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“Because I don’t want you setting me up on dates, trying to mend my broken heart,” I finished. “My pride is battered all to hell, and I’m… disappointed, I guess, but my heart’s not broken, Abs. I promise.”
“But I thought you really liked Louis.” She sounded genuinely confused. “You kept telling me things were ‘very promising.’”
“They were.” I thought back on all the things we’d done together, the lovely restaurants he’d chosen, the romantic flowers he’d sent, the vacation he’d talked about. “I mean, they should have been? I don’t know. But Oscar says it’s a good thing all this happened because Louis showed me who he really was before things got too serious, and I agree?—”
“Oscar,” Abby repeated, sounding far too interested. “Cute Oscar from the hospital? Oscar who knows bacon is your love language? You told Oscar about Louis? Isn’t that interesting?”
“N-no. Why would it be? We’re friends.” I adjusted the blower on the air-conditioning because the car was suddenly stiflingly hot. New England weather was so fickle. “And he was in Macau on business, which meant he was awake when everyone here was sleeping, and I was a little bit drunk, so I called him, and he answered, and we talked for a couple of hours?—”
“Hours?” she squealed.
“Don’t,” I said. The word came out sharp and angry, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Just… don’t. Please. The last thing I need is you trying to matchmake me and Oscar when I spent the entire hour before you called reminding myself why falling for him would be the worst mistake ever. He doesn’t believe in long-term romantic love. He doesn’t believe in happily ever afters. He is never going to be the guy who stands up in front of all our family and says, ‘You’re it for me, Hugh, for the rest of our lives, so let’s buy a perfect little house with a perfect little white picket fence and raise a bunch of adorable hedgehogs together?—’”
“Hedgehogs?”
“Irrelevant,” I said shortly. “The point is, he’s never going to be the guy I need. It would be like Jared all over again, except worse. And I won’t do that to myself. I won’t do that to Oscar. Too many people expect things from him—his money, or his influence, or his speech at their wedding—no matter what he wants or needs, and I’m not going to be yet another person who asks him for something he doesn’t want to give. So no more about this, okay? I’m not falling in love with Oscar. I won’t.”
Abby was silent for so long I had to check my phone screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. And in that silence, I heard every doubt she wouldn’t voice. Every doubt I refused to acknowledge.
“So about Annette’s brother,” she finally said, voice gently teasing and a bit too sympathetic. “Is that a maybe? Because he’s kind of a silver fox.”
A little bubble of laughter—more like a sob, if you wanted to be technical, but I didn’t— escaped me. “Annette is seventy-five. I’m guessing her older brother is on the tarnished side of silver. But thanks anyway.” Fortunately, traffic was getting too congested for me to focus on the call any longer. “I’ve gotta go, Abs. I’m almost at the resort, and I’m going to see if I can check in early and have a look around the place before the guests start arriving.”
“Okay. I’ll shut up now. Call me later.”
After we disconnected, I blew out a breath. I knew her interest in my love life was out of a genuine desire to see me settled and happy. I wanted that too.
But it wasn’t going to be with Oscar.
Thankfully, I saw a sign for the exit to McBride, Massachusetts, before my thoughts could circle around again, and I followed the car navigation through a charming little town toward a motel perched on a spit of land stretching into Gannet Bay.
I was secretly looking forward to this trip. Not only was work a welcome distraction, but being a secondary photographer took all the pressure off and gave me space to be more creative in the pictures I took. It would also give me a chance to film more content for my Real Life HEAs account. Abby had more free time to help with video editing during the summer months, and she’d already worked her way through most of my backlog. If I could find more couples to film, she could help me stockpile content and get ahead.
The helpful voice navigation let me know that my destination was just ahead on the right, but when I tried to turn into the parking lot of the Sea Sprite Inn, I found it blocked by a barricade flanked by two scowling security guards. As I scrambled for my photo ID, I realized I’d neglected to ask Brant some important questions… like whose wedding this was.
When the security guys waved me through, I parked outside the motel, which had a cool, retro vibe. It was cute and clearly well maintained, with a fresh coat of blue paint and crisp white shutters, but it wasn’t the kind of wedding venue I’d imagine required high security.
The minute I walked into the lobby, however, I understood the Sea Sprite’s appeal. Massive windows lined the entire back wall of the lobby, giving a view of a neatly manicured lawn stretching to the edge of a bluff. The ocean beyond was already dotted with pretty, white sailboats taking an early morning cruise. In fact, the entire view for 180 degrees was nothing but water as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking.
I instinctively grabbed my camera out of my bag and began capturing photos of the scene, partly to figure out the best angles for wedding shots and partly because I wanted to send one to Oscar later. My wedding venue is way cooler than your wedding venue.
Someone cleared their throat, and I glanced up to find the woman behind the front desk watching me with a small smile.
“You must be the photographer who’s helping Brant this weekend. Hugh, right? I’m Ana Lucia. Welcome to the Sea Sprite. I’ve got your room key ready, and help yourself to some coffee and a chocolate croissant.” She pointed to a pastry box on the far end of the desk. “They’re baked especially for our guests by a local ba— Sawyer, get your hands out of the box! Pastries are for guests only.”
I turned to find a couple I recognized from the wedding last year where Oscar and I had met. I’d caught a photo of Sawyer and James dancing at the reception, so fully focused on one another they might have been the only two people in the room. And for many reasons, every facet of that evening had been imprinted in my brain.
Stop thinking of Oscar. Not now, and especially not like that.
Sawyer sighed. “‘Fall in love with a lawyer and run an inn,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they said,” he mock grumbled. “If I’d been thinking logically, I’d have checked the fine print to make sure croissants were included.”
James’s lips twitched, and he tugged Sawyer closer. “Sometimes love’s not logical, babe. But I promise, at our wedding, you can have all the croissants.”
Sawyer’s eyes lit up, and he turned to me eagerly. “You heard that, right? You witnessed this? You…” He tilted his head. “Wait, do I know you?”
Anna Lucia explained, “This is Hugh, the photographer who’s helping Brant shoot Roman and Scotty’s wedding this weekend.”
“Oh, right,” Sawyer said, snapping his fingers. “You did Wells and Connor’s too. We used one of your pics for our holiday card last year.”
