Jesus. Get a damn grip.

She was his boss. And he was in public. Another ten seconds of that line of thought and everyone around him would be able to see proof of what she did to him below the belt.

He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, trying to rein in his thoughts but unable to tear his gaze away.

This was why he’d volunteered, he admitted. He’d remember how stunning she looked for as long as he lived.

The next group up for pictures turned out to be the Lowell family—Sierra, Kennedy, Jackson, and their parents, he guessed. It was evident, as they posed and reposed and smiled and the photographer shot a couple dozen pictures, that their family was close-knit and loving. They stood near one another without being told to, joked among themselves, smiled real smiles. They were a Christmas card photo in everyday life, he could tell from here.

Unlike his family. At least when he was around. Maybe his brothers and mom were as carefree and affectionate as the Lowells, but he knew full well he brought a tension with him anytime he was in the same place as the rest of the North clan.

He shrugged. It was what it was, and he was who he was. He didn’t do close relationships, family or otherwise.

The photo shoot ended momentarily, and as Sierra descended the altar steps, her gaze met Cole’s and she flashed him a smile of acknowledgment and, he suspected, relief that he’d shown up. She gestured toward her sister and the side door, where they were heading, and he made out the word sorry on her lips.

He shook his head to let her know he didn’t expect to talk to her until after the ceremony, and she smiled again as her mom sidled up next to her and started talking, gesturing with her hands, obviously conveying some crucial details about something, and then the whole group disappeared through the side door.

Cole backed away from the main doorway and glanced around, realizing he’d been riveted to the front of the church for the past ten minutes and oblivious to anything else around him. More guests had arrived, including an elderly couple emerging from the coat room and a family with four kids bursting noisily through the outer door.

When he glanced at the sanctuary again, two guys in tuxes emerged, the ushers, he assumed. One of them he recognized, Hudson Bennett, a lawyer who Sierra had used for some business contracts. Bennett nodded at him as the other usher handed the lawyer a stack of programs. Several of the guests started forward at the sight of the programs, and the ushers began seating them.