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Sebastian

Worst hangover riddle ever.

My eyes were on fire reading my cousin Tristan’s text. I’d got home to my empty townhouse the night before and started drinking.

What in the world did that message mean? Who was at—

I bolted up in bed, my head searing with pain.

Bakery.

My sister’s wedding.

Kennedy would be there.

I scrambled from the bed and showered to sober up while gargling industrial strength mouthwash the entire time.

How the hell Tristan knew she’d be there, I planned to ignore. I knew they’d been in contact for the wedding. I never expected Tristan or any of my cousins would make a play for Kennedy. But Hart men had damn good genes. It would be damn tempting for her.

Need Tom, I texted back to Tristan, asking for his limo driver.

The dots appeared after a few minutes. OTW.

Thanks, I replied and finished getting ready.

Ten minutes later, Tristan’s shiny black Town Car rolled up to my white brick townhouse. I opened the door, not making the driver treat me like a prima donna. My cousins and I had all grown up middle class.

“Hey, Tom,” I greeted the chauffeur as I slid into the back seat.

Showing up in a fancy car like this

wouldn’t impress Kennedy. Besides being a rich surgeon, I was also a billionaire thanks to the investment profits my father had gotten from The Sterling hotel.

My dad had loaned his brother the money to get The Sterling up and running back in the early days in exchange for a profit balloon ten years later.

That had fattened up my joint bank account with Kennedy.

Never for a moment had I thought to sock it away somewhere she couldn’t touch it.

And I knew Kennedy would never ask for a penny of that money. Didn’t need it. She made a good living in her own right.

I wore a pair of dress slacks, a button-down shirt, and a simple sports coat under my charcoal cashmere winter coat. The temperature had plummeted last week when another New York winter had blown into town and would stay to freeze everyone out until late March.

“How long will it take to get to Park Slope?” I asked Tom.

“GPS says thirty minutes, sir. Bridge is always clogged, though.”

My Gear watch read 12:30. I expected to beat Kennedy to the appointment. Be waiting there for her. I brought the bakery up on my phone and zoomed in to find a florist nearby. Screw flowers, my wife would prefer a cookie. She loved sweets. Loved licking whipped cream off my chest and other places...

Thirty minutes turned into two hours and I started sweating the last five blocks, ready to ditch the Town Car and run.

The orange and white polka dot awning came into view and I had the car door open before Tom stopped. “Am I waiting, sir?” the driver called out.

“No,” I yelled over my shoulder. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”

Through the bakery’s decorated windows, I saw the back of Kennedy’s head. Her blonde waves flowed down her back. God, I used to wash that gorgeous silk for her in the shower. I fucking missed her so much.

A tall skinny woman stood next to Kennedy. Catching my breath, I opened the door. Bells on the handle chimed, turning Kennedy around.

Her jaw tipped open until her eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Tristan?”

“Wrong Hart, babe. He’s the crazy, daring one. I’m the handsome, sexy one.” I sauntered in and came up to the glass case filled with shiny frosted cakes.

Predictably, Kennedy rolled her eyes, but I noticed how the corners of her mouth curled up as she held back a smile. I could still make her laugh. That was a good sign.

“Zelda, this is Sebastian, Savannah’s brother. Sebastian, this is your sister’s wedding planner.”

“Hellooo,” she said with a wry smile. “You’re the ex, huh?”

“Um...” Kennedy blushed. Like those damn divorce papers were already signed, sealed, and delivered.

Nope. Not signing them.

Kennedy folded a wad of papers and shoved them in her purse. Glancing at me, she said, “We’re done here.”

“Not exactly. And I’m not her ex.” I gripped the back of her head and kissed the shit out of her, deep and wet.

Kennedy staggered back acting surprised by the enthusiastic tongue action. “Jesus, Sebastian. We’re in public.”

“I don’t give a shit,” I murmured.

Chuckling, Zelda walked away.

“Thanks a lot. Do you know how hard it was to get the wedding planner to meet me here?” Kennedy lowered her head.

Her ash blonde hair had fresh streaks of gold like she’d gone to the hairdresser just for the wedding.

Or maybe just for me. “Thanks for ambushing me, by the way. I assume you don’t just leave Manhattan to stroll around Brooklyn looking for cookies. ”

“For your cookies, I’d leave the planet,” I joked.

It occurred to me, if Cal Sweeney hadn’t been sacked by so many three-hundred-pound linemen, I wouldn’t be there with Kennedy right now. Surely, she’d been slogging along to appointments for the wedding the last couple of months. Tristan had tipped me off this time. Why? The date...

“How was your date last night?” My throat swelled, fearing her eyes would light up.

“Good. Mac always puts out. Keeps me warm and completely fills me.”

I died a bit inside. She’d gotten involved with some asshole named Mac.

“You remember Mac, don’t you?” She taunted me. “My old dinner buddy in med school when I didn’t know how to cook much else.”

Dinner buddy? Back in med school, she’d lived on mac and cheese... “Ah.”

She smiled. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

Relieved, I said, “So, no date.”

“No date. I’m sorry. I said that to mess with you.”

“Thanks for saying it after the surgery or Cal might have lost the arm.”

“That’s not true. You’re a consummate professional.”

“Don’t tell the AMA, but that would have wrecked me. Did...wreck me. Happy?”

She stared at me, pursing her lips. “No.” After a breath, she said, “So what are you doing here?”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, helping me with the wedding plans?”

“I would have if you asked.”

She frowned. “You would have carved out time from your one-hundred-hour work week to help me pick out cocktail napkins for Savannah when for two years you’d left me at restaurants waiting for you?”

“That’s not fair, Kenna. You tricked me with that question. I guess, no, I wouldn’t have skipped repairing someone’s knee or back or arm to pick out napkins.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“To work?”

“No. I’m off. For a...while.”

My heart stopped. “What do you mean a while, Kenna? What’s up?”

Her breathing hiccupped. “It’s nothing. Just built up lots of time off. I knew last-minute stuff would come up for the wedding.”

I stared and let the silence stretch out while I looked at her. Smelling fresh roasted beans, I said, “How about a cup of coffee and something sweet?”

She smirked, glancing at the baked good case. “Their cupcakes are famous.”

“Chocolate with vanilla cream icing, right?” I remembered her favorite.

“Damn you. I’ll go get a table.”

Thank you, Tristan...