A string of words follow that I can’t distinguish, they seem to run into one another without pause for breath between them. Whoever Scott is, he’s reading Marshall the riot act.
“I should've told you,” Marshall agrees a few minutes later. “To be fair, I didn’t think I was getting married today.”
His dark gaze slides over to mine as the other man continues talking in his ear.
“I suppose that would be alright.”
My eyebrows raise as Marshall mouths the word ‘Sorry’ to me. He drives us down Main Street and parks the truck at the little bakery,Sugar Crossing.It’s a cute little building with large glass display windows and even outside in the truck I can smell fresh bread and sugary delights.
“Don’t make it weird!” Marshall shouts into the phone a second before someone taps on my window.
Turning Ifind a forest ranger dressed in a green polo and khaki pants with dark curly hair smiling at me expectantly. This must be Scott.
“Dr. Carter, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry I missed your wedding, but my dumbass friend didn’t tell me he was engaged.”
“Tabitha this is Scott Moore, we served in the same unit,” my husband explains with a heavy sigh. Catching sight of a woman with brilliant red hair walking out of the bakery with a white paper bag clutched in one hand he adds, “And that is Victoria, arguably the only good thing about him.”
Scott grins as the redheaded woman walks up to him.
“I won’t argue the fact,” he murmurs as she sidles up to him with a shy smile.
Marshall slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side as he introduces me to his friends. He might’ve gonedown to Bramble not expecting to bring home a wife but he’s quickly settling into the role of husband.
“This is my wife, Tabitha.”
“We didn’t even know he was engaged,” Victoria tells me.
“So, I hear,” I reply glancing up at my husband. “It seems like our marriage is a surprise to everyone but me.”
Marshall adopts a sheepish expression, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. I should be angry. He didn't even read my bio. This man puts more effort into grocery shopping than picking out a wife. From a rational standpoint, this marriage is doomed. My husband only knows the bare minimum about me. He didn't even know about our age gap. But I have no desire to leave. My brain is terrific at calculating odds, but it's the pounding of my heart that reassures me that our marriage will survive this awkward start.
“I didn’t think she’d stay,” he confesses. “Thought she’d take one look at my leg and catch the next flight out.”
Scott’s grin shifts into a look of understanding but Victoria isn’t as kind.
“Dumbass,” she mutters.
My husband takes the criticism with good humor. His dark eyes dancing with mirth as his friends properly welcome me to Crescent Ridge.
Scott falls into line with Marshall as his wife loops her arm through mine and leads me down the sidewalk to the coffee shop,Bean There.Victoria looks like a stereotypical librarian with her large oval glasses, cardigan, and her flowy skirt so I’m completely unsurprised to find that she works at the local library.
“I hate bugs,” she confides as we step into the shop. Hazelnut, and roasted coffee beans hit my nose, and I barely contain a sigh. It smells like heaven. “Scott though? Helovesthe outdoors, so the guys usually plan group hikes.”
“I’m a botanist,” I tell her. “I’m leading a field research lab to study and compare lab grown specimens to their native counterparts.”
I see the light of hope die in her green eyes and I rush to add, “I love nature, but I despise hiking without purpose.”
“We have purpose,” Scott argues. “These mountains are beautiful, and there are views on those trails you can’t see anywhere else.”
“All the local shops sell post cards,” Victoria whispers to me low enough that her husband can’t overhear. “A local photographer has his best photos printed for them. Trust me, we'll miss nothing if we start a book club instead.”
By the time we snag our lattes his other ex-military buddies, Mark and Jason, have joined us. They’re fraternal twins with dark hair and hazel eyes but that’s where the similarities end. Jason is taller, standing a few inches above Marshall and Mark has freckles sprinkled across his nose.
“Married?” Jason shouts when Marshall introduces me as his wife.
“My condolences,” Mark adds when he steps forward to shake my hand.
“This grumpy bastard?” Jason directs his question at me.
