Walking closer, he spotted the bride, Kennedy, at the altar, facing out, toward him, posing for a photo with Ivy Gibson, one of the bridesmaids, who Cole knew through the bakery on Hale Street. Dunn & Lowell had done a months-long full renovation of the historic Wentworth Hotel at the end of Hale, and he and the rest of the crew had become regulars at the bakery.

Kennedy made a beautiful bride. Her copper-colored hair was swept up in a complicated style under a veil, and she wore a simple column of a white gown with cutouts at the neckline, a cinched waist, and a train.

Cole didn’t see Hunter or any of the men in the bridal party, but he would bet his pickup truck the groom would forget his own name as soon as he saw his bride.

A dozen or so people sat in the front two rows watching the photo shoot. Cole skimmed his gaze over the backs of their heads, looking for one in particular. He spotted Sierra at the end of the first bench, identifying her by the rich russet color of her hair, which was also pinned off her shoulders. He couldn’t see much more from here, but he had time and nothing better to do than watch the bride’s half of the wedding party finish up photos.

After Ivy’s turn, Violet Morello, the brunette bakery owner, posed next to Kennedy, then Asia, who was engaged to Kennedy and Sierra’s brother, Jackson, took her place next to the bride. Then it was Sierra’s turn to pose with her sister.

Cole’s gaze stayed glued to her as she stood and made her way up the three steps, saying something he couldn’t hear, throwing her head back and laughing. When she turned around, Cole forgot how to breathe.

Her attention was on the photographer, and she hadn’t spotted Cole, which allowed him to drink her in at his leisure.

She wore a long navy-blue gown that went over one shoulder and left the other bare. As she stood next to Kennedy, she angled slightly to the side, treating him to a view of her slender, toned leg, revealed by a high slit in the side of the dress. Her sparkling sky-high heels wrapped around her ankles, and just looking at them, at her legs in them, could short-circuit a guy’s brain.

His eyes trailed upward, over the curves of her hips, her sexy bare shoulder, to her stunning smile, highlighted by pink lipstick. Her eyes, he could tell from this distance, were accented with makeup, which she normally skipped for work. And her hair… It was a complex mix of braids and knots and wisps framing her face, all held together, he would bet, by a hundred pins.

He could take those pins out for her, one by one, run his fingers through her hair as it cascaded over her bare shoulders.