Rhys picks me up at eight, sharp. Ignoring me when I told him I’d meet him at the jeweler’s place.
“You’ve been MIA too many times, Marine,” he jokes as I squeeze myself into his regular-sized car.
“I need to make sure we get things shipshape before tomorrow,” he adds, creasing his mouth and looking into the distance.
Looking towards his future with a face that makes me wonder if he really is doing the right thing, or is he just ‘settling’ the way some people do.
Taking whatever comes their way to avoid trouble. Getting hitched just to avoid dying alone one day.
It’s a morbid thought, and it’s me who lifts our mood by suggesting we grab breakfast on the way.
“Everything you won’t be allowed to eat after tomorrow,” I jest, making Rhys laugh.
“Sure,” he readily agrees, pulling out from my driveway and scanning the streets out of habit.
Always looking for the trouble he left behind years ago in Kabul.
Full of grease and carbs, we’re a little sleepy by the time we reach the jeweler who’s not the only one concerned when I failed to collect the wedding bands on time.
“Just a day or two late, no harm done,” Rhys assures him. Studying the rings and busying the jeweler by asking if he can have an inscription on Clara’s ring.
“If it’s not too late?” he adds in a near sarcastic tone.
While he’s busy with the jeweler, I do some browsing myself.
I’ve never been a jewelry kinda guy. Stuff like that can get caught up in your gear, jam a trigger, or set one off when you don’t need it to.
But I’m not looking for me.
I’m looking for someone else.
An attendant emerges from behind a heavy velvet curtain, more than happy to help when she sees I’m not some broke loser kicking tires.
In a low voice, I tell her my business, insisting she keeps it as discreet as I am.
Rhys is only feet away.
“Size?” The attendant asks as I handle a ring-sizer, almost getting myself thrown out once I start to slip it into my mouth.
“Here,” I rasp, keeping a finger on the gauge, passing it back. “I’ll pay for that too,” I add sheepishly, realizing the store probably has a ‘no sucking’ policy on their tools.
“That’s her size,” I explain, needing to use the memory of her tiny fingers in my mouth to get the exact measurement.
A sensation I’ll never forget.
The attendant isn’t impressed until I produce the wad of bills I’ve brought along.
I raise both brows with my own silent question.
Enough?
With the flash of cash, the deal is done.
And just in time too, Rhys is returning from another part of the store, beaming as he passes me a glossy paper bag with two little velvet boxes in it.
I’ve already pocketed what I came for myself.
“What’ve you been doing?” he asks with a note of friendly suspicion.
“Just browsing,” I confess as he slaps me hard on the back, thanking the jeweler again as we leave.
“Not getting clucky on me are ya?” he grins again once we’re back in his car.
If you only knew the half of it, Rhys.
And ‘clucky’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use either.
“Let’s go,” he finally says. Changing the subject and letting me off the hook we both feel I’m dangling on internally.
“You know if you park in the valley we can take a hike,” I recommend.
Something we used to do as kids even.
As young Marines, the treacherous hike always felt more like a walk in the park.
Now we’re a little older, and although both of us are still in great condition, it’s a friendly challenge between buddies to see who can make it without breaking a sweat.
“I’d like that,” Rhys says.
Offering me his hand, which I grip firm.
Friends and Marines, for life.
No matter what.
“Oh, Rhys?” I ask once we’re on our way, glad I remembered.
“Yeah?”
“I need to pick up my suit, can we stop by and pick it up on the way?” I ask, relieved when he frowns but nods.
That gives me a chance to pick up Piper’s dress too… drop it off with her tonight maybe?
Reeve. You are one sly devil.
Chapter Eighteen
Monday
Piper
I hardly sleep a wink, and I’m still not sure if Reeve has ‘work’ planned for me, I’m up earlier than I think I’ve ever been.
I dress hurriedly, not even bothering to shower.
Maybe Reeve has a ‘work’ solution for that?
“Since when are your clothes your pajamas?” Mom asks me, looking like she’s had less sleep than I have.
My puzzled expression only seems to annoy her.
“Wearing that to bed,” she exclaims.
I avoid telling her it is what I’m wearing today, but she seems to have been waiting to pounce on me.
“I know you had some work yesterday with Reeve,” she starts, making my stomach drop.
Sensing something bad coming.
“But the wedding is tomorrow, so no more Reeve and his construction company until after my big day,” she says firmly.