The complication with th.., p.1
The Complication with the Best Man - Ebook, page 1
the complication with the best man
PIPER RAYNE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2025 by Piper Rayne®
Piper Rayne® registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Design: By Hang Le
Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar
1st Line Editor: Joy Editing
2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: Olivia Winston
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about the complication with the best man
One wild night turns into two pink lines.
Sleeping with the best man at my cousin’s wedding felt right at the time—he was a hot, available firefighter, and I was the tipsy maid of honor. It’s a rite of passage.
No regrets… until two pink lines flipped my world upside down.
Now I’m wildly unprepared and trying to hide my pregnancy in my small Alaskan town where privacy is a myth and gossip spreads faster than frostbite.
But wait, it gets worse.
Baby Daddy just came back to town—with a fiancée in tow.
And guess who she wants to plan their wedding?
Me.
Keeping the secret was hard enough.
Keeping my distance from the father of my baby? Impossible.
Just when I think I have it all figured out, he reveals his own secret that changes everything.
contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
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About Piper & Rayne
one
HARPER
I force my strained smile to stay in place as the groom goes on and on about how important it is that the wedding reflects his steadfast environmentalism and how he won’t be happy with anything less.
I muster all my self-control to resist pointing out that the most effective way to reduce his carbon footprint would be to skip the massive wedding altogether. A wedding with one hundred fifty guests, each invited with paper invitations, seated with paper place cards, and greeted with paper menus on their plates, not to mention the individually wrapped party favors, extravagant floral arrangements, and, of course, the grand finale—an after-dinner fireworks display.
The words and my lunch churn around in my stomach, making me nauseous. I think I may have caught a bug or something because I’ve felt off all day.
Thankfully, the bride returns from the bathroom and sits next to her fiancé.
“Darren was just telling me how important it is to him to make sure we’re thinking of the environment throughout the planning process,” I say to her.
She smiles at him and intertwines her hand with his. “We’re in agreement there.”
Miraculously, I’m still able to hold the smile on my face.
I’ve been a wedding planner for five years, and I’ve learned to identify high-maintenance clients at a glance. The couple sitting across from me is now at the top of my list of clients I’m not planning their second wedding for if this one doesn’t work out. Usually, it’s the brides who make my job harder, while the grooms just go along for the ride—or are dragged along, more likely. But I have a feeling good ol’ Darren here will give Katherine a bit of competition in that department.
We continue with the meeting, and I note all their wants and needs, constructing a mental timeline in my head, working backward from their big day.
Once we finish, I walk Darren and Katherine to the door out to Main Street in my small quaint Alaskan town of Lake Starlight.
I took over Aunt Juno’s office when she retired from matchmaking a few years ago, which has been a blessing. Working out of my parents’ basement didn’t scream professional wedding coordinator. As if I needed a sign that said, “Don’t worry. You can trust me with the biggest day of your life.”
I wave goodbye to my newest clients and go back inside, reaching for my water. I take a small sip, hoping it soothes the nausea that’s been plaguing me today, but it only makes it worse.
I haven’t thrown up yet, but my stomach has felt unsettled all day, and that damn feeling in the back of my throat won’t go away. I vaguely remember one of my cousins texting in the group thread after our big family Sunday dinner about her kid being sick. Maybe I caught something. I better not have. I do not have time to be sick right now.
Summer is winding down, and if I was in the lower forty-eight, that would mean wedding season was too, but in Alaska, a lot of people get married in the fall and winter months. The natural landscapes make for gorgeous backgrounds in wedding pictures. And there’s a growing number of people who choose to travel here during the colder months for a destination wedding rather than have one at a tropical resort.
It’s actually the season that’s grown the most in the past few years and the entire reason I was able to take over Aunt Juno’s office in the first place. I’ve sort of made this time of year my specialty and have put together a social media campaign that brings in a lot of clients.
So while the majority of the wedding industry winds down for a break, I gear up for a busy fall and winter. In fact, I have two new clients who found me online coming into town in the approaching weeks.
I sit at my desk and jot down notes on my computer about my meeting with Darren and Katherine, what their priorities are, and some ideas I want to research so that I can present them at our next meeting. Then, before I forget, I add our next appointment to my phone calendar, along with an alarm to ensure I don’t forget.
I tend not to be the most organized person. One glance down at my desk, which is littered with sticky notes that act as my to-do list, gives it away. I have a garbage truck full of day planners I’ve promised myself I’d use, but I always revert back to scribbling cryptic messages that most times I can’t decipher.
Looking over my sticky notes now, I don’t see anything that requires my urgent attention, so I grab my purse and call it a day, heading to Bloom to chat with Maven about Darren and Katherine’s wedding while their flower preferences are fresh in my head.
Even though it’s a short walk, I get stopped twice for a quick chat.
Taking fifteen minutes or more to get somewhere that should take five comes with being a lifelong resident of a small town. This is especially true for me, as my last name is Bailey. The family name Bailey carries a little more responsibility in this town for several reasons. Not only do a lot of the Bailey family members own businesses here, but also, Bailey Timber was founded by us and employs a substantial number of people in the area. Add on the fact that my dad’s parents were tragically killed in a snowmobile accident when he and his eight siblings were young, and the town sort of adopted them as their own and has a vested interest in their lives—at least that’s how my dad tells it.
The bell over the door rings when I walk in, and Maven looks up from behind a long worktable scattered with flowers. The shop’s walls are painted a rich, deep green, and the floor features a striking black and white checkerboard pattern that adds a touch of classic charm. Lush greenery from a variety of plants cascades from shelves and corners, filling the space. At the back, a large cooler houses an array of fresh flowers.
“Hey, roomie,” I say.
Maven recently moved in with me. She’s three years younger than me, and when she first approached me about leasing the extra room in the house I rent just outside of the downtown area, I wasn’t sure if we’d be a good match. I’m somewhat chaotic and my housekeeping skills lack as much as my day planner keeping. But Maven was desperate to get out of her parents’ house, and I related to how that felt, so I agreed.
Good thing I did because it turns out we’re a great match. Maven is quiet and shy, neat and orderly, and enjoys spending her nights reading on the couch. If anything, I’m probably a little too loud for her. But she doesn’t seem to mind my chaos. In fact, I think she secretly likes it. Maybe sin
She sets down the flowers in her hand. Maven is gorgeous, though I don’t think she sees herself that way. Her most striking feature is her dark brown eyes with flecks of gold in the center that are set off by her warm, tawny skin. Today, she has her dark, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing the same style overalls she tends to work in every day. These are a khaki green with a repeating daisy pattern.
“How’s your day going?” she asks.
“Well, I just met with a bride and groom who are going to challenge your ability to not put those scissors through your eye.” I shrug. “But they can’t all be easy peasy like Palmer and Hudson were, right?”
We both laugh. Our cousin Palmer got married last month, and though I was part of the wedding, I also acted as the wedding planner for it, which was a breeze. Neither of them were really picky about the details of their big day. All they cared about was that they’d be married at the end of it.
For a moment, the best man, Hudson’s friend, flashes through my mind. Finn.
I press my thighs together just thinking about him and the night we shared in his hotel room.
Stop it.
I don’t do this. I don’t get hung up on my one-night stands—especially when they live in Vermont. I push Finn out of my mind and get down to business with Maven.
“These particular clients are very concerned about the environmental impact of their wedding, so I wanted to run some ideas by you to see if they’re feasible before I present them at my next meeting with them.”
“Oh, I like a challenge. Let’s hear what you’re thinking.” Maven leans over the worktable, chin propped on her hand.
“I thought for the centerpieces, instead of having flowers, we could have potted plants, so people can take them home, and they’ll last more than a few days. Or even have herbs? Then guests could plant them when they get back home.”
“When is the wedding?” she asks.
“Next spring.”
She nods. “That could absolutely work.”
A flit of excitement ignites in me from fleshing out my ideas for a wedding. Or maybe it’s still my lunch that’s not sitting well.
“I also thought we could source the planters we use for the tables from secondhand shops.”
“I know a cute little vintage shop in Anchorage that we can check out.”
“Perfect.” I clap my hands together in front of me.
Maven’s eyes light up. “You know, I could also use curly willow to keep everything in place, rather than floral foam.”
I point to her. “See? This is why you’re the best florist who ever lived.”
Maven’s expression turns from excitement to cringe, and her hand falls to her tummy. “Give me a second?”
Before I can answer, she rushes through the door to the back of the store.
Shit. Whoever’s kid was sick last Sunday must have given it all to us, if Maven isn’t feeling well either. Damn it. I had a urinary tract infection a couple of months ago, and that was aggravating enough to deal with. I don’t want to be down for the count, hunched over a toilet for three days.
While I wait for her to return, I do a quick sweep of the shop, taking note of what new types of greenery and flowers she’s brought in, constantly looking for inspiration that will showcase my services.
A couple minutes later, she walks through the back door, looking pale.
“Did the toddler bug get you too?” I ask.
She laughs. “No, I just got my period.” She groans. “Do you have a tampon in your purse? All I have left are pads. One of the weekend girls must’ve taken the last tampon and not said anything.”
“Of course.” I set my purse on the scarred wooden worktable and unzip the side pocket of my purse and pull out a tampon for her. “Here you go.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right back.”
She disappears to the back again, and I zip up the pocket of my purse, slinging it over my shoulder.
Then I pause.
Then I think.
Then I calculate.
Then I panic.
I dig my phone out from my purse and pull up my health app to see when my period is due.
Motherfu—
I’m late.
My period was due two weeks ago.
Finn’s handsome face flashes in my mind again.
No.
No, no, no, no, no…
I quickly type out a text to Maven that something came up and rush out of the floral shop, walking steadily down the street, only smiling and waving, not allowing anyone to stop me. I climb into my car.
I’m a fast driver normally—just ask the sheriff—but this time when I pull away from the curb, it’s as if I’m racing out of the pits with my number one rival right behind me.
two
HARPER
By the time I drive to Winterberry Falls, pick up a pregnancy test, and get back, it’s already dinner time, which means there’s a good chance Maven is home. She probably has questions.
The entire drive to the neighboring town, I ran through my options if I am pregnant. The first thing is to keep it out of the gossip that fuels this town. Which means this has to be kept close to the vest.
There’s no way I am though. It must be the stress. I’m so careful. Always. I’m on birth control, and I always make the guy wear a condom. No exceptions. This is all just me panicking over nothing.
My fingers wrap around the steering wheel as I make my way down Main Street, gripping so tightly, they’re white. There’s no sense in freaking out when I don’t even know that I’m pregnant. My throat pinches closed with that nauseous feeling again, and I try to put it out of my mind.
If I can’t go home and take this test, I’ll go to Palmer’s house, which is the next best place.
They say you can’t choose your family, but I would have chosen Palmer. She’s my cousin and my best friend. If I am pregnant, I’m blaming her and Hudson for having such a hot, single, eligible guy for a best man. I mean, how’s a girl supposed to resist something like that, especially after a few glasses of wine?
I plow into her driveway faster than I should and slam on the brakes behind both Palmer and Hudson’s cars. I would have preferred only Palmer to be home, but that’s okay. I’m here all the time, and Hudson won’t be suspicious. There’s nothing to be suspicious about anyway.
I climb out of my car and rush to their back door that opens into their kitchen, hoping to slip into the bathroom and get this over with so I can see with my own eyes that there are not two pink lines on the stick. Then I can move on with my night.
Of course, they’re all in the kitchen. Palmer, Hudson, and their daughter, Adley.
“I gotta go.” I wave and beeline to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Let them think I have explosive diarrhea.
I strip my pants and underwear down and sit on the toilet before pulling the box from my purse. My family would probably be surprised that this is my first time ever taking a pregnancy test. I carefully read the instructions, which seem easy enough.
I pee on the stick and set it on the counter, starting the timer on my phone. I wipe, pull up my underwear and pants, wash my hands, and sit on the toilet to wait.
