Page 61 of Bridesmaid for Hire
Unfortunately for him, it was at the exact time he was attempting to catch Hudson’s toss.
My fist pump diverts his hand and together we watch his free-flying egg fall past his outreached hand and right to the ground with a loud splat.
Yolk soaks the sand.
And I feel the earth shake beneath me as Hardy turns toward me. “Hey, now, Maggie Mitchell. Did you do that on—?”
“Maggie!” Brody yells, interrupting Hardy and pulling our attention to a floating white object in the air.
That’s not a bird turd.
It’s definitely not a UFO.
Nope, it’s floating dot that’s growing bigger and bigger with every second, that’s…oh God!That’s my egg.
Hardy steps forward, attempting to block me, only for the egg I’m tracking to land flat on his head, breaking with a giant splat in his hair.
Yolk flies across his face.
Eggshells scatter over the beach.
And my hopes for a win come to a crashing halt.
“Nooo,” I say as eggshells fall down the side of his face, making me chuckle. “You broke our egg with your head.”
His playful eyes widen. “You broke ours.”
“Not on purpose,” I say as I reach out and pick a piece of shell off his face, giggling.
“So, you just happened to whack my arm right before I was going to catch my egg?”
“Interference,” Hudson calls out as he points at me and jogs up to us.
“Not on purpose,” I say, defending myself, but finding the fighting all too humorous. I should have known these Hopper men would be competitive.
Hudson starts laying down the facts just as his dad announces, “Looks like Beatrice is the winner!” Both Hopper men turn around with me to find Reginald holding up Beatrice’s arm in victory. When the heck did that happen? What happened to Jude and Haisley?
Turning back toward me, Hardy points an accusing finger. “Watch your back, saboteur.”
And then he walks away to wash off the egg.
I’m chuckling as I hear, “Maggie.” I have just enough time to turn my head before Brody has his hand on my arm.
“Tough luck, huh?” I ask. “Didn’t know Hardy was going to try to catch that with his head.”
“Contract,” he whispers with the venom of a thousand poisonous snakes.
Taken back, I ask, “Huh?”
“The contract.”
I glance around, unsure what he means. “What are you talking about?”
I can feel the tension between us.
The irritation radiating off of him.
But why?
