace Marie wails. At the top of her lungs.

She starts full-on sobbing.

Riley gives me an exasperated look. “I don’t know what else to say.”

He slumps back in the chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and stretches his long legs out in front of him.

A knock sounds on the door and my mom peeks in before I can answer. “Everything okay in here?”

Grace Marie swipes at her eyes with the tissue and turns her back to the door.

“We’re fine,” I say. “Just working through some last-minute concerns.”

Mom’s gaze darts from me to Grace Marie to Riley and full circle back to me. She’s mentally telegraphing, Do you need help?

I shake my head and force a smile. “The bride has some questions before the big day tomorrow.”

My mother mouths, “Let me know if you need help.”

I nod. “Mom, do you have customers?”

It dawns on me that maybe this is her subtle way of letting me know the sound of backroom keening doesn’t inspire other brides to say yes to the dress.

“We will in a half hour.”

I give her a thumbs-up. She disappears, leaving the office door cracked open a couple of inches. Probably so she can save me if Grace Marie tries to kill me.

I turn back to my clients.

“Grace Marie, I think what Riley means is that we can’t change the past, but his future is with you. Right, Riley?”

“Sure,” he says. “You are my future, Grace Marie. You are my life.”

I wince. Again, he doesn’t sound convincing. When he reaches out to take Grace Marie’s hand, she pulls away, her two-carat diamond glinting under the office lights. She must notice it, too, because she stares at her hand, straightens the ring, and sighs.

It sounds more like a sigh of appreciation than one of resignation.

It calls to mind something my mother shared when Riley proposed to me all those years ago.

She said, “Even the best marriage is challenging. You can’t just love the person. You have to like him if you’re going to make it through the ups and downs. A good test is to look at your relationship at the moment of the proposal. Are you happy enough to build a marriage on that particular moment, because it’s likely the most romantic of the relationship?”

Basically, she was saying it was all downhill from there.

Mom hadn’t meant it that way, of course. It was simply her way of saying romantic love doesn’t last, but a strong foundation of trust and admiration does.

After that, I couldn’t marry Riley. Not only were we too young, back then neither of us had a clue about where we were going or what we wanted out of life. Riley Buxston came from a wealthy family, and he’d never had to work a day in his life. It wouldn’t have been a marriage of equals. I would’ve been the one steering the ship. When I thought about spending the rest of my life with someone, it wasn’t what I wanted.

Is it what Grace Marie wants?

But it’s not my concern. My role is not to play marriage counselor, but to plan the perfect wedding and make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Never in my life did I dream I’d have to factor in small-town gossip as a possible snag.

“Grace Marie, it’s normal to have pre-wedding jitters. I think that’s what’s causing you to feel this way.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m feeling,” she snaps. “If I could fire you, I would. But I can’t. Patricia hired you. She loves you. And because of that, I have to listen to all the gossip and deal with people whispering about you and Riley behind their hands.”

Grace Marie chokes on her words. Her chest convulses. I want to assure her that Patricia doesn’t love me, that she’s taking great pleasure in the fact that I’m not the bride, but it won’t help.

“How long have you and Riley been together?” I ask.

Grace Marie blinks and sniffs. “Two years.”

“Okay, consider this. If he and I had been destined for each other, we had five years to work things out before he even met you.”

Grace Marie blinks again, but this time she appears to be considering what I’m saying.

“Do you know how many times he and I went out during the five years before you two met?”

“How many?” Her voice sounds small.

“Zero. Riley and I have not even seen each other casually as friends in the time since he and I broke up. Doesn’t that prove there isn’t anything between us?”

Grace Marie is staring at her ring again.

“I guess not.” Tears stream down her face.

“Jenna’s right, Grace Marie.” Riley has finally found his voice. He turns to his bride. “I love you.”

The words sound right, but Riley looks downright terrified, like he would run if he could.

“It’s just so hard to know all those people are talking about the two of you,” Grace Marie says. “It’s so disrespectful. So hurtful.”

I hand Grace Marie another tissue. “I’m sorry you’re having to endure it. It is hurtful and disrespectful. But, Grace Marie, I’m on your side. Don’t let them rain on your wedding. The best response is to arrive at the church with your head held high and show them that not only are you the most beautiful bride they’ve ever seen, but you’re the only bride for Riley Buxston.”

Grace Marie’s face softens. She blows her nose. “I guess you’re right. If you were still in love with Riley, I’m sure you wouldn’t be so eager for us to walk down the aisle. I’m sorry, Jenna.”

Riley is staring at the floor again.

But Grace Marie doesn’t seem to notice. She stands up and hugs me. I recognize the perfume she’s wearing. It’s one of the more potent Chanel fragrances. I don’t know which one, but it’s the same one Patricia wears.

I find it creepy that Grace Marie would want to smell like her mother-in-law, but hey, who am I to judge? Maybe she helped herself to a squirt of Patricia’s perfume?

Ehh…still creepy.

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “The Gossip Brigade is one of the hazards of living in Hemlock. They get their minds fixated on something and they can’t give it up. They’re like pit bulls with a bone. Just ignore them.”

“I wish we could move to Atlanta,” Grace Marie says to Riley. “Let’s just go. Right now. Let’s elope.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Riley says. “I don’t have a job there. My dad’s company is here. I have to work.”

“Why can’t you work remotely?” Grace Marie whines.

They’re talking as if I’m not here. I consider that a good thing.

“We’ve already been over this, Grace Marie. I’m working out of the home office. Dad says we can talk about expanding my territory to include Atlanta in a year. In the meantime, I’ve got to prove myself.”

The first time Riley worked for his dad’s company, things didn’t end well. Charles Buxston fired his son and cut off his allowance. That’s when Riley moved to Atlanta and met Grace Marie.

Patricia delighted in rubbing my nose in the fact that Riley’s job with Buxston-Fox Development and the condo the Buxstons had given them were engagement presents.

“Why is Atlanta so important to you now?” Riley asked. “You hated your job. If we live in Hemlock, you won’t even have to work.”

Grace Marie takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. It sounds as if she’s fighting against slipping back into her funk. I wonder if she’s starting to realize that the bling, the new clothes, the condo, and the promise of a life of leisure come at a high personal cost?

As if steeling her resolve, she clasps her hands together, making a clapping sound.

“Okay, this is how it’s going to be,” she says. “Riley, I need you to ask your mother to put an end to these horrible rumors. Patricia has a lot of influence around here. Make her do something. Because if we’re going to live here, I want this nonsense to stop. And I mean now. Otherwise, I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do to the next person I hear talking about me—or you and Jenna. Do you understand me?”

Her voice catches. The tears are back. They’re flowing down her pretty face causing her mascara to run, making her look maniacal.

Riley nods and pulls her into his arms. Then he kisses her. Her body relaxes into his. The kiss grows deeper and goes on longer than is comfortable for a bystander with a front-row seat. I turn around and study my project board. Looking, but not really seeing what’s written on it. I don’t turn back around until I hear Riley mutter, “Don’t cry, Grace Marie. I love you.”

Intermittent kissing breaks up the words. “I really do love you,” Riley coos. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

More kissing.

“I don’t know why I put up with you either,” she says. “But I love you, too… And it’s a good thing—” Grace Marie’s voice is breathy between the words and the kissing. “Because as much as I want to be your wife, Riley Buxston, sometimes I want to kill you.”

Chapter Two | Slay Bells Ring

~ Jenna ~

After being raked over the coals by Grace Marie, I just want to close the books on the Taylor-Buxston wedding.

I make a mental note to never, ever agree to plan the wedding of anyone I’ve dated in the past, no matter how casually, no matter how good the money or prestige.

It just isn’t worth it.

With all the attention focused on her, Grace Marie seems in better spirits at the rehearsal. She’s stone cold to me, but it’s okay.

If that’s what it takes to put a wrap on this event and avoid a potential runaway bride situation, then so be it. I can handle the silent treatment. Instead of making her talk to me, I direct all my last-minute questions to Patricia.

After the rehearsal, I go back to the office and work late smoothing out last-minute details for tomorrow’s reception, which will happen at the Hemlock Golf and Country Club.

I’ve done everything I can, and I feel confident that all the details are covered, but just in case, I have several alternate plans up my sleeve—I have a contingency for every possible scenario.

Now, I am finally home.

I can’t suppress a yawn as I let myself inside. I need a good night’s sleep so I’ll be fresh tomorrow.

I live in an apartment that comprises the entire lower level of Mom’s house. It’s a great setup. The three-story structure is built on the side of a mountain, which makes it conducive for dividing it into two separate living spaces.

Six months ago, when I returned to Hemlock from Raleigh to open my own event-planning business, Mom was thrilled to have me home. I moved to Raleigh after I graduated from the University of North Carolina to work for a commercial event planner, but after a couple of years, I was ready to strike out on my own. And I was homesick.

Not only was it good to be closer to my mom and grandmother, but Mom was excited to share her office in the back of the shop with me. Our businesses could feed each other.

At home, we pooled our money and hired a carpenter to put a door at the top of the staircase that leads down to the lower level to give me a sense of privacy and my own space. We also turned an area that used to house a wet bar into a small kitchenette.

I have my own entrance at the back of the house. Mom’s is off the front. The two of us share the driveway. It’s a great setup.

I’m not going to live in her house forever, but I do appreciate her giving me the opportunity to save money while I’m getting my business off the ground.

When I got home, I noticed Mom’s car was gone and then I remembered she was meeting with her cozy mystery writers group tonight. I’m proud of her writing endeavor and I’m happy she has such a good support group full of like-minded writers. She works so hard during the day running the bridal shop, I’m glad she hasn’t given up her dream of publishing a book someday.

For now, the only thing I’m dreaming of is a hot bath and a warm, cozy bed.

I’m ready to step into the bathtub when I hear the knock on the front door.

Good grief, it’s after 11:00. Who would come over at this hour?

Suddenly, I freeze with fear that something happened to Grandma, or maybe Mom had an accident. The temperature dropped about twenty degrees after the sun went down. A light snow had fallen, but it was a dry snow, not the wet stuff that would freeze and pose a hazard to drivers. But deer tended to pop out on the winding mountain roads no matter the weather.

I pull on my pink terry bathrobe, hurry to the door, and flick on the porch light. I’m both relieved and bewildered to find not the police, but Riley slouching against my doorjamb.

“Riley Buxston, what on earth are you doing here at this hour? You’re supposed to be at your bachelor party tonight.”

Riley staggers back a few steps and before he has a chance to open his mouth, I smell the alcohol and the stench of stale cigars.

“I was at my bachelor party, but my brother sent me home. I wasn’t ready to go home.” He leans in. “So, I came to see you.”

He jabs a finger in the vicinity of my shoulder, misses, and stumbles forward. I stick out a hand just in time to keep him from falling into me and push him out of my personal space.

There are few things I hate more than a sloppy drunk. “Please tell me you did not drive in your condition.”

I wrap my arms around myself for warmth against the cold and look to see if Riley’s car is parked up on the driveway. From my vantage point, I can’t see anything.

“Don’t be silly,” Riley slurs. “You were always so silly, Jenna. That’s one of the things I love about you. Jenna. Jenna, Jenna, the winna. Bo binna. Fe fi fo fenna. Jenna!”

He leans in toward me for the last word of the song. His acrid breath could start a fire. Again, I push him away.

No. I was never the silly one in our relationship. That was one of the many reasons we are no longer together.

“Ben put me in an Uber because he had to go home to Elizabeth. His old ball and chain.” He exaggerates the words. “I told the Uber driver I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to go see Jenna. Because you get me, Jenna. You’re the only one who ever understood me.”

Riley throws his head back and laughs, then breaks into a slurred, off-key rendition of the Phil Collins song 'Against All Odds,' singing about watching someone walk away.

Mrs. Wimberly’s three dogs start barking and howling next door, as if singing backup.

I put my finger to my lips. “Shhhh! Riley, stop it. Please. You’re going to wake up the entire neighborhood.”

“Jenna, oh, Jenna, my love. My unrequited love. Grace Marie wasn’t wrong, ya know. I love you. I’ll always love you. I’ll marry you right now if you’ll have me. Heh! But you won’t have me. Will you?”

“Riley, be quiet. You’re drunk.”

“I am so drunk.” He laughs. “And ya know what? I don’t care. And anyone who does, can kiss my big, fat hairy behind.” He slaps himself on the butt. “Did ya see what I did there, Jenna? I said behind. I didn’t say the word ass because I respect you so much.”

His words are one sloppy slur and he sprays a little spit as he talks. The Christmas wreath bounces as I take cover behind my partially open front door.

“But ya know what they say about getting drunk, don’t ya? Do ya know what they say, Jenna? They say looker listens the loops—uh—the licks. Uh—No. Wait. That’s not right. Wait.” He holds up his hand and staggers back a step. “The lips. Looker loosens the lips. It makes you tell the truth. I’m here to tell you the truth, Jenna, my love. I love you.”

This is my worst nightmare come true.

At least in the realm of the Taylor-Buxston wedding, which could devastate my business if it crashes and burns.

“Grace Marie would be so pissed at me if she knew I was here right now. Or if she knew I was drunk.” Again, he throws back his head and laughs, losing his balance and staggering into the porch rail. “Did you know British people call being drunk being pissed? Grace Marie would be pissed at me for being pissed. I couldn’t come to her like this, but you—” He points a wavering finger at me. “You totally get me, Jenna. That’s why I love you. You get me.”

He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Jenna Bell gets me, everybody! I want the whole world to know. And I want everyone to know that I love her. I love Jenna Bell!”

The dogs start barking again, and Mrs. Wimberly opens her door and scolds the animals.

I grab Riley’s arm and pull him closer to hiss in his ear. “Shhhh!”

“What? Whas wrong?” Riley looks around with exaggerated gestures. “Don’t worry, Jenna. I’ll protect you.” He steps in front of me as if he can defend me when he can barely even stand up.

“No,” I whisper, whacking him on the back to get his attention.

“Ow! You’ve always been a feisty thing, haven’t you?”

I gesture in the direction of Mrs. Wimberly’s house and press my index finger against my lips, trying to make Riley understand that he has to be quiet. The last thing I need is for Mrs. Wimberly, one of the founding officers of the Gossip Brigade, to see drunken Riley at my door at this hour.

“Come on, lemme in, Jenna,” Riley whines. “I’m cold. And no one will hear us if we go inside.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow his voice is even louder now than it was before. I make one more futile attempt at shushing him, but all it does is agitate him.

“I don’t care who knows, I love you, Jenna. I. Love. Jenna. Bell.”

“Jenna, is that you over there causing this ruckus? Who’s with you?”

Mrs. Wimberly’s back door is on the same level as the entrance to my apartment. The older woman opens the gate that separates our properties and walks over to the edge of my porch.

“Young lady, do I need to remind you what time it is—” Mrs. Wimberly stops midsentence and gasps. “Riley Buxston, what on earth are you doing here at this hour? Aren’t you supposed to be getting married tomorrow? Of course, I wasn’t invited to the wedding, but I hardly think it’s appropriate for you to be sneaking around your ex-girlfriend’s house this close to midnight.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Wimberly,” Riley slurs. “I had to see Jenna. She understands me. She gets me. Don’t tell Grace Marie you saw me here. She said she’d kill me if she found out I was fooling around with Jenna.”

“And we most certainly are not fooling around,” I add. “Mrs. Wimberly, I am so sorry Riley disturbed you. This is not what it looks like. He was at his bachelor party and, as you can see, he had a little too much celebration. He said Ben put him in a car to send him home, but for some reason Riley had the car stop here.”

Mrs. Wimberly eyes my bathrobe. Her puckered mouth and crossed arms tell me all I needed to know. She’s not buying it and it seems like the more I say, the deeper I dig myself in.

“Jenna, let me come inside,” Riley whines. “It’s cold out here and I don’t feel so good.”

“You’re not coming inside, Riley,” I say. “Stay here while I go get dressed and get my car keys and my purse. Then I am going to drive you home. You are just having wedding jitters. After you get over your hangover tomorrow, you are going to marry Grace Marie and you two are going to go on your honeymoon and live happily ever after. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Wimberly?”

The older woman shrugs. “If I were Grace Marie, I don’t know if I’d want to marry him. Showing up at his ex-girlfriend’s house the middle of the night before his wedding. Riley Buxston, you should be ashamed of yourself. And Jenna, you should know better—”

“Mrs. Wimberly, can you not see what’s really going on here?”

“Oh, I can see plenty from where I’m standing.”

Riley’s face crumples. “I am ashamed of myself. That’s the thing. Grace Marie is a good girl. She’s a sweet girl. And she’s going to make somebody a really good husband—Uh, I mean a good wife. I don’t deserve her. She doesn’t deserve to get saddled with a loser like me. I’ve done some bad things, Jenna. I’ve done some really bad things and I just don’t want to drag her into it.”

“Mrs. Wimberly, would you please stay here with Riley while I go get dressed? I’ll take him home.”

I let myself inside the front door before my neighbor has a chance to answer. I turn the lock on the door handle just in case Riley tries to follow me inside.

Dressing as fast as I can, I throw on jeans and the first sweater I can grab. I pull on my coat and snow boots. By the time I return to the porch, Mrs. Wimberly is nowhere to be found, but Riley is sitting on the first step, with his head in his hands.

“Come on, Riley, let’s get you home.”

Ten minutes later, I steer my car into the Birkshire Condominiums parking lot. Riley’s complex. It’s a new development built by his dad’s company.

Sometime along the short ride, Riley passed out. Before he did, he was alternately humming that Phil Collins tune to himself and muttering about what a screwup he was.

I didn’t say a word. I just let him hum and mumble himself to sleep. It was better than the alternative of him getting sick in my car, which, by the grace of God, he didn’t do.

After I park, I walk around to the passenger side and prod Riley until he wakes up and manages to stagger to his feet. Leaning on me, he lets me guide him through the empty glass and chrome lobby, to the elevator. He gives me his key card and the lift takes us to his condo on the top floor of the six-story building.

During the ride up, Riley tries to kiss me. I turn my head just in time. The would-be kiss ends up being more of a sloppy lick on the cheek.

I elbow him away. “Riley, stop it. Even if you weren’t getting married tomorrow, there is just no way—” I stop midsentence. I want to make it clear that I am not interested in being his drunken conquest. For that matter, I’m not interested in being his sober conquest. But even though I’m irritated, there is no sense in being cruel.

“You listen to me. Grace Marie is good for you. Do not ruin it by doing something stupid that you’ll regret tomorrow. Do you understand me?”

Riley nods.

“Good. Tomorrow you are going to show up at the church and we are going to pretend like tonight never happened. Got it?”

He nods again and spends the rest of the elevator ride contemplating his shoes.

At six stories tall, the Birkshire Condominiums is the tallest building in Hemlock. Charles Buxston prides himself on that fact, but being only six stories, I can’t see how they can justify calling Riley’s condo the penthouse even if it does occupy the entire top floor. Aren’t penthouses on top of skyscrapers?

I hoist Riley’s arm over my shoulder and walk him out of the elevator into what appears to be a beautiful luxury home. It’s the first time I’ve seen his place. It’s posh. I find it interesting that Charles and Patricia gave Riley and Grace Marie the best unit in the building.

Patricia delighted in telling me all about the condo gift during one of our wedding planning meetings. She also took great pride in the fact that Grace Marie wasn’t moving in until after the wedding. It’s probably a good thing she is staying with her bridal party at the Hemlock Hotel tonight. She’d probably kill us both if she saw us together at this hour.

I consider knocking on Mrs. Wimberly’s door when I get home to show her I’m alone. Maybe I should have a heart-to-heart with her. The last thing Grace Marie needs on her wedding day is for the Gossip Brigade to whisper about Riley’s drunken late-night visit to his ex-girlfriend’s house, which he is likely to either regret or forget by the time he’s in his tuxedo and standing at the altar.

I stagger-walk Riley over to the sofa. It’s a nice piece of furniture, brand new and of generous proportion, and made of Cordovan-colored leather.

Riley falls down onto the sofa, in a half sitting half lounging position, muttering his appreciation and undying love for me before he passes out and his nonsense gives way to open-mouthed snoring.

His head is on the sofa’s armrest, but his legs are hanging off the edge of the seat. I bend down and carefully lift his legs onto the cushion so he is completely prone.

After he’s in place, I stand stock-still, praying that the jostling didn’t wake him. He mutters something as he turns onto his side, then the snoring resumes.

When I’m sure the sleep has taken hold, I sigh, blowing out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Oh, Riley,” I whisper. “You are your own worst enemy. Why would you come over to my house tonight? Why would you do this to yourself and to Grace Marie? Especially after the scene in my office today.”

Even though Grace Marie has nothing to worry about when it comes to me stealing her man, I can’t blame her for being upset.

“You’re lucky to have a woman like Grace Marie, you big dummy,” I whisper, hoping it will sink into his subconscious. “She must really love you to put up with your nonsense.”

He answers me by snoring louder.

I glance around the condo. It’s neat and clean and decorated nicely in expensive-looking wood and leather. Several antique rugs lie atop the wide-plank, weathered gray pine floors, defining the space throughout the open-concept plan and pulling the design together. Probably the handiwork of Grace Marie or Patricia. Wedding gifts are all over the place, in various stages of being opened.

I pick up a beautiful crystal brandy decanter that’s sitting on the coffee table in a large tissue-lined gift box and look at it. Its fine facets reflect the light, reminding me of the huge stone on Grace Marie’s finger.

I run my own finger over the delicate Waterford sticker. There’s a small card in the box. I set down the decanter and read it.

Much love and many blessings in your new life together. Bebe and Harris Bailey.

Just as Patricia insinuated, this could’ve been my life, my wedding, my brandy decanter. I shudder, feeling as if I’ve dodged a bullet, and set down the decanter like it’s burning my fingers. But, with all this finery, no wonder the average person thinks I’m crazy for not wanting to marry Riley, for not jumping at the chance to become part of the wealthiest family in Hemlock.

Riley snorts then burrows his lanky frame deeper into his bed on the couch, murmuring something that sounds like my name.

Obviously, money doesn’t buy happiness. I study his handsome face, his chiseled features, and, to the uninformed, it probably seems as if he has it all. Despite the struggles with his family, he has made his way back into their good graces.

Please don’t mess it up again.

At heart, Riley is a good guy. He’s just spoiled and loves to party and have a good time—all the time. After flunking out of college, he always had a crowd around him; he was generous with his money and attracted the wrong people, who tended to take advantage of him.

If I would’ve gotten back together with him, I would’ve always been the adult in the relationship. Even though I have no romantic feelings for him, he will always have a place in my heart.

I spy an expensive-looking chunky woven throw, tied with a ribbon and displayed in an open box, obviously another wedding gift. I untie the ribbon, unfold it, and gently spread it over him.

“Riley, this is your chance,” I whisper. “Don’t blow it.”

As I brush a blond curl off his forehead, I silently wish him well and say a prayer for Grace Marie, that she will be strong enough to help Riley keep his act together.