The Window Seat (badLuckbrides #1)

Chapter 3

Kathlyn

Thirteen Days Until Wedding

California. Home to A-list celebrities, earthquakes, year round summer, and some pretty horrific traffic—yet, still one of my favorite places to visit. Doesn't top Italy, but it's pretty high up on the list. And now I live here. I'll be a real California girl with naturally bronzed skin and sun dyed beach waves in no time.

"Since you're so unprepared for your bachelorette party, I was able to put it off until the end of next week—"

"Awesome, Aspen thank you." I smirk at her, cutely. "I just feel like everything's so rushed, I just got here and I need a moment to catch my breath."

My hands warm around the hot mug in front of me. Based on all I've ever heard, I thought California was permanently blazing hot, but so far it's been a chilly morning.

"Yeah, no problem. Don't stress." She shrugs. "You'll get pimples and that's not how you wanna remember your wedding—that's why I planned a couple of spa days this weekend. I need it too."

Aspen's tapping her finger on the table top, glaring at the baristas who are unconcerned with the massive line and are chatting behind the bar. "Geez, I only ordered an espresso—what's taking so long?"

I smile at her while she's not looking. I really missed Aspen. She's the only person I've met after Simon, who actually kept in contact with me over the years. We met while I was living in Oregon. In a coffee shop, because apparently people do that there.

Don't get me wrong, we have a strange friendship, the kind that doesn't need tons of time spent together to remain friends. The kind that spends months apart, then resumes like no time ever went by when we're back together, but isn't that the best kind?

The door chimes and just as I'm about to touch the mug to my lips, Aspen grabs my wrist over the table. I could have jumped fifty-feet, but this was typical Aspen behavior. Sudden movements for absolutely no reason other than enhanced drama. "Best man—whose name I can't remember for the life of me—just walked in."

I turn my head to look toward the door and see if I can spot out any other preppy James types. I imagine his best man is the kind of guy that wears pleated slacks and has wind blown, blonde hair. Essentially, a bro. A frat boy, if you will. All James ever really talked about was his fraternity days, so that's engraved in my mind. But the coffee shop is already busy as it is, and everyone in California is so diversely different it could really be anyone.

There's a big crowd gathered in front of the entrance, the line backed up to the door. It's almost like being in Manhattan again.

"Which one is he?" I can't pinpoint anyone specific. No bros here.

"Um, he's right there, behind that tall girl with the cute bag."

I see a few girls matching the description, a tall brunette with a white bag, a tall red head with a red backpack, and a tall blonde with a red purse. The line moves up a bit as the crowd begins clearing out slowly.

"Hey!" She waves, only catching the attention of a few of them. The sounds of blenders constantly whirring, alongside the random name shouts by the counter actually drown her out.

I forget all about the best man thing when my eyes land on Simon, who's in line staring down at his tablet. Instinct demands me to hide my face behind my mug—before he hears her shouting like a cat in heat—cringing every time Aspen calls out. Like, come on best man, you hear her calling you, wherever you are. Show yourself so she can shut up.

And I peek over the rim of the cup, watching her skip over to the line through the steamy mist rising from my beverage.

Hurry the hell up, Aspen. Snag this guy and be quiet.