Page 11 of Pack Plus One

Interesting.

Jude catches my eye over her head, grinning like he’s just won a prize. Idiot. If he leans any closer, he’ll literally be nuzzling her in public.

“Sorry to have invited you into this nightmare, doll,” he tells her, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But don’t worry, I make excellent backup.”

The way he says it draws a slight huff of humor through her nose and a genuine half-smile from her.

Liam raises his martini in a silent toast. “To new friends,” he says, his tone warm. Measured. Clearly trying to put Leah at ease.

She hesitates for half a second, then lifts her champagne flute with a faint smile. “To survival,” she counters.

Jude clinks his glass against hers with a laugh. “I like her already.”

Caleb, who’s been quiet so far, finally speaks. “We should find somewhere less crowded.” His green eyes flick toward the groom, who’s still stealing glances at Leah from across the room. What a creep.

Leah follows our gaze, her jaw tightening. “Gladly.”

We settle at a high-top table in the corner that gives us a view of the room while keeping us somewhat out of the spotlight. The seating arrangement happens naturally: Jude and Liam flankingLeah, Caleb standing just behind her like a silent sentinel, and me across from her with a clear line of sight of all four of them.

“So,” Jude begins after a long sip of his ridiculous pink drink, “tell us about yourself... other than being what’s-his-name’s?—”

“Eric,” Liam supplies quietly.

“—Eric’s ex,” Jude finishes with a dismissive wave.

Leah winces slightly, but Jude’s easy tone seems to soften the blow. “Not my best conversation starter,” she admits.

Jude’s the first to recover, his voice as smooth as the whiskey he’s not drinking. “What do you do when you’re not attending weddings with strangers?”

She hesitates, glancing down at her champagne flute, and once again, for a second, I think she’s going to deflect. But then she straightens her shoulders.

“I bake,” she says, and there—a spark of pride in her eyes. “Actually, I just signed a lease for my own shop. Opening next month if the permit gods smile upon me.”

“That explains the scent,” Caleb murmurs, his gaze warming as it settles on her.

Her eyelashes flutter, clearly caught off guard, as her cheeks flush slightly. “What?”

“Vanilla and cinnamon,” he elaborates, and I notice his pupils dilate slightly. “It suits you.”

The blush deepens, and she takes another sip of champagne to hide her reaction. But I catch it. The way her throat moves as she swallows, the flutter of her pulse beneath pearl-toned skin.

Gorgeous.

Dark hair cut in a sharp bob that kisses her jawline, the kind that makes a man fantasize about how it’d feel brushing his bare chest. Eyes like aged whiskey—warm brown with gold flecks that glow under the chandeliers. And that mouth. Pink and full, currently worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that has my own teeth sinking into my tongue.

If she’s not single, someone’s failing spectacularly at their duties.

Across the room, her ex watches us with narrowed eyes. The way he tracks our interactions—lingering on Caleb’s hand at the small of her back, the way Jude leans in—suggests this is more than casual curiosity. Isn’t he getting married tomorrow? So why the fuck is he so interested in us? There’s something possessive in his gaze that makes my hackles rise.

Jude perks up, snatching my attention back to the conversation, and I take a sip of my drink to clear my thoughts. “A baker? What’s your specialty? Sugar or spice?”

She gives a tiny smile, even as her cheeks grow warm. Again. Cute. “Both. But I do have a sweet tooth. My cinnamon rolls have been called ‘illegal’ in three states.”

Jude chokes on his absurd pink cocktail. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a fact,” she says, her chin lifting with mock pride. “I’ve got cease-and-desist letters from a PTA in one state to prove it.”

Caleb’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a full grin. “Why?”