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  “Dude, I'm just as much of a workaholic as you for our family business,” I said bluntly.

  A laugh rustled in his throat. “True. All right. Give my love to Phoebe and tell her I'll see her at the wedding.”

  “You got it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Archer

  We were only four days away from the wedding. I was bracing myself for Clint to step up his attacks with the wedding right in front of us. At the same time, I kept shoving those worries to the side.

  One morning, I met the interior designer at the house. Amelia and Lucy had moved faster than I’d hoped and finished the updates on the main bedroom and bath, along with the kitchen. They promised they’d work on the rest as well. I’d hired a cleaning crew with the decorating team to follow. They'd polished the floors, cleaned the place thoroughly, and already repainted most of the rooms in neutral colors.

  The entire space had a fresh, clean feel. “What do you think, Mr. Cannon?” Vana, the interior decorator, asked.

  “I love it,” I said, looking around. “And please, just call me Archer.”

  She nodded. “Of course, Archer. This is really exciting for you.”

  Glancing her way, I arched a brow. “Falling in love with your childhood best friend, moving back to Alaska, and getting married. There were some online stories about it. I mean, you are part of Fireweed Industries. Your family is well-known in Alaska and elsewhere,” she added.

  I bit back a sigh. “Thanks for reminding me. I need to give Phoebe a heads-up.”

  Vana smiled, her eyes understanding. “Although you two are obviously comfortable with each other, how does she feel about the attention?”

  I liked Vana. I didn't sense she had an underlying agenda. She reminded me of many things I liked about Alaska. She was down to earth and took people for who they were as people, not for the labels the world pinned on them.

  The typical class lines in Alaska were blurred. Living here meant being self-reliant and also willing to rely on your neighbors. For the most part, people were decent to each other here.

  “I don't know how she feels.” I shrugged. “She obviously knows my parents were in the family business. But when you’re young, you don't think about it much. I'm pretty down to earth, and so is Phoebe. I don't think she'll love the media attention, though.”

  Vana nodded. “I'm sure she can handle it.”

  “Thank you for making this happen so fast.”

  “We wanted you to be able to move in by the wedding. I think you could move in tonight if you’d like. The kitchen crew will be here this afternoon to organize the kitchen. We've made sure there are plenty of linens and towels. If you'd like some assistance with moving, I have a crew that can do it,” she offered.

  “I don't have much to move. Just my suitcase. I'll have to ask Phoebe if she'd like some help with her apartment.”

  Vana’s phone rang, and she glanced my way, a question in her eyes. “Go ahead and take that,” I encouraged.

  “If you don't mind, I will.”

  I gestured toward the doorway, and she slid the phone out of her pocket, walking briskly down the stairs, her voice echoing behind her as she answered.

  I slipped my hands into my pockets as I looked around the bedroom. I could imagine living here. The space felt familiar because it was the home I'd grown up in, but the changes created a new feel to it, like it could be mine and Phoebe's. It no longer held the stamp of my parents. I crossed over and sat on the new king-sized bed, bouncing slightly and smiling. The lightweight down quilt was soft gray and paired with plum-colored sheets. The color scheme throughout the room was shades of gray and cream with splashes of color.

  I smoothed a palm over the quilt, and my mind flashed to the feel of Phoebe clenching around my fingers and my name on her lips as she came. Lust jolted me. This bed would be ours. I only hoped I could convince her it didn't have to be temporary. Standing, I fished my phone out of my pocket and tapped out a quick text.

  Me: The house is ready. Vana wants to know if you need help with moving your stuff. They have a team. Just say yes. XO

  I smiled as I lowered my hand and walked back out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the living room. Vana was saying goodbye and cast a smile in my direction as she tapped to end her call.

  “Do you need me for anything else today?”

  “I think I’m all set. Can I text you if Phoebe would like help with moving?”

  “Absolutely. Just tell me where and when, and we will make it happen.”

  “In one day?” I asked lightly.

  Vana shrugged. “We have a crew, and we'll bring in extras if needed. You let me know, in the meantime best wishes with your marriage. I hope the wedding goes beautifully.”

  I thanked her, and she left. My heart had kicked into a rolling drumbeat in my chest. This felt right, but the implications were racing at me. A fist tightened around my heart. I took a breath and let it out. It was supposed to be kind of a joke. We'd get married, and maybe it would be okay, maybe not. I'd hoped the mere presence of Phoebe and the touchstone of our friendship would ease the stress I'd been under lately.

  Yet I hadn't expected to fall in love and lust simultaneously.

  I walked into the kitchen to glance around. Although the cabinets were empty, I knew they'd be filled within a few hours. Phoebe had been excited about that because she liked to cook. Although she told me she’d be bringing her poached egg pan.

  “It might not look as good as the new stuff,” she’d offered with a roll of her eyes, “but it’s perfect, and that’s not something you mess with.”

  “That’ll be our something old,” I’d commented.

  Her eyes had widened. “What’s our something borrowed?”

  “Perhaps the marriage itself,” I had said, striving to keep my tone casual.

  I’d dipped my head and kissed her. “Your eyes are the blue, and we are the new,” I’d teased. She’d laughed at the rhyme.

  Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket, nudging me out of my wandering thoughts. I slipped it out to see her text.

  Phoebe: I hate moving. I'm all about the team handling that. Who do I need to call?

  Me: I just need to send Vana a text. I'll give them your address. Tell me what time they can meet you there. I'll give her your number so she can call if she needs to follow up on anything.

  I walked out to my SUV to bring in my things. On the upstairs landing, windows ran the length of the wall. They’d furnished it with a lovely desk, some shelving, and a few comfortable chairs. This would be my office, and I settled in to do some work. When my phone rang. I eyed the screen and saw Clint’s name flashing. I stared at it, contemplating whether I wanted to answer it or let it go to voicemail.

  Avoiding him was usually a wasted effort on my part. If I could’ve fully cut him out of my life, that would’ve been different. When I tried to put off dealing with him, dread rose like bile inside.

  Standing from my desk, I dragged my thumb across the screen and tapped the speaker button. “Archer here.” I began to pace immediately.

  “Okay. Listen, you fuck, apparently, my stupid grandson is going to your wedding. I am going to dispute this.”

  I took a breath, ignoring the tightness building in my chest and the constriction in my throat. “Go ahead. Not much you can do about it. The will is pretty ironclad. I've already talked to the attorney.”

  “That alone shows you're trying to fake it. Why would you talk to the attorney?” he spit out.

  “Because I was prepared to deal with your bullshit,” I retorted.

  “You're such a little shit. I remember you when you were a kid. Stupid, always being nice. Wait until I tell her what happened.”

  “She already knows what happened. I told her. I’ve known Phoebe for years, and she’s my friend.”

  My pulse was starting to race, and my breath was getting short. Dots formed along the edges of my vision as everything narrowed around me. “I'm not going to talk to you
about this,” I managed to choke out before I lost my breath completely.

  I almost dropped the phone, but I hit the button just in time. I kept my tunnel vision pinned to the phone, confirming that the call had ended. My throat felt too narrow, and I gasped for air, clinging to the edge of my desk as my knees buckled.

  The wood surface was cool. I could feel the pounding of my pulse in my palm against it as I clung to my sanity, willing the sense of panic that my great-uncle’s voice could evoke to fade. As was always the case when these attacks hit me, I didn't know how long it took. All I knew was that I thought I was going to die until the feeling dissipated.

  The tightness in my throat would ease, leaving behind a lingering ache. My lungs would hurt when I gulped in air. When I could finally take a full breath, it would feel as if I was taking in almost too much air because I was so desperate for it. I sank my hips to the floor, sliding my hand over the new carpet and absorbing the feel of it. I leaned my head back, thumping it against the wall.

  Fuck. I hated these panic attacks. Back when Clint had more contact with me when I was younger, these didn't happen. The therapist I'd seen for a few months after my doctor referred me said that was a protective mechanism. My hypervigilance was needed to keep me from falling apart. But now, I was safe. Except my nervous system sometimes wasn't sure I was. That was what would trigger the panic, according to my therapist.

  Clint was such an asshole. It wouldn't surprise me if he tried to come to the wedding. Once I had enough composure to think, I reached above my head and found my phone on the desk. I pulled up Rhys's number.

  Me: For God's sake, make sure your granddad doesn't dare come to my wedding.

  Rhys: He's fired up, thinking you're bullshitting. He can't do anything about it.

  Me: If you find out he might try to come to the wedding, please tell me ASAP.

  Rhys: I will. The man doesn't even know how to make his own plane reservation. His assistant will fill me in on anything. I'll make sure to check with him. Dude, it's not a secret you guys hate each other.

  My breathing was slowing, and my heart no longer felt as if it was about to break through my ribs. The dots faded from my vision. I stayed on the floor, trying to figure out what the fuck to do.

  I needed to get these panic attacks under control. Phoebe was going to be here. My great-uncle's voice was the trigger, but every so often, something else would set me off. That friendly therapist had told me trauma could be a tricky devil. Sometimes it was like grief, where the aftereffects seemed to come out of nowhere. She’d told me to note any events, and I might find a pattern. So far, I'd resisted doing that because I thought I could talk myself out of these panic attacks. Clearly, that wasn't happening.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Phoebe

  “That looks like it, ma'am,” the friendly moving guy said.

  The moving crew, all six of them muscley and kind of cute, had moved at warp speed. This one seemed to be the boss.

  “Thanks, Dave,” I replied. “If you love coffee, the best is right next door at Firehouse Café.”

  He grinned. “Well, we could use some coffee, but we're also starving.”

  “Okay, Alpenglow Pizza.”

  “Where's that?”

  “Keep driving down Main Street, and you'll see it on the left.”

  He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “You sure you don't need us to get that bag?” His eyes flicked to the backpack sitting by my feet on the floor.

  “I can handle my own backpack.” I grinned.

  “You're a badass, Phoebe,” he teased.

  “I try to be.”

  He waited until I stepped out before closing the door behind us. “Vana said to tell you she's sending a cleaning crew over tomorrow, so this will be broom swept for the next tenant.”

  “Okay, great,” I said, my voice coming out kind of squeaky.

  I watched as Dave disappeared down the hallway. I stood there alone for a moment before I spun in a small circle. I'd been living here since I moved back to town. I could have stayed with my parents, but that hadn't been my first choice. I loved my parents, but I’d wanted my own space, so this little apartment was perfect for me.

  I walked back into the apartment once more, the heels of my cowboy boots echoing on the hardwood floors as I looked around. The moving guys had taken every bit of me out of here. All that was left were the furnishings that came with the apartment. My heart flew into my throat, and butterflies tickled my belly. Moving out of here meant moving in with Archer.

  I was conflicted about that. I wanted it almost too much. Our pending marriage was starting to feel way too real, and it was stressing me right the hell out.

  Every time I thought of the other night with him, I got hot all over. Every cell in my body spun like a fiery pinwheel. I gave my head a shake and left. My phone vibrated as I walked out. I slipped it out of my pocket.

  Archer: Your stuff is here, but you're not. I’d prefer you. I got us some pizza for dinner. I hope you don't mind.

  I smiled down at my phone, tapping out my reply.

  Me: See you in a few. Driving over now.

  I felt almost giddy and then repeatedly chastised myself for that. Don't get too excited about this. You can't fall for him. Not like this. Sure, he says he wants you, but it’s just a little lust between friends.

  Gah! I needed to get a grip, like yesterday.

  My hands were sweaty when I came to a stop in the driveway at Archer’s house. Considering that snow blanketed the ground, that was ridiculous. Walking into the house felt strange. Memories raced at me as if I was walking through time and seeing my childhood friendship with Archer in photos flashing by.

  I sort of calmed down while we ate. Archer took me on a tour, and it was really weird to see all my stuff in the house. Even though I knew the home's layout, it felt different with the new paint and the furnishings. That was a relief. It was confusing enough to be in lust with my childhood best friend.

  A glass of wine took the edge off my nerves, and we moved to the living room after dinner. Archer sat at an angle across from me on the sectional. I sensed he was trying to give me a little physical distance so I didn't panic. Annoyance flared inside because I didn't want him to worry. I wasn't the kind of girl who needed to be handled like fine china. I was a hotshot firefighter, for fuck’s sake. I could deal with some stress and pressure. That said, jumping from a plane into the wilderness to fight a fire seemed way less stressful than the muddied emotional waters I was now navigating with Archer.

  “So, everything went okay with the move?” he asked.

  “Dude, it was the best move ever. I didn't do anything. Dave—”

  “Dave?” Archer prompted, raising one of his brows.

  “One of the moving guys,” I explained. “He even offered to carry my backpack. Vana is sending a cleaning crew to the apartment tomorrow. I need to call Janet and find out what to do about my lease.”

  “I've already covered it.”

  “What?!”

  He shrugged as if it was totally no big deal that he’d just paid my rent without asking me. “I didn't want you to worry about it or to leave her in the lurch.”

  “Archer!” I protested.

  “Phoebe,” he countered, his tone dry.

  “Don’t do this. I can’t have you taking over like that.”

  “It's not a big deal.”

  “But it is for me.”

  “I know. This is more for Janet than you.”

  “You're just saying that because you hope I'll accept it then.”

  “So, what if I am? If it was just some random stranger, I wouldn’t care.”

  I glared at him, forcing myself to take a slow breath while trying to ignore my rising blood pressure.

  “Janet said she already had options to rent it next month, and she’s considering doing winter vacation rentals to make extra money.”

  “Yeah, that's a thing here now. That’s why it’s practically impossible to find rentals a
round here,” I grumbled.

  Archer chuckled as he spun his almost empty beer bottle between his fingers. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He was wearing jeans, and his feet were bare. I must’ve seen his bare feet hundreds of times when I was a kid, but I’d never paid attention. Now, they were man feet, just like his hands. His hands were lean but looked strong. Same thing for his feet, if that could be a thing. Oh, my god. I was seriously considering the sexiness of Archer’s feet. I had officially lost my mind.

  “So,” I began, my voice kind of bright. That was as far as I got because I had no idea what I meant to say next.

  “Soooo?” Archer prompted slowly.

  I set my wine glass on the coffee table, making sure to put it on the coaster. This beautiful wooden coffee table was simple with clean lines, and I didn't want to mar the surface. I leaned back into the couch cushions with a sigh, catching the edge of my blouse and sliding it through my fingers.

  “I'm nervous,” I blurted out. When I didn't know what to do with Archer, I fell back on brutal honesty. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn't be nervous?” I prompted when he didn't say anything else.

  His lips twitched with a smile, and his eyes were warm as he shook his head. “No, I find it pointless to tell someone to calm down or that there’s no need to be nervous. If I'm nervous when someone tells me I shouldn't be, then I feel kind of ridiculous and get more anxious.”

  “Yes!”

  His smile stretched from one corner of his mouth to the other. My belly tingled, and my pulse shot off as if in a race. “It’s just weird, you know. I didn't expect”—I waved my hand vaguely in the air—“any of this. When you texted me, I wanted to see you because even though we hadn't talked very much over the years, you're that friend to me. Then you…” I paused, trying to think of the right word.

  “Proposed?” Archer offered helpfully.

  A nervous laugh slipped out. “Yes, proposed. At first, I was pretty upset with Tasha, and hey, I'm all about saving the environment. It seemed like a good idea, but then you got here, and I didn't expect…” Ugh. I couldn’t get a complete sentence out.