Four Weddings and a Werewolf

Chapter Sixteen

Donning a long black dress and the shoes she’d won from Heather in the bet to talk to Logan, Veronica pulled in front of Marie’s, a swanky Italian restaurant near Pike Place Market. The shoes were black, strappy, and super comfortable. This was the first time she’d worn them, and she was doing it more out of principle than anything. She didn’t go over and talk to Logan at the Grady wedding for a pair of shoes that she’d never wear.

After they left the bakery yesterday, Heather called to remind her that Marie’s was scheduled to cater a large wedding for them next month. While Heather was usually the one who took care of dinner previews, she’d accidentally booked two tastings on the same night and needed Veronica to take one of them.

She didn’t mind.

Usually.

Getting glammed up and being served an elegant dinner “on the house” was a treat. All she had to do was sample two versions of a three-course meal and vote on which she preferred. But after she felt as if someone was watching her all day, being in public or putting on a happy face for someone else’s sake didn’t sound appealing. She wanted to go back to the hotel, raid the vending machine, and rent some ridiculous Ashton Kutcher movie on pay-per-view to lift her spirits.

Too bad bosses couldn’t call in sick…

As she pulled in front of Marie’s and killed the engine, Logan parked behind her and came around to open her door.

“I can get it myself,” she said, stepping out.

“I can still be a gentleman.”

She huffed. “Among other things. Listen, I’ll be out in about an hour. Try not to get too bored out here.”

He followed behind her as she stepped onto the curb. “Didn’t Heather tell you? Your wedding company got two tickets for tonight. She thought I’d be able to keep an eye on you better if I had the other one. Looks like I’m your date.”

Oh, wonderful. Her date.

Thing was, Logan played the part too damn well: black slacks and a charcoal-gray dress shirt emphasized the strong width of his shoulders and the slenderness of his hips. He looked handsome. Lean and strong. Under any other circumstance, she would’ve been proud to walk into a place like Marie’s with a guy like Logan.

“Just because we have two tickets,” she said, “doesn’t mean we have to sit together.”

In fact, sitting apart would be good. Perfect, actually. Because as Logan opened the doors leading into the restaurant, a gust of wind carried a whiff of his aftershave to her nose. It was a blend of grapefruit, something spicy, and smoked wood. It made her want to nuzzle against him and breathe him in.

She wouldn’t be able to do either of those things if he was sitting at a different table.

As the wind stilled, the feeling that someone was watching her returned full force. She turned back to the street. Nothing. She searched the windows of the building across the street, and on the rooftops. Still, nothing.

“I sense it, too,” Logan said, palming the small of her back. “But I can’t pinpoint it. He’s staying close to you now. Come on, let’s go in.”

Suppressing a shudder, Veronica let him escort her through the double doors.

Walking in was like stepping back in time. Marie’s was dimly lit, with dark hardwood floors, antique tables and chairs, and low-hanging wrought iron chandeliers. Oil lamps decorated the walls, creating umbrellas of warmth that reached for the vaulted wood-beam ceiling. Old-timey pictures of Seattle at the turn of the century hung in wooden frames. The serving staff was dressed in suit and tie, white towels draped over their arms.

“Welcome to Marie’s,” the hostess said, smiling. “Do you have reservations for tonight?”

Veronica handed her the invitation, and Logan did the same.

Her gaze shot between them. “For two?”

“Please.” Logan took Veronica’s hand. “A quiet table, if you have one.”

“Right this way.” The hostess turned away before Veronica could argue.

“I know your game.” Taking back her hand, Veronica wound around tables. “Just because we’re having dinner together doesn’t mean we have to talk.”

“Fine.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll do the talking.”

As the hostess seated them at a table in back, Logan pulled out Veronica’s chair. She glared and then sat down. He took the chair next to her, as opposed to the one across the table. Great. She’d have to hold her nose the entire dinner or risk sighing from another whiff of his enticing scent.

The hostess spouted off the wedding dinner options, explained the order in which the items would be served, and instructed how to vote online at the end of the meal.

“Wine?” Veronica asked, eager to take the edge off the night.

“Red or white?”

“Red.”

Seconds after the waitress came back with water and wine for the two of them, Veronica took a hearty drink. She swirled the drink in the glass, studied the pictures on the wall, and browsed around the restaurant. Anything not to meet Logan’s gaze.

The place was packed with couples choosing menus for their weddings. It was Love Central. Hand-holding over the tables. Whispering sweet nothings. Smooching over foo-foo drinks.

And then there was Logan.

Taking a long drink, Veronica glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

What did it mean that she wanted to be doing those things with him?

His attention shifted to the table nearest them, where a couple was waving in their direction. The woman wore a bright-red dress that dipped so low in front, her date could’ve used her cleavage to store his uneaten celery sticks. She had bleached-blond hair and matching eyebrows. Pointy chin and glossy lips. Her date looked distinguished. Like a young Robert Redford.

“Do you know them?” Veronica asked.

“From a long time ago.” Logan averted his gaze and took a sip of water. “They’re coming over, aren’t they?”

“Um, yeah, you pretty much beckoned them with that come-hither thing you do with your eyes.”

He gaped. “My what?”

“Logan!” the woman shouted, sliding into the seat across the table. “So great to see you—it’s been years. You remember Harold, don’t you?”

“I do, yes. Hard to forget a childhood friend.” Logan shook Harold’s hand. “Great to see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” Veronica said. “And you are…?”

The woman beamed, her glossy lips peeling apart revealing a set of veneers that were too big for her mouth. She looked like a chipmunk that got trapped in the M.A.C. Cosmetics display. “I’m Roxanne Tate, Logan’s ex-girlfriend.”

He stared straight forward as he tipped back his glass, filling his cheeks with water.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Awkward. “I’m Veronica Vale, Logan’s ex…fuck buddy.”

She took a hard drink. Logan choked on his water.

“Oh, you’re a fun one. I like you already.” Roxanne patted the chair next to her. “Don’t mind if we join them, do you, sweetheart?”

“No, dear.” Plopping into the chair, Harold ordered a vodka tonic from a passing waiter.

Logan leaned over and whispered into Veronica’s ear. “We can go, if you want.”

“Where would we go?” She put her fist to her chin and smiled ear to ear. “This is going to be the best dinner party ever.” She blinked quickly, playing the innocent. “Roxanne, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but since Logan and I have zero interest in pursuing anything romantic, tell me, what was he like when you dated him?”

Cranberry vinaigrette salad arrived—the first course. Harold dug in.

Logan wiped sweat off his brow. “We don’t need to go there.”

“What do you want to know?” Roxanne scooted her chair closer to Veronica’s and leaned over.

“Why’d you guys break up?” Veronica traded food for drink. In mass quantities. She sent back the salad and ordered another glass of red. “Was it because of his anger problems?”

Say yes. Say he was the biggest prick you’ve ever dated.

“Anger problems?” Roxanne raised her eyebrows at Logan.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “I keep telling her she’s got me wrong.”

“As much as I’d like to blame the breakup on him, it was my fault. I cheated.” She stabbed a romaine heart with her fork. “Harold was too irresistible to resist.”

Her fiancé snorted and flicked a raisin off his plate.

He must’ve kept his potent sex appeal on lockdown.

Dinner arrived: smoked salmon, oven-roasted green beans, lemon, and basil. Harold shoved it in his cheeks, probably so he wouldn’t have to talk about what happened in the past. Veronica ordered her third glass of wine, and one for her new friend.

“How’d you guys meet?” Roxanne asked, directing her question to Logan.

Cheeks full, he waved his fork around. “We’re in the same wedding on Saturday.”

“Oh, how sweet.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Veronica smacked him in the shoulder. “I’m a job. He was hired to protect me and—”

“Veronica, let’s not go there,” he interrupted, dropping his fork.

“No, let’s do.” Roxanne smiled, probably thrilled that she’d hit relationship-drama pay dirt. “What were you saying, sweetheart?”

“Really,” Logan said, touching her arm. “You don’t want to go there.”

What was he trying to hide? Roxanne must’ve known what he did for a living. Did he think she was going to drag his furry wolf ass out of the closet and expose him as the animal he was? She wouldn’t go that far—wouldn’t want to scare the woman half to death—but there was no harm in telling the truth to some extent.

“Bring her another glass,” Roxanne said to the waiter as he brought over the next dinner selection.

Veronica winked in thanks. “It’s simple really. I have a stalker. Logan was hired to protect me.” She hiccuped, laughed, and then clutched her chest. “And let me tell you, he did a lot more than that!”

The wine was already getting to her, making her arms and legs all tingly.

“That doesn’t surprise me. I always thought he’d fall for someone at work.” Roxanne took a dainty bite and leaned over the table as the waiter brought over the bottle and refilled their glasses. “You were so involved, Logan, so dedicated to the families you protected. You were a sucker for those damsels in distress. Your biggest downfall, darling. Too big of a heart. It was one of the things that irritated me the most about you.”

Having a big heart was irritating? The wine was fuzzing her ears.

“I didn’t come here to dredge up the past.” Logan sawed through his salmon and glared at Roxanne, looking thoroughly unmoved by her topic of choice. “Can we change the subject?”

“Yes, did you catch the draft?” Harold said, cheeks full. “The Seahawks picked up Reggie Martin. We might actually clinch a Super Bowl win this year.”

“Ugh.” Roxanne rolled her eyes. “What happens in the man cave, stays in the man cave, remember?”

“Way to neuter him,” Logan said.

This was turning out to be quite the party. Just the thing to spruce up her week.

Veronica emptied her glass and licked her lips, savoring the bold, rustic flavor that clung there. Her thoughts were starting to go wonky, so she continued to prod. With a smile. “So it was his dedication to other women that drove you away?”

That made more sense than Harold’s secret sex power.

“It was the way he treated them, you see,” Roxanne said, eyeing Logan. “Not the women, necessarily, but everyone involved. He would send money to the families where a loved one was lost on his watch. Like he owed them something, even though he had nothing to do with the incident. How can you build a life with someone who gives away his savings to families that aren’t yours? We’d never be able to travel the world or buy a nice house.”

“Roxanne,” Logan said, slowly leaning back in his chair. “What I do with my money is my business.”

“I’d work and save my money. He’d work, pay the bills, buy what he needed, and donate the rest. If we stayed together, we’d never be ahead! Look at his truck, for crying out loud! Do you think I’d be able to pay off my Benz if we were still together?” She rattled on as if she hadn’t heard him. “No way in Hades. And if those families needed something, he was there. We’re talking fixing sinks, patching roofs, repairing cars. He did it all, leaving his own house behind. I’m sure it’s the same old story, the same old Logan.”

“My house is fine,” he countered.

“Even though he’s not getting paid anymore,” she continued, “I bet he still checks up on everyone to make sure they’re safe. He can’t detach. Never could.”

“Some of those families lost the father figures,” he mumbled quietly, but Veronica caught it.

Fixing sinks, roofs…cars? He helped out with duties that a husband or father might normally take care of.

How…gracious.

Veronica studied the hard angles of Logan’s face, trying to catch any sign that he might’ve been lying. She came up with nothing but a soft hint of sincerity sparkling in his light eyes. His shoulders had rolled forward slightly, and his cheeks had taken on a deep red blush. He looked downright embarrassed to be the focus of the conversation.

Did he not want people to know about the things he did for them?

Okay, being gracious was one thing, but doing it quietly to avoid recognition?

His behavior bordered the territory between nobility and self-sacrificing.

The waiter cleared their plates and replaced them with a giant dessert tray. Cheesecake, marble fudge cake, brownie bars, and cupcakes crowded the serving dish. Harold snatched a cupcake. Logan didn’t flinch.

“If you’re with Roxanne, you’re with her,” Harold mumbled, frosting stuck to his upper lip. “Keeping a woman like her takes time, love, and dedication.” He winked. “Whatever I’ve got is yours, my love.”

As long as he didn’t have a venereal disease, Roxanne would be all good.

“You got it, babe,” she said, reaching across to hold his hand. “You’re ten times better than he ever was.”

Rude. Logan was sitting right there.

Groaning, Logan kicked his foot up on his leg and searched around the restaurant. He was probably looking for an escape route. As Roxanne and Harold started in with the goo-goo eyes and puckered lips, Veronica’s vulgarity meter leaped off the charts.

Logan was a werewolf, sure. But nobody deserved the kind of treatment she was dishing out. Why wasn’t he putting her in her place? Veronica didn’t know how to explain it, but something in her heart told her she already knew.

This was Veronica’s dinner. Her night. He was her date, and didn’t want to make a scene.

“You sound selfish,” Veronica blurted, her mouth blabbing faster than her brain. “I think it’s sweet that Logan cares enough to keep in contact with the victims’ families. If my stalker kills me, I’d really like it if he checked on my sister…and my cat, too. Someone’s got to put the food out for Leah.” Catching the slip, she snorted and waved her hand in front of her face in lieu of correcting it.

She didn’t have to see Logan’s eyes on her to know he was staring. Her skin tingled with delicious warmth.

“I mean…” She tipped back her fifth glass of wine, and had trouble finding her mouth. “It’s easy to shut people out and close off emotions and stuff. It takes strength to be gentle and kind, especially when you’re not expecting anything in return.”

Roxanne eyed Veronica carefully, then set her napkin over her plate. “I think you two will be perfectly happy together.” She smiled. Fake. “Just as Harold and I are.” Fakity-fake. “Logan, it was great seeing you.”

“Yeah, Logan,” Harold chimed in. “Really great.”

“Hey Harold,” Logan said, pumping an unenthusiastic fist in the air. “Go Seahawks.”

As Roxanne dragged Harold away from the table, Logan took the bottle of wine and placed it out of Veronica’s reach.

“Don’t want me to have any more?” she asked, giggling into a loud hiccup.

“You just defended me, in your own way.” He spun in his chair, and faced her. “I don’t think you want to continue to drink the juice that sent you on that trip. It was uncharacteristic of you.”

“That woman was a joke,” Veronica said, taking a forkful of cheesecake. “How self-centered can one person be?”

“Not woman,” he corrected. “Wolf.”

Her bite fell out of her mouth. “Oh!”

“Both of them.” He nodded. “Didn’t notice?”

“My lips are numb.” She smacked them together, relishing in the tingly feel of them. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing.” He laughed. His voice was nice. Scratchy and warm. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Okay, but Logan,” she said as she stumbled out of her chair. “It’s really sweet, what you do. The taking-care-of-everyone thing. That’s nice.”

He caught her, roping his strong arms around her waist. “Thanks.”

“There’s more.” She looked up at him. His face was blurry, but still handsome as heck. “If the stalker kills me, will you really take care of my cat?”

He smiled and tugged her against him. “How about I take care of you instead, so it doesn’t come to that?”