Wedding Date with the Best Man

Jayne didn’t know what to say to Tristan. She found herself glancing around the living room to avoid making eye contact with him. At least the house was clean—dusted, mopped and clutter-free. She’d done nothing but chores most of the weekend. That was what she did every weekend to keep busy.

Still, she couldn’t be rude.

“Would you, um, like something to drink?” she asked. “A glass of iced tea, maybe?”

“That would be great,” he said. “Thanks.”

Jayne headed into the kitchen. She’d expected Tristan to wait in the living room, but he followed her instead.

No problem. He could see for himself that she was doing well and relay the information to Grace.

Except his six-foot plus frame took up a lot of space in the galley-style kitchen, making it hard for Jayne to maneuver without bumping into him. She noticed she’d left a bag of coffee on the counter—Kenyan roast: her favorite—and put it away.

“Need help?” he asked.

His offer surprised her. The guy looked as domesticated as a rampaging hippo. “Thanks, but I have it under control.”

She wanted him to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish had everything under control. No need to worry.

Tristan leaned against the counter and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He might look out of place, but he sure acted comfortable—as if he were used to hanging out in women’s kitchens.

He looked around. “I smell cookies.”

His sense of smell was spot on. “I baked chocolate chip cookies this morning. Would you like one?”

“Please.”

She reached for the plastic container full of cookies and placed a few on a plate. These homemade treats would give Tristan one more reason to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish was fine and dandy.

Oh, no. She dropped a cookie onto the plate.

Forget fine. She wasn’t dandy, either. She cringed.

She’d asked about Grace. Given the chance, Jayne would have asked about the other Stricklands, too. Maybe even Rich. She stared at the cookies with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She was turning into Mrs. Whitcomb.

Too late to renege on the offer of refreshments, but Jayne would not ask Tristan about another one of the Stricklands.

She would be polite. She would be gracious. But that was it.

With her resolve firmly in place, Jayne added ice to the two glasses, filled them with tea and handed one to Tristan.

He took a sip. “Sweet.”

“Oops. I should have warned you,” she said. “In the South, that’s the only way they make it.”

He considered her over his glass. “I don’t hear an accent.”

“I lived in North Carolina for a couple of years when I was younger.” She remembered the humid summers, the enormous flying bugs, and missing her dad. “My father was in the military, so he was stationed all over the place.”

“Lucky you.” Tristan took another sip of his tea. “I was born in San Diego. My parents still live here.”

“I’d say you’re the lucky one.” Jayne grabbed a few napkins. “I never want to move away from San Diego.”

“It’s a nice place to call home.”

Too bad this place didn’t feel like home at the moment. The kitchen was feeling a little too…crowded.

Jayne picked up the plate of cookies and her tea. “Let’s go into the living room.”

“After you.”

In the living room, she placed the cookies on the scarred maple coffee table Molly had left when she moved to Las Vegas and pulled out two coasters for their glasses. Jayne sat on one end of the yellow plaid couch. “Tell me what you need to know to appease Grace.”

And what it will take to get you out of here.

Tristan lowered himself onto the couch, making the full-sized sofa seem suddenly way too small. He set his glass on a coaster, adjusted a floral print pillow behind his back and stretched out—a mass of arms and legs. “Just a few things.”

“Like what?”

As he placed his hand on the back of the sofa, his hand brushed Jayne’s bare shoulder. Accidentally, of course.

Still, heat rushed down her arm like a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite.

She guzzled her tea, but the cold drink didn’t cool her down at all. Even her fingertips seemed to sizzle.

Her reaction disturbed Jayne. It must be because she’d sworn off men. For the past seven months she’d barely seen a man outside of work, but the one sitting next to her on the overstuffed sofa was too warm, too solid, too…male. No wonder her body was so confused.

But being even the slightest bit attracted to Rich’s best friend was a huge no-no.

She scooted away from Tristan until her hip collided with the sofa-arm. Darn. That wasn’t far enough for her peace of mind.

He picked up a cookie. “Grace will want to know how you’ve been.”

Add Rich’s oldest sister to the list. Alex, Molly and Serena all kept asking how Jayne had been doing, so she wasn’t surprised Tristan—make that Grace—would want to know, too.

“Please don’t answer fine,” he added. “You’ve already used that one.”

Jayne usually answered fine. The word fit her most days—good or bad. She didn’t want people worrying about her.

“I’ve been busy trying to make this house a home—my home, that is—when I’m not at the office,” she said. “Everything is going…okay.”

Okay seemed like the best, the safest answer. Because, face it, things might be fine, but they hadn’t been great for a while now. Months, actually. She kept second-guessing herself. Something she had never done before. That had made things…harder.

He held his cookie in mid-air. “Okay, okay? Or okay, but I’d rather not talk about it?”

Her gaze met his. She hadn’t expected him to delve further or to read so much into her simple answer. “A little of both.”

“An honest answer.”