Wedding Date with the Best Man. Melissa Mcclone

him to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish had everything under control. No need to worry.

      Tristan leaned against the counter and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He might look out of place, but he sure acted comfortable—as if he were used to hanging out in women’s kitchens.

      He looked around. “I smell cookies.”

      His sense of smell was spot on. “I baked chocolate chip cookies this morning. Would you like one?”

      “Please.”

      She reached for the plastic container full of cookies and placed a few on a plate. These homemade treats would give Tristan one more reason to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish was fine and dandy.

      Oh, no. She dropped a cookie onto the plate.

      Forget fine. She wasn’t dandy, either. She cringed.

      She’d asked about Grace. Given the chance, Jayne would have asked about the other Stricklands, too. Maybe even Rich. She stared at the cookies with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She was turning into Mrs. Whitcomb.

      Too late to renege on the offer of refreshments, but Jayne would not ask Tristan about another one of the Stricklands.

      She would be polite. She would be gracious. But that was it.

      With her resolve firmly in place, Jayne added ice to the two glasses, filled them with tea and handed one to Tristan.

      He took a sip. “Sweet.”

      “Oops. I should have warned you,” she said. “In the South, that’s the only way they make it.”

      He considered her over his glass. “I don’t hear an accent.”

      “I lived in North Carolina for a couple of years when I was younger.” She remembered the humid summers, the enormous flying bugs, and missing her dad. “My father was in the military, so he was stationed all over the place.”

      “Lucky you.” Tristan took another sip of his tea. “I was born in San Diego. My parents still live here.”

      “I’d say you’re the lucky one.” Jayne grabbed a few napkins. “I never want to move away from San Diego.”

      “It’s a nice place to call home.”

      Too bad this place didn’t feel like home at the moment. The kitchen was feeling a little too…crowded.

      Jayne picked up the plate of cookies and her tea. “Let’s go into the living room.”

      “After you.”

      In the living room, she placed the cookies on the scarred maple coffee table Molly had left when she moved to Las Vegas and pulled out two coasters for their glasses. Jayne sat on one end of the yellow plaid couch. “Tell me what you need to know to appease Grace.”

       And what it will take to get you out of here.

      Tristan lowered himself onto the couch, making the full-sized sofa seem suddenly way too small. He set his glass on a coaster, adjusted a floral print pillow behind his back and stretched out—a mass of arms and legs. “Just a few things.”

      “Like what?”

      As he placed his hand on the back of the sofa, his hand brushed Jayne’s bare shoulder. Accidentally, of course.

      Still, heat rushed down her arm like a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite.

      She guzzled her tea, but the cold drink didn’t cool her down at all. Even her fingertips seemed to sizzle.

      Her reaction disturbed Jayne. It must be because she’d sworn off men. For the past seven months she’d barely seen a man outside of work, but the one sitting next to her on the overstuffed sofa was too warm, too solid, too…male. No wonder her body was so confused.

      But being even the slightest bit attracted to Rich’s best friend was a huge no-no.

      She scooted away from Tristan until her hip collided with the sofa-arm. Darn. That wasn’t far enough for her peace of mind.

      He picked up a cookie. “Grace will want to know how you’ve been.”

      Add Rich’s oldest sister to the list. Alex, Molly and Serena all kept asking how Jayne had been doing, so she wasn’t surprised Tristan—make that Grace—would want to know, too.

      “Please don’t answer fine,” he added. “You’ve already used that one.”

      Jayne usually answered fine. The word fit her most days—good or bad. She didn’t want people worrying about her.

      “I’ve been busy trying to make this house a home—my home, that is—when I’m not at the office,” she said. “Everything is going…okay.”

      Okay seemed like the best, the safest answer. Because, face it, things might be fine, but they hadn’t been great for a while now. Months, actually. She kept second-guessing herself. Something she had never done before. That had made things…harder.

      He held his cookie in mid-air. “Okay, okay? Or okay, but I’d rather not talk about it?”

      Her gaze met his. She hadn’t expected him to delve further or to read so much into her simple answer. “A little of both.”

      “An honest answer.”

      She raised her chin. “I’m an honest person.”

      “Honesty is a rare quality these days.”

      “No kidding.” Jayne wasn’t about to disagree with him, especially after her experience with Rich. The cheating jerk.

      And what did that say about Tristan? He and Rich were best friends.

      She watched a bead of condensation drip down her glass.

      “You cut your hair,” Tristan said.

      Her gaze met his. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

      “I’m a photographer, remember?” he said, as if that explained anything. “An eye for detail.”

      She’d forgotten. Her cheeks burned. How could she have forgotten what he did for a living? He’d spent two days trailing her and Rich around town, taking their picture. But then again, she’d pushed as much of that painful time out of her memory as possible. That included her groom’s best man.

      Still, she wanted to cover her embarrassment.

      “My friends treated me to a makeover at a fancy salon in Las Vegas.” She fingered the short ends. “Rich told me never to cut my long hair, so I told the stylist to chop it all off. I had a moment of sheer panic when she did, but decided I actually liked the shorter length and have kept it this way even though there are times I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself.”

      Tristan drew his brows together.

      Uh-oh. Deep in thought? Or disgusted by her rambling? Not that his opinion mattered to her. “Too much information?”

      “Not at all,” he said. “I was just looking at your hair. The longer length was nice, but this style flatters your features better. You should get your picture taken.”

      Thinking about the deposit she’d lost canceling the wedding photographer sent a shiver down her spine. Of course she’d lost a lot more than money with the breakup. Pride. Respect. Confidence. “I don’t like having my picture taken.”

      “I remember.” His lips formed a wry grin. “But I managed to get some good shots anyway.”

      “I never saw any of them.”

      “I’ll get you copies.”

      Jayne crossed her arms over her chest. “Um, I…”

      “Bad memories?” Tristan guessed.

      “Yeah, sorry, but thanks for the offer.” She picked up a cookie. “I know