Page 56 of Cabin Mate

Dragging my hands down my face, I groan once more at my embarrassment. Then I make myself get in the shower and try to recover this day, hopefully with my dignity still intact.

I shower and blow dry my hair before rushing to the walk-in closet, still trying to avoid Brooks’ eyes.

Selecting a simple button-down shirt and some leggings, I get dressed. Then with a deep breath, I force myself to open the closet door and forget about the snuggling ordeal.

Brooks is sitting on the bed, looking completely unembarrassed and unaffected. Cool as a cucumber. He smiles at me and I take him in for a moment before noticing his hand has a bandage wrapped around it. My eyes widen, and Brooks notices what I’m looking at. He attempts to hide his bandaged hand behind his back.

Worried, I rush toward him and pull his arm out from its hiding spot. I take his hand in mine and examine it.

He flinches and draws his hand back. “Ow!”

“What happened to your hand?” I ask, my voice raised with alarm.

He holds his hand and winces, then tries to disguise the wince as a smirk. “So, how’d you sleep last night, cuddle bug?” he asks with fake cheeriness.

“Tell me what happened last night.”

Brooks casually lifts himself off the bed. “It’s nothing. Aren’t you going to be late for hair and makeup?”

I tap my foot on the floor impatiently. “Tell me what happened to your hand.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he explains, feigning nonchalance. “Just boys being boys.” Brooks walks toward the bathroom and I follow him closely.

I pin him with an exasperated look. “Did you guys wrestle bears or something?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “That was an option? Vermont is wild.”

“Brooks,” I warn.

He sighs in defeat. “I accidentally smashed the glass I was holding, and cut my hand,” he says before rushing into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it.

“Accidentally? How do you accidentally smash a glass?” I demand.

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” he yells from the other side of the door.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. I only have five minutes until I’m expected for the bridal breakfast. “I have to go … but tonight, you’re giving me more details.”

I hear a quiet chuckle from the other side of the door. I think we both realize I’ll be way too exhausted tonight to even remember this conversation. Mildred and Preston’s wedding ceremony doesn’t start until six, and my perfectionist mother and sister have us booked up all day for hair, makeup, and photos.

After sitting in a chair for four hours getting primped (yes, four), the makeup artist finally puts the final touches on my face. Standing from my seat, I yawn and stretch my back. My mother looks at me disapprovingly. Avoiding her gaze, I turn and grab my dress from the rack. There’s a curtained area set up for privacy, so I duck behind it and put my dress on.

A knock comes from the door of the large bedroom we’ve taken over for the day. Curious, I leave my hiding spot and go back to stand next to my sister. My mother opens the door to find Harold there. He nods toward me and hands her a small red package, wrapped up with a white bow.

My spine stiffens, already knowing what’s inside the package. The antique spoons are always wrapped the same. But why is Todd still sending them to me? I wish he’d stop already.

My mother takes the box and dismisses Harold, then strides toward me and gives me the box.

I don’t meet her gaze when I take the box from her. Instead, I turn my attention to my gorgeous sister, who’s still getting her makeup perfected. “How are you, Mildred? Can I do anything?” I ask, trying to turn all the attention back on the bride.

She smirks. “Yeah, you can. Open the mysterious box that was just delivered.”

I inhale a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “Fine.”

Untying the white bow, I glance at my mother, who’s watching closely. I wonder if she knows Todd sends me these packages … I wonder if she’s a conspirator. I open the box and, unsurprisingly, there’s a gorgeous antique spoon inside. This one has the initials M.W. etched on the handle. I can’t help but imagine what the spoon’s story could be.

There’s a note tucked inside the box, and I pull it out, angling my body so no one else can read it over my shoulder.

Molly,