Page 34 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

“Three twelve,” Chap supplied helpfully. “Nice to meet you, Ranney. Tom, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ranney climbed the first two steps, then halted.

“Wait a minute,” she said to Tom, “how did he know..?”

“Pretty sure you’re going to find out.”

He walked her to the third floor and down the hall until they arrived at room 312. Leaning down, he kissed her formally on both cheeks.

“It’s probably easier if I say goodnight now. That way, you don’t have to explain me. I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me if you need anything.” Then he grinned and winked. “Anything at all.”

Against her better judgment and cranky mood, she grinned back, and then somehow his mouth was on hers and there was nothing formal about it.

A flood of desire she hadn’t felt for decades–or maybe ever?

–almost knocked her over, and she grabbed his jacket with both hands.

He pulled her closer, and when she felt exactly how much he wanted her, all situational awareness disappeared.

She heard nothing but his ragged breath, saw nothing at all behind her closed eyelids, felt nothing but the insistent pulsing between her thighs.

So when Claire swung the door open, apparently alerted by audible moans and several muffled thumps against the wall, what was taking place in the hallway bore more resemblance to an R-rated Tiktok video than anything a co-worker should ever be exposed to.

The moral/professional high ground was no longer going to be an option for Ranney. Or for either of them, if you factored in Chap’s extra-sensory knowledge of Ranney’s forgotten room number.

Claire cleared her throat.

“Ah, Ranney? Is that… you?”

Exactly like waking up from a delicious, hyper-realistic dream, Ranney’s eyelids flickered open for a second but immediately closed again.

No, she thought. Nope, it isn’t me. It’s someone else, someone young and free and in love!

In love?

Now her eyes did snap open and stayed that way. Where did that come from? But this was no time for reflection.

Like mating dogs being doused with cold water, she and Tom separated, shaking a little.

“Tom Phillips,” he offered, holding out a hand as if this were a business meeting, which, technically, it was.

“You must be Claire. I understand you’ve done a masterful job of handling things here.

I know Ranney appreciated your support while she was dealing with medical and, ah, transportation crises.

She's done a brilliant job handling the groomsmen.”

“Hands on, clearly,” Claire said drily.

But Tom was not about to stand by idly while Ranney was thrown under a bus.

“We just ran into my old friend Chap on the stairs. You’ve met him, I gather?” he said in a conversational tone. With no way to know where this was going, Claire just tilted her head in a noncommittal way. Years of managing reputational crises had not been lost on her.

“I’ve been coming to Freestone all my life,” he went on pleasantly, “and in all the years I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Chap look so… relaxed. Except on the stream, of course. I think he might have actually been whistling. Would you know anything about this?”

Ranney pushed her hair back off her face. “While you two negotiate, I’m going to take a shower,” she said to Claire. “Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not! You must be exhausted after your long drive.” She didn’t add, ‘with this annoying person,’ but her meaning was clear from the look of distaste she gave him. “Nice to meet you, Tom.”

Following on Ranney’s heels, she turned back into the room, closing the door gently but firmly.

“Your bag is in the closet here,” she said, dragging it out.

“Thanks. I can’t wait to put on my own pajamas. You should see what I’ve been sleeping in.”

“I’ll bet.”

Ranney gave her a hard look, but Claire’s expression was neutral. Then she pulled the 3XL rugby jersey out of her bag and held it up.

“Yikes. Where did you find that? ”

“At an airport kiosk. Where do you buy your lingerie?” They laughed, and the awkwardness of the situation lightened a bit. They were back on the same team, and Ranney suddenly realized that it was Tom who facilitated that when he subtly reminded Claire that passion is a universal human emotion.

Well, kind of subtly, anyway. She owed him for that. There was enough tension in the air without adding co-worker friction.

When she emerged from the bathroom wearing her familiar, clean, good-smelling peach pajamas, hair blown dry and skin fully moisturized, Claire was asleep on one side of the king bed, snoring softly. Probably just as well.

Switching off the bedside lamp, Ranney pulled back the bedcovers on the opposite side as gently as possible and slid underneath. Claire stirred and the snoring ceased, and Ranney held her breath; she really wasn’t up for any conversation at all. For better or worse, tomorrow was another day.

For better or worse… she turned on her side.

For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health… she turned on her other side.

“Anything you want to talk about?” Claire’s voice was hushed in the darkness.

“You first?” Ranney was playing for time, and Claire’s deep sigh told her it had worked.

“You’ve got to believe I had no intention of meeting anyone here,” she started. “I know it might have sounded like I was a little too interested in the wedding party, but I was just excited to get out into the field for a change!”

“I believe you,” Ranney soothed.

"And, well... the royal connection. I still have my grandmother's Princess Di wedding plate from 1981!"

Ranney did some quick math and realized that was ancient history for Claire. Yeesh. Middle-schooler Ranney had gotten up at 3 a.m. to watch.

“And when I got here, when I finally did get out into the field, I was totally focused on my job, I swear! And there was a lot going on, what with Thea and the Pussycats getting full-body tans and dancing on tables, and who knows if they’re even 21!

I thought I understood what project managers deal with but I had no idea! ”

“Thank you for saying that.” Thea and the Pussycats ? Oh, dear.

“So here was Chap, and he saw what was happening and he’s seen things like that before, and he was so calm and sure, and he made me laugh…”

“Oh, no!” Ranney moaned. “The fatal quality!”

“I know, right?” She turned to face Ranney and propped her head on her hand.

“I’ve never met anyone like him before. He sees a problem and he fixes it.

No drama, no stress. He doesn’t care about what kind of car I drive or my 401K– I make him laugh!

That’s never happened before. And, oh, Ranney–in bed–he’s like–”

“Right, I get it.”

“Ranney, he thinks I’m beautiful.”

“I like him already. And you are beautiful! But, Claire…”

“I know, I know! I just met him, we don’t know each other at all, our lives could not be more different–I know all that. And I know he probably meets a new woman here every week–”

“Whoa–let’s not leap to any conclusions on that one.

First of all, if that was his goal, he’d be working at a Club Med somewhere, not at a private flyfishing club in Idaho.

You’ve only been here for a few days, I realize, but have you talked about any of this with him? Do you have any sense of how he feels?”

Claire was silent for a long moment. “Not exactly? Not, like, a specific discussion. But I think I would know if he wasn’t sincere.” She chuckled. “He’s not the smoothest operator in the world, if you know what I mean.”

Now they were both smiling, but not unkindly. Quite the opposite. There’s something magical about the beginning of a relationship, when any romantic dream seems possible.

And right now, who understood this better than Ranney?

“I’ll try to get a room of my own tomorrow,” she assured Claire. “You’re going to need some privacy.”

“Out in the hall there, it looked to me like you were going to need some privacy. Fast.” Even in the dark, Ranney could tell Claire was smiling.

“I guess it’s my turn?” she asked uncomfortably. They were co-workers–more than acquaintances but less than friends–who suddenly found themselves in their pajamas, on opposite sides of a king-size bed, sharing the details of inappropriate, if not expressly forbidden, entanglements.

Ranney couldn’t recall anything in the company handbook that addressed this particular situation.

And yet, Claire was the perfect confidante, a partner in crime, you might say. This was the kind of thing that brought two women together and created a lasting bond.

Remember that night in the Idaho wilderness when we had to share a hotel room and we discovered we were both having potentially career-ending romances?

“So, you and the groom's cousin…” Claire couldn’t hide her curiosity. “How..?”

“I knew him before,” Ranney answered, exaggerating only slightly. “In Boston. It’s nothing, Claire, I don’t know what came over me in the hall but believe me, that’s the end of it."

Ranney slid her left hand under her thigh and hoped Claire hadn't seen the ring.

"Your situation is different. I mean, it’s probably not something Kari and Katie would encourage , but if you and Chap are discreet and if it doesn’t affect your work, then it doesn’t seem like a huge problem.

Me, on the other hand… there would be absolutely no excuse for any kind of extracurricular activity with a member of the wedding party.

Especially after Nessa and Matt, oh, my God!

So please don’t think anymore about it.”

If only she didn’t have to think anymore about it!

She had the odd sensation of being two different people: One who clearly saw the absurdity, the ridiculous fantasy, the utter impossibility of any real-life relationship with this man, and the other whose every nerve was pulsing with need for him and scheming ways to get herself out of this bed and into his.

"You sound - you don't sound yourself, Ranney," Claire said softly.

Ranney's temper rose and she prepared to clap back, but Claire spoke first.

"You sound like you're in the uncomfortable joy."

"The what ?"

"The uncomfortable joy. Someone I follow on Instagram talks about it a lot. It's why I wanted to come here."

Great. Ranney was about to get advice thirdhand from an influencer.

"It's the discomfort that comes from trying something new and stepping out of your comfort zone, and feeling real joy. Happiness. Pleasure. But something seems off because you've let go of your old expectations and rules. Uncomfortable joy. You have to float in it to find the new normal."

Ugh. That word. "Normal" again.

Ranney lay rigid, Claire’s words still vibrating in the dark between them.

“I know Kari and Katie are going to lay into me,” Claire whispered, her voice soft, almost conspiratorial, “but we can’t be all work, no play forever, right?

I mean, what’s the point? I’m the director of PR, Ranney.

If anyone should know better, it’s me. I spin reputations for a living.

And yet—” she laughed, low and rueful—“here I am, the one caught up in…

this. Whatever this is between me and Chap.

It's a this I can't ignore. I can’t stop. I’ve discovered a side of myself I actually like.

Not the polished, controlled version that makes quarterly reports and crisis statements.

Who watches you go into the field and do all the cool operations work.

Who summarizes and manages reputations and crises on the surface, but never face-to-face. And I like Chap's face."

Ranney laughed out loud at that.

"He likes me. Just… me. And even if it costs me my job, I think…” Her breath caught, then released. “I think it’s worth it.”

Ranney’s entire body jolted as if the bed had shifted beneath her. Worth it? Risking everything—security, reputation, hard-won stability—because of a man you’d just met at a fly-fishing lodge in Idaho?

Except.

Except the heat in the hallway still lingered in her skin, making a liar out of every professional rule she’d just recited like a catechism. Except the echo of Tom’s mouth on hers felt less like a mistake and more like a revelation.

Ranney gripped the edge of the blanket as if she could anchor herself to fabric, to the mundane, to reality. Kari’s raised eyebrow. Katie’s piercing questions. The judgment, the consequences, the possible end of everything she had built over decades.

How could Claire shrug at all that?

And yet.

How could Ranney not envy her? And why was this even a thought, if it wasn't appealing? Tom made her want something wholly new.

And Ranney didn't know why she was fighting it.

Claire’s voice grew drowsy, words slurring together, until she finally went quiet. A soft, steady rhythm of sleep soon followed, her new secret tucked safely between them like contraband.

Oh, great. Good for Claire. Fast asleep.

Ranney stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, the lodge’s faint timbered scent pressing down on her as if the beams themselves demanded answers. Her chest felt hollow, her thoughts a whirl of rebellion and fear.

Was this what “uncomfortable joy” meant? Because if so, it was less a float and more a free fall.

And what if it meant she hit rock bottom?