Julie Miller - Do-Or-Die Bridesmaid

“Vinnie’s the new guy?”

Nodding, Laura braced her hand on Conor’s arm and stretched up onto her toes, scanning through the crowd. Conor automatically followed suit, checking the diners and dancers, even though he didn’t know who he was looking for. “You don’t see a blonde about my size wearing ridiculously high heels, do you? I proudly accept that I’m never going to top five-three, but she overcompensates by wearing killer heels all the time. Even to run to the grocery store.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that tonight.” To be honest, he realized that he’d been so focused on his own inner demons that he hadn’t paid much attention to any women younger than his late mother, besides Lisa and her sisters. A quick scan of the dance floor and dining area now didn’t reveal any young blondes tottering around on scary heels.

When Laura pulled her hand away, Conor wondered at the imprint of heat that lingered on the skin beneath his jacket. What was wrong with him tonight? There wasn’t anything that felt right or normal about this long-overdue trip home except for Laura. And now he was blowing this reprieve because she’d gone and grown up on him, and he couldn’t get comfortable in his own damn skin around her.

“Chloe doesn’t always make the best choices,” Laura went on. “I worry. I mean, Isaac wasn’t exactly trippin’ her switch, but he was steady, nice.”

The fading red mark on Laura’s hand made him question what kind of temper Royal was hiding behind that geeky façade. But he’d go along with her for now. “In other words, boring. Let me guess, the new guy drives a fast car, spends a lot of money on her and looks like the lead in the newest superhero movie franchise.”

Laura laughed. “You’ve met Vinnie Orlando?”

“He sounds like a cartoon character.”

Laura butted her shoulder against Conor’s arm, smiling at how he must have nailed the description of a handsome party boy who could turn a woman’s head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that she wants to date someone else. Isaac can be a little...controlling. With his budgets and schedules. Chloe’s a free spirit. She’s an artist. She paints some, but mostly sculpts in clay—animals, human figures, busts. She makes ends meet by waiting tables. She’s got a big heart, but she wants what she wants.”

“That doesn’t sound like a recipe for a successful relationship.”

“I always thought it was an ‘opposites attract’ kind of thing for her and Isaac. She brought him out of his shell. He offered her security. Her home life isn’t much to tell about. Her dad’s been MIA for years, mom’s in prison.” Laura’s sigh was audible above the pounding beat of the music. “Still, I thought she’d come today. She is a friend of the family.”

“It’s awkward when things don’t go the way you planned with the person you love.”

Hazel eyes swiveled up to his. “That rings a little too close to home, doesn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Squirt.” Conor shrugged. “I’m not the man your sister needed. And try as I might to change things, we were never going to be. I wish I’d figured that out sooner. Could have saved a few dings to my heart and my pride.” He tilted his head down to her and winked. “She wants what she wants, too.”

Laura’s hand moved back to that spot on his arm, and Conor felt the squeeze of compassion through the layers of worsted wool and cotton he wore. Then she linked her elbow through his and leaned against his side in what he could only describe as an arm hug. When had Laura Karr become such a toucher? Or had he just never noticed that natural way she made contact with those around her before? “I’m sure today is hard for you. Lisa was so worried you’d crawled off into a dark hole after she announced her engagement to Joe. So soon after losing your mom? People here worry about you.”

He was well aware of that fact. “People? You mean Lisa? She wants everything in her world to be organized, neat, pretty. Breakups aren’t pretty.” He nodded to the hallway where Isaac had disappeared. “Ask your friend.”

The song ended and was momentarily replaced by the buzz of conversations across the reception hall before a slower tune started. Conor retreated to the nearest table, pulling Laura out of the way as dancers who weren’t coupled up filed off the dance floor. Several more guests left their seats, moving forward to take advantage of the sultry jazz melody.

Laura’s arm was still linked with his, the scent of her hair filling up his head, and as the crowd thinned they could nudge a little space between them again. “You and Lisa were friends long before you two were an item. We were all friends. Family, practically. That’s why she was so worried.”

“A guilty conscience will do that.”

“Conor...”

He raised his hands in surrender, breaking the last of the connection between them, admitting that was a low blow. “Sorry. Sarcasm is my go-to when I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I’m ready to be buddy-buddy again, but I’m hardly living in a dark hole.”

Laura faced him. “You ran away to Kansas City.”

“My job took me to Kansas City,” he explained for the umpteenth time that night. “I was protecting a witness. We damn near lost her because of my supervisor’s wheeling and dealing.”

She was squeezing his arm again. “Is that why you changed jobs? Because you lost a witness? Is that why you stayed?”

“We didn’t lose her—thanks to some help from her boss and his family, all local cops there, the Watsons and some close friends of theirs. We arrested the killer who was targeting her.” The Watson family had turned out to be better allies than the unit he’d been working with at the Marshals Service. “I like KC. I like the people. I trust the friends I’ve made there.”

“Meaning you don’t trust your friends here anymore?”

“Not when they took comfort in each other’s arms.” For a moment, Conor wondered if the sarcasm had leaked out of his mouth again because Laura propped her fists on her hips and looked as if she was about to scold him for the uncharitable thought. Conor shook his head. The problem with old friends was that they sometimes knew him better than he knew himself.

“ People need to stop worrying about me. I’m a grown man. I’m not drowning my sorrows in a bottle. I’m not contemplating suicide. And I sure as hell am not running away from anything. I just...” Laura’s eyes darkened to nearly solid green while she waited for him to finish that sentence. “Truth? I did need some space. I couldn’t think here. There were too many memories. I needed to move on, but I was drowning in everybody’s sympathy and their efforts to make everything right for me again. So, when the new job opportunity came up, I took it. I don’t have any regrets.”

Laura’s shoulders lifted with a deep breath, and she nodded—as if someone around here finally understood why he’d left. “Loss changes you. You had a double whammy of it. You needed time and space to grieve. And you weren’t going to get any better here, with us.”

When he looked past the youthful dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, past the silly bauble in her hair, Conor could see a serene wisdom in the depths of her eyes. Maybe even a hint of sadness or regret there. Curious. “What do you know about loss, Squirt?”

Her gaze held his for a moment before dropping to the middle of his chest where she brushed away something. “Enough to know that I outgrew that nickname a long time ago.”

The bride’s familiar voice reached him a split second before he felt Lisa’s hand at his back. “Con, are you ready to dance?”

A shiver that was part pain, part self-preservation, rippled down his spine. It might be Lisa’s day, but he was done explaining himself and reassuring her.