Bridesmaid Undercover: An incredibly steamy, hilarious, friends to lovers, love triangle romantic comedy

HARDY

I press my fingers against the fake prosthetic nose that I glued to my face right before I came here, checking to make sure it’s secure. I used the extra-strength glue, so it’ll be a real bitch to take off later, and then I dabbled on some theater makeup to blend the nose into my skin. And I know you must be thinking, do you have experience in theater makeup, Hardy? The answer would be no, but I watched plenty of YouTube videos to make it look legit, and I spoke with the salesperson at the theater makeup store where I purchased the nose.

So, pretty sure I know what I’m doing.

Almost an expert after laying down this schnoz on my face.

And why the nose? Well, isn’t it obvious? I had to do something that was going to make me look drastically different, and a fake nose, long wig, and fisherman’s hat was the way to go. That’s right, I purchased a wig as well, and man, does it make me look a lot like Jared Leto. And when I say a lot, I mean almost identical. The only difference? I probably have thirty pounds more of muscle than the man.

But when you add the crooked, slightly witchy nose, it takes away the appeal, which I think was smart. Otherwise, Maple would recognize me first. Thankfully she hasn’t really seen me with this thicker beard either, so I think this getup will really keep me from view.

To top off the disguise, I strapped on a pair of old, paint-splattered sweatpants, a T-shirt that has a picture of a fish in a top hat, hanging on to a moon, and gathered my wig-hair into a ponytail. I considered adding a Cindy Crawford beauty mark but thought that would be stretching it.

Now, if Maple recognizes me in this getup, well, then…she must have a distorted memory of me, that’s for damn sure.

My phone buzzes in my hand with a text.

Everly: Where are you?

Hardy: Just outside the Wildlife Connection. Where are you?

Everly: Right out front.

I look up from my phone and catch a woman of Everly’s height and body type, wearing a baseball hat, sunglasses, and a red dress with sneakers. From the long black hair sticking out the back of her baseball hat, I’m going to assume that’s Everly.

“Hey,” I call out, drawing her attention.

When she turns toward me, her mouth falls slightly ajar as she slowly lowers her sunglasses.

Her eyes carefully roam over my sweatpants, her brows contract when she takes in my shirt, and when her stare meets mine, she takes a step back.

Her nose scrunches up in the cutest way. “Henrietta?”

I chuckle and nod. “It’s me.”

She closes the space between us, her eyes on me the entire time. “Oh my God, what did you do to yourself?” she asks.

“I said to come in disguise, so I did.” Because I want to give her the full effect, I spin for her while holding my arms out. “You like?”

She blinks a few times behind her sunglasses. “Are you…are you wearing a fake nose?”

“I am,” I say, touching it. “What do you think?”

She studies me, a smile creeping over her face. “You look incredibly predatorial.”

“What?” I laugh. “You think I look like a predator?”

“Oh yeah, a real creep, especially with the ponytail.” She shivers. “Very…unbecoming.”

“Unbecoming?” I ask with a scoff. “How could you possibly say that when I’m wearing a shirt like this?”

“It’s a fish in a top hat clinging to the moon. Where did you even find something like that?”

“You know.” I scratch the top of my fisherman’s hat. “I was thinking about that this morning when I chose to wear it. I can’t seem to place where such a shirt would have fallen into my wardrobe, but I kind of like it. Real breezy, real comfortable.”

“It says, When You Fish Upon a Star.”

“I know.” I smile. “Catchy, right?”

“It’s not great.”

I laugh. “Wasn’t aware I would be participating in a fashion show today. And sorry, but I don’t think you have room to speak—you look like one of those old lady mall walkers in a dress and sneakers,” I counter.

“Was that supposed to be a burn?” she asks, a smirk dancing across her lips.

“It was. Did it not singe the way it was supposed to?”

She shakes her head and pushes her sunglasses up her nose. “Not so much.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to get you at some point.”

“I look forward to it.” She gives me one more once-over and shakes her head in disbelief. “Now, shall we get on with our spying?” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a set of binoculars. “I came prepared.”

“Binoculars, nice. I like how you’re thinking, Professor.” I reach into my pocket and pull out two tickets. “I got our entry fees covered.”

“Perfect.” She nods toward the entrance. “Then let’s go.”

Together, looking like complete asshats, we walk up to the kiosk, and I hand over our tickets. A khaki-clad employee scans us in and hands us a map. Once inside, we step off to the side and Everly opens the map, giving it a good look. “Shall we go straight to the flamingos or should we ride the carousel first?”

“If you think I look like a predator, maybe we should stay away from the carousel.”

She chuckles. “Very good point. So then, straight ahead to the flamingos?”

“Seems that way,” I say.

“Now, are we going to creep around the flamingos, or are we going to walk up with confidence? What’s the vibe we’re going for?”

I stroke my beard and glance toward the center of the zoo. “I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I think we need to own the disguises and almost live a second life. Really get into character, that way if she happens to look at us, you can feel confident in who you are.”

“Smart,” I say. “Okay, so who are we?”

“Think we can pass as brother and sister?” she asks.

I look her up and down and shake my head. “Not a chance in hell, not with this beak,” I say, touching my nose. “I think we’re going to have to go boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Are you trying to say I look like a person who’d date someone wearing a shirt that says, When You Fish Upon a Star?”

I point to my chest. “Does it look like I’m the type of person who would date a mall walker?”

“It looks like your standards are low,” she says with a smirk.

“That’s neither here nor there. We have to face it—these are the cards we’ve been dealt. Maybe we should have coordinated outfits rather than surprising each other.”

She laughs. “Well, it’s a little too late for that now, don’t you think?”

“Obviously. So unless you want me to walk into the gift shop and buy a new shirt, this is what you have going for you as your betrothed.”

She winces. “I mean…maybe you could buy a new shirt…”

I narrow my eyes at her, which makes her laugh. “The fish in a top hat shirt is staying. It has character. Now, as my betrothed, I think you need to accept me for who I am and stop trying to change me or else we might have a break-up right in front of the flamingos.”

“My God, we can’t have that, we might shake the pink right out of them.” She clutches her chest in a sarcastic horror.

“Exactly.” I clear my throat. “Now, as for names, I think I would like to adopt the title Sir Phillip Minkle.”

Her expression goes flat. “There is no way someone who is wearing a shirt like that has the title of sir.”

“Uh, a guy wearing this shirt would one hundred percent have the title of sir. The fish is wearing a top hat, for fuck’s sake. That screams high class. And, if I’m Sir Phillip, then I can use a British accent. Listen to this.” I clear my throat and let out a deep breath. “Oy, look at them bloody birds.”

After a brief pause, she says, “That is the worst British accent I’ve ever heard. No one says oy.”

“Uhh, have you ever watched Ted Lasso? They say oy all the time.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’m going to call myself Bindi Brown and use an Australian accent.” She straightens up. “Ohhhrrr naurrrr, the pink buggarrs escaped. Fuck me dead.”

“What?” I say on a laugh. “That…that was fucking terrible.” I continue to chuckle.

“Ohhrr, get stuffed,” she says continuing the worst Australian accent I ever heard. “Billabong and crocs on the barbie.”

“Stop.” I wipe at my eyes as tears form from laughter.

“Blimey, there are heaps of ankle-biters in this park, mate.”

“Seriously. Fucking terrible.”

“Ohhrr, rack off.”

I chuckle some more. “You have to stop. You’re going to make my nose fall off.” I press against the prosthetic, hoping the glue is situated.

She lets out a wallop of a laugh as she grabs my arm to steady herself. Together, we laugh uncontrollably for a few seconds before we both calm down. Everly reaches into her purse and hands me a tissue so I can swipe at my tears.

“Maybe we just go by Phillip and Bindi,” she says, once we’re calm. “The couple from San Francisco that likes to observe the animals on weekdays to keep their relationship alive. We’re into different mating techniques, thrive off getting our required steps for the day, and don’t mind riding the carousel despite not being predators.”

“Okay…but how do we feel about fish wearing top hats?”

She looks at my shirt and then back at me. “Clearly in favor.”

“And what about the ankle-biters that are crawling around the park?” I lift a brow.

“If they come near us, we hiss.”

I chuckle. “Is that hiss in unison?”

“Obviously.” She tugs on her ponytail.

I nod. “I think that could work.”

“Wonderful.” She folds up the map. “Shall we?” She gestures toward the flamingos, which are tucked deeper into the zoo.

I hold my arm out to her, and she links hers through mine. “I think we shall, Bindi.”

“Why, thank you, Phillip.”

And then together, we head straight forward, toward the flamingo enclosure, just past the carousel “ankle-biters” roaming all around us, but not close enough to warrant a unified hiss.

Not much has changed since I was last here. Maybe a few signs. Plants and trees are bigger, but same pathways, same café, same…smell.

After a few moments of silence, she asks, “Have you been here before?”

“Yeah, Maple and I used to come all the time.”

“Really?” she asks.

I look at her quickly as I feel something pop along my skin. “How’s my nose?”

She looks up at me. “In place.”

“Thanks, felt like it slid for a moment. And to answer your question, yes, back in college, Maple and I spent a lot of time looking over the flamingos. Being back here honestly brings up a lot of memories. There was this one time when we decided to share a coffee. Well, I didn’t know she’d never really had a coffee before. It was her first ever and, Jesus, did she have quite the reaction.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“She was hyper as shit, rattling off flamingo facts like she was an auctioneer.”

Everly chuckles. “So you must know a lot about flamingos then.”

“I mean, I know a good chunk of facts,” I say as we close in on the habitat, which is a large pond in the middle of the zoo, encased by a wooden fence with plexiglass. Foliage, rocks, and trees decorate the enclosure, but it’s open to the air, so if the birds wanted to, they could come right up to you. They don’t though. The elegant creatures are standoffish at best. But I can remember standing right over there, next to the flamingo facts. Maple and I would spend so much time leaning on the fence while she talked about the flamingos. We would try to name them and remember them by their names, but never got it right. She would listen in on the zookeeper’s speech, and I would delight in the tons of questions she would ask after.

“Care to share?” Everly asks. “Maybe I can act like I know something to get Syrup on my side.”

“Ooo, smart,” I say as we walk up to the fence. I glance around, looking for her, but come up short, probably best because my nerves are starting to play with me. We both lean on the wooden rail and take in the light pink, leggy birds, which are clustered together in serene groups across the pond. “Well, first things first, they do get their color from what they eat. Carrots, red peppers, dried shrimp. It’s a real thing.”

“You know, I always heard that but wasn’t sure if it was true.”

“It’s true,” I reply. “And their knees…those are actual carpal joints, so they can bend both ways.”

“Really? Those knobby things?” she asks. “That’s fascinating, Phillip.”

I smirk. “And their necks, they have nineteen vertebrae. Where we only have seven.”

“Which makes them incredibly majestic,” she says.

“Correct, Bindi. Some say angels with pink wings.”

Her lips quiver into a smile. “You know, Phillip, I have heard that.”

“How could you not? I think it’s on a shirt somewhere. A flamingo with a halo and a glint in their eye, with the saying, Angels with Pink Wings.”

“I bet it’s nicer than a shirt featuring a fish with a top hat.”

I lean in close to her ear and whisper-scold, “This shirt is a masterpiece and I beg you to find something better than.”

“Literally any shirt, Phillip…any shirt.”

“Clearly you have no taste.”

“You might be right if you’re my betrothed.” Shocked, I turned to her, mouth ajar, which makes her laugh hard. “Now that’s a burn, take notes.”

“Wow, okay. Here I thought we were going to have a nice afternoon delight with the flamingos, but instead you come in here, guns blazing, ready to burn me every chance you get.”

“It’s best you know about me sooner rather than later.” She bumps my shoulder with hers in a playful way.

“Well…noted.”

We both chuckle and after a few seconds, I ask, “Have you ever fed flamingos before?”

“Uh no, have you?”

I nod. “Not sure if they do it anymore, but they used to have feeding sessions for the public. The zookeepers give you a cup full of water and dog food, you sit down, and the flamingos come up to you. It’s pretty cool. They honk and make a mess of the water, a lot of fun.”

“I would love that,” she says as she looks around. “Now, how do you think we can figure out if they still allow people to feed them? Because I want to participate in something like that.”

“Let me see the map,” I say, holding out my hand.

Everly pulls it out of her purse and as she’s handing it over to me, she chuckles. “God, you look so weird.”

I smile at her and tug on my hat. “So, what you’re saying is that I should wear this nose more often? Possibly grow my hair out?” I flip my ponytail. “Maybe buy you a fisherman’s hat as well.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No to everything.”

“Oh right, not a hat, but this shirt, you want me to buy you this shirt.”

“Please…please don’t.”

I snatch the map from her. “So judgmental.” I open it up and skim through the wording on the side, looking for any info on animal feedings, but I come up short. “Hmm, maybe there’s a posting or sign around here.” I scan the habitat nervous that Maple might appear at any point to give a zookeeper talk only to feel my skin go cold as I see someone off to the right, leaning against the rail and admiring the flamingos. “Holy shit,” I say.

“What?” Everly looks up.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” Everly says, her panic rising with my reaction. “Do you see Maple?”

“No. That’s…fuck, that’s JP Cane.”

“What?” she says. “Where?”

I lean in close to Everly, feeling like I’m on full display, and whisper, “Over there, off to the left. He’s the one in the red shirt, leaning on the fence.”

She looks over in that direction and then squints. “Ohhrrrr narrrr, are you sure?”

I chuckle at that fucking accent. “One hundred percent positive,” I say. “Fuck, what if he recognizes me?”

“Hardy.” Everly turns toward me. “I don’t believe your own brother would recognize you right now.”

“Are you sure?” I tug on my ponytail. “I thought I was disguised but now…now I feel very exposed.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “I barely even recognized you. I feel like I’m at the zoo with the man from the pier who feeds the pigeons.”

“Really?” I ask, my eyes shooting wide. “Fuck.”

“What do you mean, fuck?”

I grip her shoulders, speaking in all seriousness. “JP would focus his attention on me if I look like I toss bread to the pigeons. He loves pigeons. He knows everything about them and if I look like a pigeon lover, fuck, he might want to start up a conversation. Ask me if he’s seen me down by the pier. And if he recognizes me? How can I begin to explain what I’m doing? Shit, this was not a good idea. We should leave.”

“Hold on a second,” Everly says, stopping me from backing up. “You’re telling me that you’re more afraid to see JP Cane at the zoo than your ex-girlfriend?”

“She wouldn’t recognize me—it’s been ten years. But I saw JP the other day. He’d know me. He’d smell me.”

“Ew, smell you?” she asks, a scrunch to her nose. “Do you think you give off some sort of recognizable pheromone?”

“I don’t know…do I?” I ask, leaning in so she can smell me.

“No!” she says in an exasperated tone. “No one can pick up your scent.”

Just then, a strong wind bursts through the air, kicking up my ponytail and blowing in JP’s direction. His head lifts and he looks directly at me.

Holy fuck.

He can smell me.

I stand there, shocked, unable to move.

“He sees me,” I say through a stiff, pursed mouth.

“What do you mean he sees you?” She turns to look but I stop her.

“No, don’t look at him. He’s looking at me. If you look at him, he’ll know we’re talking about him, and he can’t know that we even recognize him.”

“Then why aren’t you looking away?”

“Because I think…I think he can smell me.”

“Dear God, Hardy, he can’t smell you.”

“Phillip!” I whisper-shout. “Use my betrothed name, you fool.”

That makes her laugh. “Sorry, Phillip, he can’t smell you, no chance.”

I glance in his direction and he stands taller, eyes on me. “Holy fuck, he knows me. He sees the resemblance. What the hell am I going to say to him? I’m supposed to be in business with this man. And he’s going to see me on a weekday, dressed up as Phillip the Pigeon Man? How do I even explain that?”

“Technically, you’re Sir Phillip Minkle, the betrothed, but if he comes up to you, tell him you’re not who he thinks you are,” Everly says as JP pushes off the fence.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” I say, bowing my head. “He’s walking over here. He’s approaching. I repeat. He’s approaching. Red alert. RED ALERT!”

“For the love of God,” Everly says before tugging on my arm, pulling me away from the fence and spinning me right toward a bush.

Not expecting the change of position, I trip over my own feet, fall forward, and take a branch right to the face.

Well, not to the face, but to the prosthetic.

It’s a quick jab.

A fencer with no defense, taking a saber right to the nose.

Touché. Horrified, because as I focus, I can see a branch attached to my face. I gently pull away but, instead of taking my glued prosthetic with me, my witch-nose tears off my face with a sticky pop and dangles from the branch, the false skin flapping in the breeze.

“Oh my God,” Everly says, crouching down and covering her nose and mouth with her hand as she laughs.

“My nose,” I whisper-shout. “I fucking lost my nose.”

That only makes her laugh harder as she plucks it off the branch. A new piercing near the nostril.

“This is not funny,” I say as I take it from her and we both straighten up. “What the hell am I supposed to do with⁠—?”

“Do I know you?” a very recognizable voice says.

My spine seizes and my butt cheeks clench.

Dear.

Mother.

Of.

God.

With my back toward the man I didn’t want to talk to, I look to Everly for help. Pleading with my wide eyes, begging for a life-saving moment.

He can’t see me here, dressed like this, with a fake nose in my hand.

How the fuck do I even explain this?

I can’t. It will get back to Hudson.

And I don’t want to face the wrath of my brother. He can be very unkind when he’s angry.

Thankfully, Everly’s quick on her feet. She brings my hands up to my nose, with the prosthetic, and then says in her terrible Australian accent, “Ohhrrr narrr, he’s got a bloody nose.”

“Oh shit, really?” JP says. “Let me grab napkins.” He takes off, and that’s when I stare daggers at Everly.

“A bloody nose? How the hell am I supposed to produce blood when he comes back? And if you say you’re going to punch me, I’m going to tell you right now, that’s not an option.”

She reaches into her purse and to my surprise, pulls out a few ketchup packets.

“Why the hell do you have those in your purse?”

“Don’t ask questions,” she says as she opens them. “Lower your hands.”

I do as I’m told, and she squeezes the ketchup into my hand. “That’s really thick blood.”

“I’m not done.” She takes out her water bottle now and squirts water into my hand, letting it thin out the ketchup. “Now put that up against your face. It’ll be horrifying.”

Knowing we don’t have much time, I bring my hands and prosthetic nose up to my face just as JP comes back. “I’ve got the napkins,” he says.

“Ohhrrr, what a noice bloke,” Everly replies.

For the love of God, Everly.

Turning toward him, I keep my head down, but there is thinned ketchup spreading down my forearms, which of course scares the crap out of him.

“Oh fuck. Dude, you’re…hemorrhaging.”

Everly takes the napkins from him. “Nothing a little pressure won’t take care of,” she says, keeping in theme with her accent. “Here you go, Phillip.”

I take the napkins and say in my British accent, “Thanks, mate.”

“Yeah, of course,” JP says. “Man, I swore I knew you, but I guess not. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“Totally fine,” I reply, holding the napkins close to my nose.

But he doesn’t leave—he keeps studying me. “You know, are you sure I don’t know you?” I can feel actual sweat start to drip down my back. “You look so familiar.” He snaps his finger and points at me. “Did I see you down at the pier the other day, feeding the pigeons?” For the love of God.

“Uhh…”

“He hates pigeons,” Everly says, which of course causes JP to gasp.

“How could you hate pigeons? They bob their heads when they walk.”

I just shrug, not wanting to lean on my poor accent to talk any more than I have to, which in turn causes JP to shake his head in disappointment. “Well, maybe read up on them, give yourself an education. We humans have done a lot to the pigeon population, and the fact that we just turn our back on them is disgraceful.” He shakes his head and takes a step back just as he bumps into…oh fuck…

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Maple says. “Didn’t see you there.”

Remember that sweat running down my back? It just doubled.

She…she hasn’t changed.

Maple isn’t one to dabble in social media, so I really haven’t seen her in a long time, but I would recognize that face anywhere. Although, this time, there seems to be deeper laugh lines around her eyes. Her face is more mature, not so rounded like in college. And her hair is shorter than what I remember, not cascading down her back in a low and tight ponytail, but rather sitting higher on her head. But one thing for certain hasn’t changed—she still has that sweet, innocent smile.

“Not a problem,” JP says, before noticing her uniform. “Do you work here?”

“Yes, I do,” Maple answers as she glances in our direction, but I turn my back. “With the flamingos in particular. Can I help you with anything?”

Please don’t look at us. Please don’t look at us.

“Great, I have questions about the flamingos I’d love answered.”

“Not a problem at all,” Maple answers, probably more than happy to help out a fellow flamingo enthusiast. “Follow me.”

And then just like that, JP forgets about me and my bloody nose and takes off with Maple toward the center of the habitat’s outer ring, far away from us. I duck behind the bush and exhale loudly. “Jesus…Christ.”

Everly chuckles. “That was eventful.”

“That was Maple,” I say, causing Everly’s eyes to widen.

“That girl talking to JP?”

“Yes,” I reply. “That’s her.”

“Oh shit, let me see.” She moves closer to the edge of the bush and leans over to get a better look.

“Don’t let her see you.”

“I won’t.”

I tug on her hand. “I’m serious, Everly, Maple can be very perceptive.”

“Shhh, just sit there and hold your fake nose. I’m getting a good look.” Everly’s quiet for a moment as she scans the scene. “She’s very pretty,” she whispers. “It looks like she oils her hair, it’s so sleek. Oh, look, she just made a whole group of people laugh. Maybe she told a flamingo joke. Oh Jesus, JP just slapped his knee he was laughing so hard. Not sure anyone has ever slapped their knee when I told a joke. Do you think it was funny?”

“I have no idea. I can’t hear anything, as my ears are still ringing from the anxiety attack I nearly had.”

She glances over her shoulder at me. “Dramatic much?”

“Everly, JP Cane almost figured me out.”

“Yes, and if he had, you would have been taken away in handcuffs.” She rolls her eyes and looks out at Maple again. “Okay, so she seems cool, relaxed, in her element. I think I can win her over with flamingos.” She moves away from the bush and then nods her head toward the exit. “Ready to go?”

“Wait, that’s it?” I ask.

“What else did you want to do?” she asks. “Go talk to her? Explore more of the zoo? Ride the carousel with your nose in your ketchup-soaked hand?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I guess I just expected you’d to want to observe her more.”

“I’ve seen what I need to see—plus I think I just saw a parent tell security about you, so, you know, the sooner we can leave, the better. Also, if you thought you were sweating being near JP and Maple, wait until they see you get carted out of here with a police escort.”This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

And that gets me moving.

“Yup, maybe we should go.”

“I think we should.”

Together, with my hand over my nose, we head toward the exit, people looking after us, questions in their eyes.

When we near the exit, Everly chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Your skewered nose. I can’t get the image of it dangling off the branch out of my head. Looked like a shrimp on the barbie,” she finishes in her horrible accent.

I look over at her. “You’re truly terrible.”

She grips my arms and laughs wholeheartedly, which, of course, makes me laugh just as hard.

To: Hardy Hopper

From: JP Cane

Subject: There is still time…

Dear friend,

The flamingos still need your help. With every day that goes by, the habitat of the Chilean Flamingo is destroyed. With your simple donation of $5 or more, you can help save the flamingos and their natural environment. Help us save these majestic birds and the fragile ecosystem they live in.

Donate Here.

Thank you for being a friend of the flamingos.

JP Cane