Falling for the Best Man (Sisters of Wishing Bridge Farm, #1)(6)

As soon as Melinda had caught sight of the old, rustic birdcage that had been hanging up in the barn, she’d been determined to have fifty doves released to symbolize the marriage. Nor did she care that the only person who Emmy could get white doves from was a temperamental breeder called Monsieur Lafayette who only spoke French and didn’t like his doves flying on a Sunday.

It hadn’t helped that she’d lost a day dealing the accommodation crisis and most of yesterday afternoon at the airport, discovering a man from her past was now very much a man in her present.

No wonder I have a headache.

She picked up the phone and the small phrase book she’d purchased, and was just about to leave Monsieur Lafayette yet another message when she caught sight of Christopher walking up from the guest cottage. She put the handset down and sucked in a lungful of air.

He was wearing old jeans and a faded denim shirt that highlighted his tan, and Emmy realized there was one more thing she’d forgotten to add to her long to-do list.

Ovaries on lockdown. Check.

She dragged her gaze away and hoped she wasn’t about to embark on Mission Impossible.

“Ah, so it wasn’t a dream. I really was dragged to a farm with lousy wifi,” he said by way of greeting.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well,” Emmy said in a tight voice, determined to ignore his baiting as he stepped into the kitchen. She normally loved the wide, sunny room with the old wooden table that had been in the Watson family for generations, but now it was far too small and lacking in oxygen.

Just breathe and don’t look at the hot guy in your kitchen.

“Have you been up all night?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head. Getting three hours sleep probably wasn’t doing any favors to her appearance. Not that she cared. Obviously. “We have to leave for the wine tour in half an hour, so would you like some breakfast before we go?”

“You’re going to let me within the vicinity of single bridesmaids? Aren’t you worried I’ll cause a scene and ruin the wedding?” His velvet-green eyes mocked her as he pulled out one of the mismatched wooden chairs and sat down. His jet lag might be gone, but his mood obviously hadn’t changed.

“I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” Emmy pushed a loaf of homemade bread in his direction and nodded to the jar of jam made from last summer’s brambles

“Why do I get the feeling that you would rather be babysitting a box of spiders?” Christopher cut a thick slice of bread and sniffed it in appreciation before he smeared it in butter.

“I just want this wedding over,” Emmy said while trying not to admire his long fingers. Would it be so bad if she reached out and touched them? A shiver ran up her spine at the very idea.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you,” he said as he picked up her phrase book with interest. “Parlez-vous francais?”

“What?” Emmy dragged her gaze away from his fingers. Her cheeks heated, and she hastily began to pluck stray threads off her white dress. If he can read minds, I’m in big trouble.

“I was asking if you spoke French, but I’m gathering from your less than fluent response that you don’t,” he said as a small smile danced around his mouth.

“Unfortunately, no,” she said, suddenly feeling very provincial. No doubt all the other women he knew could speak fluent French and would never stay up all night working. They probably didn’t kidnap best men from weddings, either.

Paragons.

“So, what?” His eyes filled with curiosity. “You’re finally ready to leave home?”

“Very funny.” She tried not to flinch at the unwelcome character assessment. “You might hate small towns, but there’s something to be said for knowing your neighbors. Being able to say hello to old friends. Trusting that people are looking out for you.”

“I’m sure there is.” His mouth tightened for a moment before he gave an easy shrug. “Though, I still don’t see where the French fits into it.”

She forced herself to stop looking at the small lines around his eyes. Had they been there the last time she’d seen him? She didn’t think so.

“I’m trying to talk to a man about some doves. Fifty to be exact.”

“Ah! So that explains the empty bird cages sitting on the front porch.” Christopher gave her a questioning look. “Aren’t you leaving it late?”

“It’s all under control, thank you very much.” Emmy snatched the phrase book from him and tried not to think of the last conversation she’d had with the bad-tempered dove breeder. According to her translation he’d suggested she go and reside in a very cold, very miserable place for the rest of her life. But that was one of many details Christopher didn’t need to know. “If you’ve finished, we should go.”

“Sure.” He got to his feet. “But first, shouldn’t I say hello to your aunt? Unless of course you’re worried I’ll flirt with her? From what you told me, she sounds feisty.”

Emmy immediately forgot about the doves, and Christopher, too, as her throat tightened at the mention of the woman who’d raised her.

I will not cry in front of him.

“Ivy died last year.” She finally spoke, proud that the words didn’t catch. It was Ivy who’d taken in Emmy and her sisters when everything had gone to hell. And Emmy would do anything to protect the farm her aunt had loved