Free His Darling Bride (Echoes of the Heart #3) by Anna DeStefano

marrying one of the angry guys from the bar, right?”
    “Brad’s usually more laid-back than that. But with a baby on the way and a wedding next month, he’s a little on edge.”
    “Then maybe he should have been the one to deck Benjie.”
    She snorted. “Oliver did enough damage on his own.”
    Mike refolded his napkin beside his empty plate. “This wedding I invited myself to sounds pretty important to everyone.”
    The cake Bethany had polished off without realizing it began to curdle in her stomach.
    “You couldn’t have known it would set my brothers off like that.” She’d already given Mike a pass a dozen times in her mind, while she’d made a point of not fantasizing about what he would look like decked out in a suit, his face cleanly shaven, no hat shadowing his features. Or maybe he could keep the sexy hat. She wouldn’t quibble over a technicality. “But it’s a big deal. An even bigger day than usual. Dru and Brad have waited a long time to do this right. And my dad . . .” Joe deserved a perfect memory almost as much as the bride and groom. “My foster family’s been through a lot lately.”
    “Is that why this Selena is driving your friend crazy about the catering?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And Selena is . . . ?”
    “Oliver’s wife.” He’d married his high school sweetheart in June, in a simple civil ceremony at the county courthouse, with just close family there as witnesses. His and Selena’s seven-year-old daughter, Camille, had been beaming ear-to-ear, reigning supreme as Selena’s maid of honor and one-girl wedding party.
    “And the lesson planner?” Mike asked.
    Bethany frowned. It took a minute for Nic’s rant to come back to her. “Selena’s a teacher at Chandler Elementary.”
    “Armani married a schoolteacher?” Mike sounded genuinely confused for the first time. “So what, exactly, does all of that have to do with your painting yourself into a stupor to finish something for your parents?”
    She blinked at his intuition, caught off guard by how carefully he’d kept track of the scattershot details of her story. “You know all that stuff I mentioned my family going through?”
    He nodded, not rushing her, not jumping back into the conversation, not looking around for an exit as if he didn’t really want to know the answer to his question.
    “A chunk of it’s been about me,” she said. “At least recently it has. I’ve been a wild card for years, no matter how hard my parents tried to help me settle in around here.”
    Mike ran his thumb along his chin. He’d let his beard grow in even thicker. “I know how that goes. I get it.”
    Did he?
    “I just want them to know . . .” She braced her arms on the table. “How much it all meant to me, even if it’s taken me years to realize it. Their support and the way they’ve always been here, waiting for me to come to my senses. I want them to see it hasn’t been a total waste.”
    He’d propped his elbow on the table, his chin on his hand. His soft gaze brushed hers like velvety brown suede, his expression brimming with . . . something indescribable.
    “I’m sure”—he reached across the table for her hand, the gesture easygoing, natural as could be—“that the last thing your foster parents think you’ve done is waste the fresh start they’ve helped you make.”
    Her fingers tangled with his, making her ache to feel his body supporting hers again, the way he had when they’d faced down Benjie.
    “How do you do that?” she asked.
    His thumb stroked her wrist. “Do what?”
    “How do you understand . . .”
    Me , she couldn’t bring herself to say.
    “I don’t.” He let her go and brushed the streak of paint on her temple. His hand retreated to his side of the table. “Not really. But I’ve done my own kind of searching for years. From one drifter to another, it looks like you’ve finally landed where you want to be.”
    She shivered, desperate to believe him.
    “Do any of those wild