Home > Whole Lotta Love (Calamity Falls Small Town Romance #7)(3)

Whole Lotta Love (Calamity Falls Small Town Romance #7)(3)
Author: Erika Kelly

He grew alert, as though hearing a burglar in the house. “We’ve talked about this before.” He searched her eyes. “You know my concerns, but you said you loved him and wanted to be with him. Why are you bringing it up now, the night before the wedding?” His concern drew a sting of tears to the backs of her eyes. “If you’re having second thoughts, tell me now. I don’t care how far along it’s gotten, we’ll call it off, no problem.”

“No, no. I’m not calling anything off. I just want to know…never mind.” He was right. Multiple times over the past eighteen months, he’d suggested Trace was spending way too much time with him, and Lulu had told him she liked that he fit in so well. It gave her the freedom to cook and the comfort to know they’d always live close to her family—and not his.

“You sure?” Her dad looked concerned.

“Positive.”

He gave her a nod, trusting her, and then reached for a knife. Tapping it against his water goblet, he turned to face the room. “Can everyone take a seat, please? Champagne’s coming around, so grab a glass.”

Chairs scraped, and the conversation grew even louder as people decided where to sit.

“We need Trace,” her mom said.

One of her dad’s football buddies cupped his mouth and called, “Anyone seen the groom?”

Lulu grabbed a glass from a passing server. Excitement started to roll in, as she pushed aside her doubts and focused on the moment.

“Oh, good,” she heard her mom say. “You’re here.”

She turned, eager to have Trace close, needing his reassurance. He always knew how to make her feel special.

But it wasn’t him. It was Gigi. “You’re giving the first toast,” her mom said.

Nodding, Gigi took a sip, eyeing Lulu over the top of the flute with a saucy lift of her platinum eyebrows.

I should’ve chosen Gigi as my maid of honor.

“Should I text him?” Lulu asked.

Gigi shook her head. “He’s not paying attention to his phone right now. Not with all his friends here.”

Together, they scanned the room, but between the shadows created by the low lighting, the potted plants, and the wait staff setting bread baskets on the tables, it was hard to make out individual faces.

Any minute now, he’d pop his head out from a big group of people—probably at the bar—and he’d jog across the restaurant, bumping fists and slapping palms on his way to the head table.

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” Her dad’s commanding presence had people quieting down. “It’s great to see faces we haven’t seen in a while.” He shoved a hand into the pocket of his dress slacks. “Lulu came out of the womb with a spatula in one hand and a sprig of parsley in the other.” He paused for the titter of laughter. “And her first word was ‘kitchen,’ breaking her mother’s heart.”

Laughter erupted, and her dad continued talking. But noise filled her brain. There were only a few people still standing, and Trace wasn’t with them.

“Right, sweetheart?” Her dad wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her up against him. She’d missed that last sentence, but the guests were laughing, so she didn’t have to answer. She just stood there and smiled.

And that’s when her gaze snagged on a red dress.

She had to do a double-take.

Because at the back of the restaurant, behind the fronds of a potted plant, right where the fairy lights dripped down the stucco walls, Stella was making out with someone that wasn’t Griffin.

Lulu went rigid. She had to take a moment to make sense of what she was seeing because her mind was tricking her into seeing Trace.

Lots of men wore crisp blue suits. Lots of them had neatly trimmed dark hair.

But no one else wore a neon yellow silicone wristband signifying the Penn State football team’s annual fundraiser for The Children’s House.

“Now,” her dad said. “I’m going to hand the mic over to Gigi, who’s got a little story to tell.”

But time had stopped. A clammy chill coated her skin.

“Lu?” Her dad squeezed her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Fear fisted her lungs and squeezed with all its might.

Clothing swished, chairs scraped on the hardwood floor, as everyone followed Lulu’s gaze to the back of the room, where Trace’s hands clutched Stella’s ass. He kissed her with the franticness of a man on a sinking ship.

“That fucker.” Gigi charged across the room. “I’m going to cut his dick off.”

“Is that Trace?” her mom asked. “Who is he…is that Stella?”

“Oh, my God,” someone called.

In the flurry of activity—Gigi storming across the room, people jumping out of their seats—Lulu set her flute down on a table. A commotion broke out when one of Trace’s brothers pulled him off Stella.

Lulu’s heart pounded, her mind insisting she get out of there, but her feet…God, her feet were rooted in place, her legs nothing but dead weight.

Deep pain, the kind that would never go away, slowly sank into her bones.

Only when she found pitying eyes on her did she find the strength to turn and walk out of the room.

Her sister had stolen her future.

And that once exciting canvas had just gone blank.

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

Seven Years Later

 

 

* * *

 

I’m a liar.

Lulu Cavanaugh chopped the cilantro, reminding herself that soon, her family would know the truth.

Another week, max.

Scraping the herb into the marinade, she focused on the steady crash and drag of waves, the squeals of children playing in the sand, and the happy chatter between customers and servers. Anything to get out of her own head.

Because this whole thing was killing her. The shame, the waiting, the lying.

“What’cha makin’ today?” Big Eddie came up and filched a strip of grilled skirt steak.

She pointed to a tray. “This one’s a Sapporo-beer braised short rib taco with wasabi crema.”

“That sounds out of this world. What’s that one?”

“That’s Pulpo Frito. It’s got citrus slaw, shrimp, and roasted pineapple. It’s not quite right, though. Still tinkering with it.”

He lifted a crunchy shell, juices dripping down his meaty hand and shoved one end in his mouth. “Stop tinkering. It’s perfect.” He chewed like the police were busting in, and he was hiding evidence. “Damn, girl. Everything you make is out of this world. They don’t call you a prodigy for nothin’.”

“You can’t be a prodigy at twenty-six.” Obviously. “And I thought you weren’t going to look me up online anymore. I’m an open book.” Sorta. Kinda.

Well, she used to be.

Back when she’d had nothing to be ashamed of.

When he noticed the third tray, his eyes went wide. “What’s this one?”

“It’s a tres leches and coconut taco with chocolate fudge ice cream and banana peanut sauce.”

“Are you kidding me? Why are you not in charge of cooking for the entire universe? Gimme.”

Laughing, she batted his hand away. “Wait. I have to fill it with ice cream.”

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