Take a Chance on Me(4)

“What was I supposed to do?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. Where’s your cell?” He scowled as though she’d done something wrong.

How could she know she’d need one? She held up her tiny purse. “It didn’t fit.”

His gaze flicked over her. “What’s with the dress?”

Not wanting to say it out loud, she toyed with a piece of the fabric and said, “What, this old thing?”

“Cute.” His jaw hardened into a stubborn line. “So?”

Denial was pointless. The dress fell from her fingers. “I ran out on my wedding.”





Chapter Two



“Was this before or after ’til death do us part?” Mitch asked the tipsy bride swaying on the stool. He’d shove those pretzels down her throat if necessary. Irish or not, if she didn’t get food in her stomach, she’d be sick.

Green eyes flashed as brilliant and blinding as the crystals covering her overflowing wedding dress. “Before. I’m horrible, but not that horrible.”

Good. He’d learned his lesson where husbands were concerned. No matter how appealing the woman, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. “I take it this was a rushed exit.”

“If you must know, I climbed out the church window.” She placed a hand over her forehead and squeezed her lids shut. “My mother is going to kill me. She’ll never forgive me.”

Interestingly, there was no mention of the guy she’d ditched at the altar. “I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

Lashes fluttering open, she shook her head. “You don’t understand. I’m twenty-eight. All her friends’ daughters are married. Half of them have kids, and the other half are pregnant. I’ve been with . . .” She leaned in, her eyes darting around the room. “. . . him since I was fifteen. I’m past due.”

Family expectations were something he could relate to. Not meeting those expectations, even more so. “I’m sure she wants you happy.”

Maddie straightened. “Ha! She wants me married. Period. End of story.”

The last thing he wanted was to talk about her abandoned wedding, but he figured his job as her bartender required at least a cursory question. “Do you want to talk about it?” He placed his hands on the counter, hoping he passed for disarming.

The corners of her mouth pulled into a deep frown as she pushed an empty glass toward him. “About that shot.”

Okay, no talking about the wedding. Fine with him. He’d rather argue about pretzels. He pushed the bowl under her cute little nose. “I believe I laid down the law on more shots. You don’t like it, there’s another bar about ten miles from here. The rest of the town is dry.”

Chin tilted in defiance, her knockout, heart-shaped face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to stare him down. Too bad for her—he could do this all day.

Several moments ticked by before she conceded with a long, put-upon sigh, followed by an adorable pout. She picked up a handful of pretzels and shoved one in her mouth. “Happy now?”

“Yes, and you’ll be even happier when you can sit upright.”

“I can sit fine.” The satin on her princess dress rustled as she teetered, belying her words. The veil she wore fluttered around her face, the white a stark contrast to the deep red of her hair.

Grinning, he reached over the bar and flicked the filmy fabric. “No chance to remove the veil, huh?”

She jerked back, hand flying to her head to pat the fluffy tulle, complete with tiara. “Ugh! I forgot.”

He leaned into the counter. “You certainly know how to make an entrance, Maddie Donovan.”

“What?” She smiled, the corners of her mouth a little shaky. “I’d think all the runaway brides would come here.”

He popped open the cooler and grabbed a Bud. “Do I sense a new advertising slogan?”

“Put your picture on a billboard and you’ll have to beat them away with a stick. No slogan necessary.” A bright red flush staining her cheeks, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with what he suspected was horror.

He laughed, startled to hear how rusty and unused it sounded. When was the last time he’d been this engaged in a conversation?

She peeled her fingers away. “Did I say that out loud?”

“’Fraid so.” It had been a long time since he’d flirted, but he hadn’t forgotten how. It had been even longer since he’d felt anything but numb. And numb wasn’t the word that came to mind when he looked at the runaway bride.

“Ignore me.” She held up one of the empty shot glasses. It swayed in her fingers. “It’s the booze.”

“If you say so, Princess.”

Those green eyes narrowed. Her gaze traveled over his face and body as though he were a suspect in a lineup. Trying to keep a straight face, he twisted the cap off his beer and tossed it without looking at the trash can. To his surprise, it was damn hard. He’d smiled more in the last fifteen minutes than he had all last year.

Finally, she glanced around his sad, sorry-looking dive. “Um, what’s your current slogan?”

“Bar.”

“I think you can do better,” she said with utter seriousness, then popped another pretzel in her mouth.