“Well, so are mine.”

Dillon let out a deep breath. “Let’s just go back to the table and sign off on this stuff and then get out of here. We can talk about this later.”

Later. Quickly becoming the story of her life. She nodded and they moved back to the table, where the florist and his mom were still bent over the portfolio, oohing and ahhing. His mom looked up at Dillon with sweet love in her eyes. “Everything okay now, darling?”

“Of course.”

He shifted aside for Caitlin to get in closer. While he was turned away, his mom’s eyes landed on Caitlin. Not surprisingly, the sweet love in her eyes was gone, but she kept her voice light. “You know what the saying is, when you marry a man, you marry his family.”

Yeah, she was starting to get that. “We’re still not having roses,” she said, possibly too loudly, because everyone in the shop turned to stare at her. Right. She needed to use her inside voice . . .

“I hear you on the roses and I’ll handle it, but, babe . . .” Dillon leaned in and whispered, “you’re making this really uncomfortable.”

“I’m making this uncomfortable?” She stared at him, hurt, pissed off, and, worse, far too close to tears. “The wedding’s supposed to be about the bride,” she said, and when he opened his mouth to say something, she pointed at him. “You told me that, Dillon, right after you asked me to marry you. We talked about what kind of wedding we wanted. You said you wanted whatever I wanted, and I said I wanted something small, intimate, cozy, and simple.”

Dillon nodded. “And that’s what we’re doing.”

“Are you kidding me? The invite list is up to two hundred. How is that simple?”

“We’ve got a large family,” his mom said. “There was no way to cut people out without hurting feelings. Look, dear. Look what our darling florist has available for the centerpiece at the wedding party’s table. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Caitlin eyed the very large, admittedly beautiful, but way over-the-top, centerpiece—complete with roses—and lost track of her inside voice. “Yes, and you should use it if you ever get married again.”

There was an awkward silence, and Caitlin drew a deep breath, realizing Dillon was right about one thing. She was feeling far too overly emotional. She’d worked hard on this wedding to give everyone what they wanted. And she’d done it; she’d actually managed to work in everyone’s thoughts and opinions—well, except for the effing roses.

“You know what?” She shook her head. “I’ve got no idea why I’m so worked up over this, I really don’t. It’s just flowers, and they’ve got nothing to do with how our marriage is going to be, right? I mean, what does it matter that I’m probably going to walk down the aisle carrying the only flower I personally loathe because even the scent makes me sick—”

“Okay.” Dillon stood and put his hands on her arms. “I think we might need another minute to collect ourselves.”

“No. No ‘we’ . . . just me.” She grabbed her purse. “I’m going to go collect myself by myself, thank you very much.”

“Hey,” Dillon said gently, following her to the door, pulling her around to face him. “I’m sure we can find a compromise. She’s hurting right now, Caitlin. You know it’s the tenth anniversary of my dad’s passing.”

Shit. No, she hadn’t put that together, and now she felt like a complete asshole. “I’m sor—”

He kissed her softly. “No, don’t be. I’m sorry too. We can talk more. After coffee with Mom.”

She drew a deep breath. “You two go. I’ll see you at home later, okay?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then reluctantly nodded. She stepped outside into the nice, warm, sunny day and slid on her dark sunglasses. She walked across the lot and eyed the dandelions growing in abundance out of a crack in the sidewalk. “You ladies would be more welcome than roses,” she told them.

They didn’t respond.

She thought she heard footsteps right behind her, so she slowed, thinking it was Dillon coming after her. He probably wanted to say of course she should have the flowers she wanted, but no one was there. She could see him, though, in the huge picture window of the shop. He was back at the high-top table talking to the florist and his mom.

Deep breath.

It was going to be okay.

She was marrying him because they were meant to be. He loved her. She knew how good she had it, that other than the unmeasurable loss of Michael, her childhood had been better than good. She’d always had people who’d loved her. Her life was practically a fairy tale.

So why then didn’t it feel that way anymore? Why did she feel like she was the one struggling to belong? Why did she suddenly feel trapped in this life, that the wedding was happening to her instead of for her?

Pulling out her phone, she texted Maze with a 911. Because even though she and Maze were still finding their footing, she knew one thing for certain: she’d be there for Caitlin through thick and thin, through roses versus dandelions, through anything and everything, no matter what.

Chapter 18

Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

—Do not lose track of the flight risk—er, bride.

When Maze’s phone buzzed, she tossed it to Heather because she was busy driving, and her piece-of-crap 1972 VW Bug was acting up today more than usual. It always did after a rain, and it’d rained for a whole five minutes around dawn, which meant opening the hood and drying off the distributor cap before expecting the thing to even start. “What does the text say?”

“It’s another 911 from Caitlin,” Heather said, worried.

Shit.

“You should hurry.”

Maze patted her dashboard. “She’s going as fast as she can.”

They’d hopped in the car as soon as Maze had gotten the first 911 text. Walker and Jace were watching Sammie. Maze and Heather were the cavalry. So she drove and tried to clear her mind of the images of Walker from the time she’d spent with him in the middle of the night. On the bluffs above the lake. On the hood of his car.

Good Lord. She didn’t have enough brainpower to process any of that, including how she felt about it. She’d told him she was a one-and-done, and she’d meant it. But the memory of his hands on her . . . and his mouth . . . “Gah,” she said out loud. That was absolutely the last time.

Heather glanced over. “What?”

“Nothing. Ignore me. But FYI, boys are dumb and confusing and too sexy.”

Heather laughed. “Truest thing you’ve ever said.”

Another text came in from Caitlin, this one even more confusing than the last. It was a pic of a dandelion, surrounded by a bouquet of what looked like a bunch of weeds.

“She’s done it,” Maze said. “She’s finally cracked.”

“She’s never cracked. She’s our rock.”

“I’m telling you, our rock cracked.” She pulled up to the florist shop and found Caitlin sitting on the curb holding the dandelion-and-weed bouquet, which was raining dirt clumps all over her pretty dress.

Maze parked and rushed over to Cat, who was crying and talking at the same time in a decibel that couldn’t be understood by human ears. So Maze sat on the curb next to her and did the only thing she could. She wrapped her arms around her and hugged her hard. “Who do we need to bury?” Please say Dillon . . .