Always the Last Word (Always the Bridesmaid #4)(12)

"There's going to be some hungover people coming out of that room. I'd like to be prepared," he explains with a frying pan in his right hand.

"Are you going to hit them over the head? They're not cartoon characters, you know."

He glares at me before ducking into a lower cabinet. From inside, his voice echoes, "I'm making breakfast. How does Rachel like her eggs?"

"She doesn't. She's more of a waffle person," I tell him as I manage to haul myself out of the stool so that I can further see into the cabinet.

"Of course she is," Adam mumbles, handing me a skillet. He drops to his knees and half of his body disappears into the cabinet. He pops back up a moment later, a dusty waffle iron in hand.

"What else is in that cabinet? Does it lead to Narnia?"

"I'll never tell." He smiles as he gets to his feet. "Okay. I'll fix the eggs. You're on waffle duty."

"Cool. Where do you keep your waffle mix?"

Adam stares at me like I just suggested we go get matching butterfly tattoos on our asses. "You don't make your waffles from scratch?"

"The fact that you think I make waffles at all shows how little you know me," I say as he collects all the ingredients for homemade waffles. He rattles off the measurements needed and leaves me to my own devices as he digs through the refrigerator for eggs.

"Do you want to know a secret about me?" I ask as I mix the ingredients together for Rachel's waffles. I don't wait for him to answer. "This is the most I've cooked in at least four months." 

"What do you eat?" Adam asks, his voice controlled, but I sense the slightest bit of hysteria creeping into each word.

"Frozen dinners, popcorn, fruit. Whatever's easy. I'm usually too tired or busy to cook."

Adam scoffs as he whisks a bowl of eggs. "Too tired from what?"

"Really, dude? We were getting along so well," I say, whisking the waffle ingredients harder than necessary.

"My day starts at five a.m. And I don't stop until at least three. And that's not even counting the days I have special orders. My face is in a hot oven all day and I rarely have a second to sit down. And I still manage to cook dinner."

So, we're really going to duke this out? Fine. I set the bowl of waffle mix on the counter. Adam does the same with the eggs and we square off.

"I'm at the shop at eight a.m. I spend my entire day helping brides find dresses. And I know you think that's just a workday of playing dress-up and drinking champagne but let me tell you something, buddy boy-"

"Buddy boy?" Adam asks, an incredulous smile on his face as he stares down at me.

"- It's exhausting. I meet with the family, not just the bride. I meet with a whole group of people that have their own agendas and their own opinions and their own weird issues. I don't sit all day either. I even tracked it. On an average day, I walk six miles back and forth from the changing rooms to the backroom with the dresses. That's not even counting the fact that I'm usually carrying around thirty pounds worth of gowns on those walks. If I'm not on the floor, I'm helping out in alterations. Do you see this hand?" I raise my right hand in front of his face, palm side toward him. "These blisters and callouses are from pleating and sewing on faux pearl beads, and I know that may not seem like much to you - I'm sure you have burn scars - but these hands have helped more weddings than you'll ever know.

"Oh, and I have an online shop! I sell my own designs. And I alter clothing for every person I know, and for free."

"And you think I'm not asked to bake something for every familial occasion free of charge?" Adam asks, gesturing wildly at the various utensils and machines in the kitchen.

"Would you two either shut up or make out?" Carter asks, stepping out of his bedroom.

I look up at Adam and gulp. I didn't realize how close we were to each other. We both take a step away from the other. Adam turns back to the eggs and I focus my attention on Carter.

"We're not making out," I say and pick up the bowl of homemade waffle mix. "We're fixing breakfast."

"When did fixing breakfast demand a shouting match?" Rachel asks, stumbling out of Carter's room. Her eyeliner is smudged clear into her hairline.

"When Adam questions my job duties," I say at the same time Adam spits out, "When Evie acts like she's marriage's saving grace."

"I never said anything about marriage. I said wedding. And, Rach, back me up. How important are wedding dresses?"

She looks from me to Adam to the unprepared breakfast spread across the counter. She focuses on Carter. "Want to go out for breakfast?"

"Good luck with that," Adam says and points out the window.

"Holy shit," Carter all but screeches at the winter wonderland that Bowling Green has become. "Are we snowed in?"

"With you two?" Rachel finishes Carter's thought process.

"Hey, we were getting along," I say. "We were up until, like, four talking and didn't snap at each other once."



       
         
       
        

Rachel looks at me with a little smile. Carter ignores this information as he vows that he will not be trapped with us. He disappears back into his bedroom.

"I'm making waffles," I offer.

"You cunning bastard. You know how to speak to my hangover." Rachel collapses onto a barstool.

"You're weak," Carter tells her as he walks past us, now clad in a heavy coat. He already has a beanie on his head. "I'm shoveling a path to freedom."

"We don't have a shovel," Adam tells him. Carter waves him off before leaving the apartment.

Rachel says nothing. She just raises her hands, fingers spread, and counts them down from 10. When she only has two fingers sticking up, Carter comes barreling back into the apartment.

"It's colder than a witch's tit out there," he says, his voice quivering as he sits next to Rachel at the bar. He looks at Adam with wide, puppy-dog eyes. "Are you really making breakfast?"

"Yeah, dude," he says, pointing a thumb at me. "I've got Evie on waffle duty."

"Is that your famous waffle recipe?" Carter asks, leaning over the counter to get a better look at the ingredients I'm whisking.

"Sorry, bro."

"Are you telling me that you don't trust me with a supposedly famous waffle recipe?" I ask and the way Adam hesitates to reply is the only answer I need. "I can't believe you," I say, laughing at the ridiculousness of him.

"Fine," Adam caves, and Carter hisses out a 'yes.'

"These things are laced with a magic spell or crack, I don't know which," Carter tells Rachel and me.

"Oh-kay," I say, laughing at Carter. I assume the position next to Adam. "Teach me your ways, O Great One."

"Firstly, the waffle recipe does not perform well to sarcasm," he informs me as he preheats the waffle iron. I look over at Carter and Rachel, who have made themselves comfortable at the bar. They watch us like we're their own private cooking show.

Adam has already gathered all the ingredients and, from what I can tell, the recipe is just cinnamon and sugar. Seriously. Just an absolute ton of cinnamon and sugar. I can't believe I wasn't trusted with cinnamon and sugar.

Admittedly, I do burn the first round of waffles.

"We should make a deal," Adam says as the four of us squeeze together on the couch and eat breakfast. "You teach me how to sew on buttons and patches and stuff, and I teach you how to cook a few basic meals."

"Borderline offended by that statement, not going to lie," I say as I stab at my scrambled eggs, "but I'm down. It'll be fun." 

"Awesome."

"How long before they kill each other?" I hear Rachel whisper to Carter.

"I don't know, but I don't want to be a witness to it. Want to go back to my room and wait for the snow to melt?"

Rachel and Carter collect all of our dirty dishes and, before disappearing into Carter's room, load the dishwasher as their way of thanking Adam for fixing breakfast.

"I should probably go and try to free my car," I say, scooting away from Adam now that there is room on the couch to do so.

He pushes up his glasses. "Is it so bad here?"

"No, but I don't want to overstay my welcome more than I already have."

"Evie, it's still snowing. Suck it up. You're stuck here with us," Adam says with a grin. It turns out that, when he genuinely smiles, he develops a dimple in his left cheek. It's kind of cute.

"I think you're right." I slump back on the couch in defeat. I could be with worse company, though.

Oh God. I don't think of Adam as the worst company? What is happening to me?

"Want to watch a movie that I will ruin by talking over the actors to share facts about filming?" I ask, choosing not to settle on the fact that I no longer think of Adam Iberico as the absolute worst.

"Well, when you make it so tempting, how can I resist?"





Chapter Eleven



For the second time in less than twelve hours, I wake up with no idea where I am. It's like sophomore year of college all over again.

Unlike this morning when I woke up alone, there is now a solid body next to me. To be more correct, there's a solid body mostly under me.