The Reason I Married Him
: Chapter 16

Aubree leans against her headrest, curled in and sleeping while a sober Hayes drives us home.

And as I sit here, I can feel the bunching of Aubree’s thong in my back pocket.

I can still taste her on my tongue.

I can hear her soft moans as she moved closer and closer to her release.

I drag my hand over my face. Fuck, what was I thinking?

I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking at all, and that’s the problem. I let myself get lost in the moment. I took advantage of her drinking, my drinking, and I lost control.

Now . . . fuck, now what am I supposed to do?

How am I supposed to navigate this?

It was one thing to kiss her and get lost in her mouth, but now that I know what her pussy tastes like, what her mouth on my cock feels like, I’m thrumming over here, wanting more.

I want so much more.

I want to know what it feels like to be inside her. I want to see the look on her face when I enter her. I want to feel her contract around my cock when she inevitably comes. I want all of it.

But from the way she cut me off tonight, the casual way she just moved on . . . She’s always kept her cards close, but this, this I don’t know how to navigate.

And we’re getting married in six days. Fucking married.

This was supposed to be a business transaction, and now it’s turning into something that feels like there’s more to it. It makes me wonder if we should get married at all. Because if I’m having feelings for this girl, should I mess with my heart, a heart that’s already been broken and barely pieced back together? Should I mess with it and marry someone I could see myself falling for?

That doesn’t seem smart.

Because what happens when she doesn’t feel the same way I do? What happens when a year is up, and I’m head over heels in love with her, and she wants a divorce?

Fuck.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to be cranky and not fun to be around, making this an easy transition from marriage to divorce. But of course I had to keep pushing her out of her comfort zone. I had to keep showing her that I was someone to trust, someone she could be honest with, and the more she opened up, the more I wanted to get to know her on a deeper level.

I’m not there yet. I know that. I know there are things she hasn’t told me, but fuck I do want to know them. I want to spend days getting to know all of those secrets, preferably with both of us naked.

But I don’t think she’s there.

Hell, I know she’s not there.

“Do you need help carrying her out of the car?” Hayes asks as he pulls up to the guest house. Hell, we’re home already?

“Uh, I got it,” I say.

“I’ll grab the guest house door for you.” Hayes hops out of the car and so do I. I move to Aubree’s side and open the SUV door. Carefully, I pull her into my arms, making sure her skirt is held tight so no one sees anything.

Hattie mumbles something to me, but I can’t quite understand what it is, so I just tell her to have a good night.

Brody and Maggie are passed out in the back, so I don’t even bother with them. Good luck to Hayes when they get back to his house. I wouldn’t want to be in charge of getting everyone out of the vehicle, especially Brody. He’s a pretty big guy.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say to Hayes as he opens the door for me.

“Not a problem. Do you have it from here?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure thing. Hit me up for some coffee this week.”

“I will.” I offer him a nod goodbye, and he takes off, shutting the door behind him.

Carefully, I set Aubree on the bed, then lock up the house so I know that we’re all set with security. Then I move around the room, taking off my clothes, going to the bathroom, and brushing my teeth. Once I’m ready for bed, then I can get her ready.

I wash my face, swish around some mouthwash, and head into the bedroom, where Aubree is still passed out.

Wanting to make sure she’s comfortable, I grab one of my T-shirts—because I’m fucking possessive like that, and I at least want her sleeping in one of my shirts when I can manage it—and I remove her crop top. I try not to notice the thin lace of her bra, but fuck, it’s hard not to when I see her dark nipples clear as day through the fabric.

The way they puckered so beautifully between my lips and how responsive she was when I played with them. Fuck me, I want to play with her again. Obviously, not now. I’m not even sure it’s an option for the future.

So I drape my shirt over her head as she starts to stir awake.

“It’s just me,” I whisper. “Getting you dressed for bed.” I pull the shirt all the way down and then move my arms up to her bra to remove it. I slip it off without exposing her and toss it in her laundry pile. Then I undo her skirt and pull that down as well.

“I’m tired,” she mumbles.

“I know, babe,” I say. “Do you think you can go to the bathroom and brush your teeth real quick?”

She mumbles something but stands. I help her to the bathroom, where she takes care of business and then brushes her teeth. Her eyes are closed the entire time. I help her wash her makeup off because I know from nights out with Cadance that Aubree won’t want to sleep with that on. I struggle for a moment, looking for the right products, but once I figure it out, it’s smooth from there. If I didn’t care about this woman, there is no way in hell I would have applied her retinol cream or moisturizer.

When we finish, I help her over to the bed and pull back the covers. She settles into the pillow and curls up, so I drape the blanket over her. She mumbles something.

“What?” I ask, leaning down.

“Hold me,” she repeats.

A warm sensation spreads through me. Let’s call it satisfaction because despite the agreement, the craziness of this week—of tonight—she still wants my arms wrapped around her when we’re in bed together. That gives me the kind of ego boost that puffs my chest and makes me want to give her so much more.

“Give me a second,” I say, and because I’m a glutton for punishment, I lean down and press a soft kiss to the top of her head.

I check the door one more time, plug both of our phones in, then slip under the covers with her. Instead of pulling her toward me like I do every night, I move toward her and wrap my arm around her stomach. She snuggles into my chest and then sighs.

I press a kiss to her head one more time, then rest my head on the pillow, feeling wide awake and wired.

I lost control tonight, and I liked it.

I tasted her, and I loved it.

I crossed a big line, and I want so much more.

I’m utterly fucked.

I NEED TO LEAVE.

I need to run.

It has to be no earlier than five thirty, and I’m wide awake.

Thinking about last night. All of last fucking night.

Talking with Aubree, touching her gorgeous hair freely, touching her soft, soft skin, moving my hips as she rocked over me . . . her clit in my mouth. Fuck, her taste. The sounds she made when she came. The look in her stunning eyes as she watched me from her knees. The feel of her hot, warm mouth around my cock.

Christ, just thinking about last night has me wired.

It’s why I need to leave and go for a run to get rid of some of this pent-up energy.

And stop. Thinking. About. Aubree.

I slip out of bed and grab a pair of running shorts from my bag. I don’t bother with a shirt because I end up taking it off anyway. I move to the bathroom, where I brush my teeth and change.

When I exit the bathroom, I glance over at Aubree, who has shifted on the bed, but she’s still sleeping, so I grab my running shoes and head out of the guest house, not wanting to make too much noise.

I shut the door behind me quietly and then take a seat on the stoop of the stairs, allowing the cold chill of the morning to hit my heated skin. It starts chilly, but it warms up quickly, especially when I start moving.

I slip on my socks and my shoes, taking my time to tie them as I still try to get my bearings. My body is exhausted, my mind is wired, and I’m battling with what the fuck to do with my current situation. I stare out at the rising sun, loving the orange light that settles over the horizon.

I drag my hand over my face and let out a deep breath.

How did this happen?

Over a month ago, I was going to lose the one thing that was most important to me, the cabin. And even though my heart felt tender, bruised, and broken, I was determined to keep my family’s legacy alive. Whatever it took. I’d fake it until I made it, so to speak.

And here I am, engaged again, yet under very different circumstances.

I’m not in love.

I’m in lust.

I’m not thinking about the future.

I’m daydreaming about the night before.

And I can’t get it out of my mind.

I can’t shake it.

My body hums for more.

My tongue begs for another taste.

My cock pleads for me to replace her mouth again.

Everything in me says one more hit, one more taste. That’s all I need to subdue this nagging, growing, itching feeling of needing her. But my head is telling me it’s all a lie. One more hit will not satisfy the ache. It will only ignite it.

Which means I need to talk this through.

I reach for my phone but realize I left it in the guest house.

“Shit,” I mutter.

She’s probably still sleeping, so I just have to be quiet.

I quietly open the door to the guest house and start to slide my body through the narrow opening, not wanting to bring any of the chilly air into the room—and as I lift my head to look for my phone, I catch Aubree scrambling around on the bed before sticking something under her pillow.

So . . . she’s awake.

I shut the door behind me, ready to ask her if she’s okay, when I hear the telltale sound of vibrating coming from under her pillow.

“What, uh, what are you doing?” she asks with panic in her eyes.

“What am I doing?” I ask while pointing at my chest. “The better question is, what are you doing?”

“N-nothing,” she answers, looking anywhere but at me.

I take a step forward, the vibrating sound increasing. “Aubree . . .”

“Yes?” she asks, still avoiding eye contact.

“Are you getting yourself off?”

“No,” she says as her cheeks darken with embarrassment. “Wh-why would I do that? That’s not, I wasn’t . . . aren’t you going for a run?”

I take in her appearance, freshly awake from bed, the hint of mint in the air indicating she’s brushed her teeth. The red in her cheeks only makes her look that much more adorable. Combine that with the image of her masturbating while I’m gone, and something in my brain switches.

This hunger I’ve felt for her all night takes over, and before I can stop myself, I take off my shoes and socks.

That taste.

Those sounds.

I need them all over again.

I’m taking the hit.

“No,” I say. “I’m not going for a run.” And then I kneel on the bed.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asks as I reach under her pillow and take hold of her vibrator. I turn it off and toss it to the side.

“You don’t need that,” I say as I tear down the bedding and spread her legs.

“Wyatt,” she whispers right before I lower my body flat on the bed and bring my mouth right to her pussy.

I spread her and press my lips to her inner thigh, lightly caressing her soft, sensitive skin with kisses while my fingers spread her pussy, revealing her glistening clit. I practically shiver with excitement as I move my kisses closer. Beneath me, she attempts to wiggle me closer, to bring her arousal to my mouth, so I press my hand to her stomach, holding her in place.

“Wyatt,” she groans in frustration.

I pause and look up at the combination of distress and anticipation in her eyes. “You want my tongue, baby?”

“Yes, badly.”

“You’ll have to wait,” I say as I torturously run the tip of my tongue over her pubic bone and along the juncture of her thighs, getting close but never close enough.

I love the struggle in her muscles. The patience that’s wearing thin. Her arousal grows with every pass of my mouth, wet and so fucking ready. I was wrong last night. She. Wants. This. She wants me just as much as I want her.

My cock pulses against the mattress, wanting so much more. Wanting inside her.

“Fuck, I love this,” I say as I start to move my hips against the mattress, easing some of the growing tension in my lower back. “I could eat this pussy all fucking day.”

“Then . . . do it,” she says in desperation.

Smiling, because I love seeing how much she wants this, I press my tongue to her clit. I don’t move, I don’t lick, I just hold my tongue there, wanting to gauge her reaction.

And to my fucking delight, she moans loudly as her back arches off the mattress. “Yes, Wyatt.”

That’s all I need to snap my plans of a slow, methodic way of pleasuring her.

Continuing the pressure, I flatten my tongue against her clit and then slowly drag it up, feeling her arousal all around my tongue.

“Oh . . . my . . . God,” she moans.

And she was going to get off on her vibrator. I’m so much better than anything she could do herself. I want her to realize that and keep it in her mind. I want her to remember every second of my tongue between her legs. Because there is no way I will forget her delicious taste.

I dip in for more, continuing the slow, languid strokes, prepping her for what’s to come as I grind my hips into the mattress at the same time, the friction of my cock against the mattress spurring me on.

“So good,” she says. I love the way she vocalizes and doesn’t hide her feelings.

And Christ, she’s got to have the best-tasting pussy I’ve ever had the luxury of going down on.

Sweet, bare, and responsive. Everything I want in a woman.

Wanting more, I slide my hand under her shirt to her breasts, where I replace her nipples already hard. So fucking hot.

I run my fingers over them lightly at first, thinking back to her words from the night before.

“He wouldn’t play with my nipple. He wouldn’t circle his finger around it or flick it or pinch it. He’d lick it on occasion, but that didn’t do much. I wanted more from him. So much more.”

Fucking selfish prick.

Well, I’m not, and these fucking incredible breasts are going to get everything they love and more.

The hardened nubs tug against my fingertips as I circle her nipples, then pass over them, continuing the movement until her head thrashes from side to side and her breathing picks up.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Just like that.”

After a few passes of my tongue and a few teasing rubs of my fingers, I pinch her nipple at the same time as I suck her clit between my lips.

“Oh my God!” she yells as her back arches off the mattress. “Oh fuck, Wyatt.” Her hand falls to my head, her fingers tangling in my hair—one of the best feelings ever.

“That’s it, baby.”

I continue to suck on her clit while my finger rolls her nipple, pinches, and lightly tugs.

She moans.

She quakes.

She tugs on my hair.

It’s so fucking hot.

While she tenses around me, I take her legs and drape them over my shoulders before I release her clit, and then, with the tip of my tongue, I flick rapidly over her clit. Immediately, she lets out a delicate moan as her legs clamp around my head. Her body lifts, and she says, “Wyatt . . . I can’t . . . I’m going . . .”

I lift my mouth off her for a second to say, “Come, baby. Come all over my tongue.”

And then my mouth is on her again. My fingers pinch her nipples. My tongue runs rapidly over her clit.

Her body tenses, her back arches, her fists clench into the sheets, and in a matter of seconds, she’s yelling out my name, her pleasure tipping over the edge as her orgasm rocks through her.

“Oh God, oh fuck. Yes . . . yes, keep going,” she moans. “More, Wyatt.” I keep flicking, loving how wet she is. I lap up every ounce of her as the tension slowly ebbs from her orgasm.

I lazily let my tongue explore her pussy until she’s sated and relaxed on the bed.

Spent.

Satisfied.

That’s when I lift and stare up at her, a beautiful, pleasured smile crossing over her lips as her eyes open to meet mine.

“Fuck,” she whispers, catching her breath. She covers her eyes with her arm. “You’re so good at that.”

“I better be,” I say as I lift some more, the pain of my erection almost knocking me back down. While I was going down on her, I practically humped the mattress, getting off on her moans, on the taste of her, but now that I’m all riled up with no release, there’s only one thing to do—go take a shower.

I lift off from the bed, my erection painfully obvious in my briefs, so I head for the bathroom, but she calls out to me. “What are you doing?”

I glance down at my tented briefs and then back at her. “Release, baby,” I say.

She props up on her elbows and says, “Come get a release over here.”

I shake my head. “That’s not why I did that to you.”

“I know,” she says. “But . . . don’t you want me to help you?” The way she asks, insecurity lacing through her voice, there’s no way I could deny her.

“More than anything,” I say. A smile lights up her face as I move toward the bed again. “Where do you want me?”

She reaches for the vibrator she was using and says, “Lie down.”

I do as I’m told and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Having fun,” she says, surprising me.

I lie down, and the tip of my cock peeks past my briefs, but I don’t do anything. I let her take charge, and she straddles my thighs and turns on the vibrator. I place my hands behind my head as she brings the vibrator down to the tip of my cock.

“Fuuuck . . . yes,” I drag out, already knowing this will be amazing.

“Does that feel good?” she asks.

“So fucking good, Aubree,” I say as I stare up at her and her fucking angelic face, her orgasm-stained cheeks. Her hair curly and flowing over her shoulder and back, and those eyes, lit up with intrigue, looking like she’s ready for a show from me.

I’ll fucking give her one.

Anything she wants at this point.

I just want to come, and I want her to watch me come.

Keeping my briefs where they are, she brings the vibrator down my length to the base and back up.

“That’s it, baby,” I say. “Tease me. Make me so fucking hard.”

Her eyes briefly fly to mine, then focus on what she’s doing. She lifts and says, “Spread your legs.”

I do as I’m told, and she straddles only one of my thighs as she brings the vibrator down between my legs and right to my balls. And because she doesn’t have any underwear on, I can feel how wet she still is from her orgasm. Fuck, that’s going to make me even harder.

“Take your shirt off. I want to see those gorgeous tits,” I growl out. And thank fuck, she does. “Jesus, fuck,” I say as I grip the sheets under me tightly.

“Oh fuck, that’s . . . Jesus.” I nearly feel my eyes roll to the back of my head as she presses it against the spot right behind my balls. “Shit, Aubree.”

My cock springs up, now resting on my stomach, twitching from the new pleasure that I didn’t fucking know existed.

And that’s where she keeps the vibrator, clearly happy with my reaction that she doesn’t stop. With her other hand, she takes the rest of my cock out of my briefs and then leans down and licks the tip.

“Fuck me,” I say as my hips lift. “Shit, I need, I need more, baby.”

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Whatever you’re willing to give me,” I answer.

Smiling, she removes the vibrator for a moment and lowers my briefs until they’re completely off. Then she brings the vibrator back to my balls and runs it along the sensitive seam a few times, then to that special spot again, and that’s where she keeps it.

“Don’t move. I want that staying there.”

“Trust me.” I gulp. “It will.”

Smiling, she then climbs on top of me, hovers over my lap, and I nearly blackout as she starts to lower down, but instead of posing my cock at her entrance like I thought she might, she lowers her pussy on top of my cock right over the ridge.

Warm, wet, and addicting. That’s all I can think as she starts to rub herself along my length, dry-humping but without the clothes between us.

Her hands fall to my chest as she takes a deep breath, her hips moving faster now.

“Jesus fuck, Aubree,” I say. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“You’re so huge,” she replies, her head falling back. “God, I’m going to get off again.”

“Let me hear it, Aubree,” I say as my teeth clench together. The feel of her smooth pussy gliding over me, combined with the vibrator, brings me to the fucking edge. “Shit,” I say as my balls tighten. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”

Her fingers dig into the skin on my chest as she rides me faster, harder.

Her teeth fall over her bottom lip.

The muscles in her neck contract.

And the sexiest moan falls past her lips as she comes again on top of me.

“Yes, God . . . yes,” she cries as every one of my limbs goes numb, my body tightens, and I groan as my cock twitches and comes all over my stomach.

“Mother . . . fucker,” I say, loving how she continues to ride on me as I finish coming.

I grip her hips, and my dick jolts under her.

She flips her head back and lets her hair fall down her shoulders and back as she catches her breath.

She’s so gorgeous.

The slope of her neck, that head of hair I want to dive my fingers into. Those perfect tits. I want every inch of this woman.

I don’t want bits and pieces. I want more, so much more, and I know I can’t ask.

I can’t tell her, not when we have an agreement.

Not after last night and her cold detachment after we came.

She rolls off me and grabs the vibrator before turning it off. She lies flat on the bed, her arms spread as she looks up at the ceiling.

“You okay?” I ask her.

She drapes her arm over her chest, still breathless. “I’m . . . I’m still contracting.”

Shit, that’s hot.

Wanting to feel it, I lean on my side, spread her legs, and then slowly slip my fingers inside her. She groans as her pussy contracts around them.

“Jesus Christ,” I say before removing my fingers and bringing them to my mouth. Her eyes are on me as I lick her arousal off my fingers. “You taste like goddamn heaven,” I say.

Her eyes squeeze shut, almost in disbelief. And she thought multiple orgasms by a man wasn’t a thing. Fuck, she’s had selfish lovers.

Then I take the vibrator and switch it on. Her eyes widen for a moment before I rest it right against her clit.

“I want one more from you, Aubree.”

“I don’t think . . . I don’t think I can.” She breathes heavily.

“Yes, you can,” I say. Her breasts are anything but big, less than a handful, but they’re round with small dark nipples that have my mouth watering. Images of her last night in her lace bra scour through my mind as I lower my mouth to the little nubs and run my tongue around in circles, focusing on her areolas.

“Come on, baby. I want to hear those sweet moans one more time.”

She tenses as her breathing picks up.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” I ask.

She nods as she presses her lips together, so I switch off the vibrator.

Her eyes shoot open, and her mouth falls open in protest. “Wyatt, don’t stop.”

I drag the vibrator up her stomach to her breasts and switch it on, letting it run over her nipples, over her cleavage, and under her breasts.

“I don’t want an easy orgasm. You have to earn it,” I say.

“How . . . how?” she asks, clearly in distress.

“Tell me how much you like my mouth, my cock, my fingers. The more compliments, the closer you’ll get to your orgasm.”

Her tongue peeks past her beautiful lips before she wets them. “No one has ever given me oral like you. Just thinking about you going down on me gets me wet.”

Christ.

I didn’t think she’d go along with my plan, but here she is, divulging how she feels, and I’m fucking living for it. I drag the vibrator to her stomach.

“Your pussy tastes so fucking good. It’s all I can think about.”

“I barely felt your fingers, but they’re so long . . .”

“I’ll use them on you, Aubree. I want to fucking use them.”

Her breath hitches as her teeth pull on her bottom lip while I bring the vibrator right to her pubic bone.

“What about my cock?”

“It’s huge,” she answers, which brings a smile to my face. “I loved sucking on it. I loved riding it.”

“Good,” I answer right before I bring the vibrator to her clit.

She screams a resounding yes that echoes off the walls of the small space as her back arches. I bring my mouth to her right nipple, drawing it past my teeth and against my tongue.

While her breathing becomes erratic, I continue to work her, to play with her, to bring her to another apex because all I want is to hear her one more time. See her collapse into pleasure one more fucking time . . .

“Oh God, yes, Wyatt. Oh fuck, I can’t . . . I don’t think . . . mmmmmm, fuck.” She grips my head, keeping me on her breasts so I nibble on them, tugging with my teeth. I’m probably pulling a little too hard, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

It actually seems to spur her on even more as she lifts into the air, silence falling past her parted lips.

“Aubree, baby, I want you to come again. Give me that orgasm. Let me hear it.”

She writhes.

She thrashes.

She digs her fingers into my scalp.

“Fuck, Wyatt . . . oh God.”

“You’re close. Come, baby . . . come for me.”

She groans, drapes her hand over her eyes, and then her body tenses. Her mouth falls open. A feral cry flies out of her as she convulses beneath me, her entire body shuddering as she moans out my name.

So fucking hot.

I keep the vibrator on her sensitive clit until she squeezes her legs together, and I know there’s nothing else she can give me at the moment. So I turn it off and toss it to the side. Then I move down to her pussy, spread her legs one more time, and press a soft, caressing kiss against her clit.

I watch her wet her lips as she slowly relaxes into the mattress, looking like she was just put through a vigorous, soul-defining exercise.

After a few seconds of her catching her breath, she opens those beautiful eyes and looks up at me as I move toward the top of the bed. Her expression reads satisfied but also confused.

I brush a piece of hair out of her face and then gently cup her cheek. “You okay?” I ask her.

She lightly nods her head.

“Then why does it look like you’re stunned?”

“Be-because I am,” she says. “I, uh . . . that was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“Trust me when I say, me too. Not sure I’ve ever come like that before, but fuck would I do it again.”

She smiles but then worries her lip as she looks away. I know that avoidance. I can practically hear the wheels in her head turning as she tries to piece this together and make sense of it all.

“God, Wyatt,” she whispers. Please don’t say it, please don’t say it. “What are we even doing?”

She fucking said it.

Just like last night, she’s pulling away and distancing herself. She realizes that she gave in to temptation, and now she’s slowly trying to back away. And just like last night, it doesn’t hurt any less.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” I say even though I know damn well what I’m doing. I’m starting to like a girl I shouldn’t fucking like. I’m starting to develop feelings.

Cravings.

Addictions.

Needs and wants.

Looking unsure, she says, “I don’t know if we should be doing this. I don’t know if we should be crossing this line.”

And just like that, poof, all of the hopes and needs and wants vanish without a trace.

This was what I was afraid of, of her saying those exact words. Not because I don’t agree, but because I do agree with her. We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous, given our situation. But a big part of me wanted her to live in a state of delusion with me, where we didn’t think about the future. A part of me wished that we could shove all of the complications away and just fucking enjoy. Live in the moment. Explore every last part of each other.

I tug on my hair in frustration, knowing that I have to agree with her. “I know,” I reply and blow out a heavy breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Aubree. I’m apparently having a hard time controlling myself.”

“It’s fine. We don’t need to apologize. I think just be more careful.”

“Yeah, I agree,” I say, sitting up. “Uh, I think I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay?”

“Yes, um, can I just wash up real quick, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sure,” I say as she lifts from the bed and puts on my T-shirt. She walks over to the bathroom but then looks over her shoulder at me. “Thanks for taking care of me last night.”

“Here in the guest house . . . or in the club bathroom?” I can’t help myself.

She smiles. “Both.” Then she shuts the bathroom door, and I lie flat on the bed, gripping my hair.

Fuck.

Me.

SITTING on a bench in the park right across from The Talkies, I stare out at the hazy ocean as I hold my phone, contemplating if I should talk to Laurel.

I mean, who am I kidding? If I don’t talk to her, I might lose my fucking mind.

I pull up her name in my phone and text her.

Wyatt: Do you have a moment to talk?

I sip my coffee from The Cliffs. Christ, this coffee is good, which means it’s not Clearwater Coffee. On the walk over here, I downed a bear claw, knowing that this afternoon, I’ll have to go to the gym at the inn—Ethel gave me permanent access—and work it off.

My phone beeps with a text.

Laurel: Yup, I’m free. Want me to call?

I don’t bother texting her back. Instead, I dial her number, and she picks up on the first ring.

“What’s going on? Everything okay?” she asks as a hello. Leave it to the lawyer to get straight to the point.

“Not really,” I say, slouching on the bench.

She pauses for a moment and then whispers, “Did she call off the wedding?”

“No, nothing has changed there. Planning on Saturday. You can still come, right?”

“Do you really think I would not make it to your wedding that’s fake, but not really fake? I’m there for the drama.”

“There better not be any drama.”

“Very true. We don’t want any drama. Okay, so if the wedding is still set, then is it your parents? Are they pissed?”

“Uh.” I scratch the side of my jaw. “I haven’t told them yet. I didn’t want to tell them out of fear that they’d mention something to Wallace.”

“Probably smart, but does that mean they won’t be at the wedding?”

“No,” I say. “I’ll tell them we eloped. My parents did the same thing, so I know they’ll understand. I do think they’re going to have a hard time understanding that it’s Aubree I married and it’s not even been two months since I was supposed to marry someone else, but you know, that’s a bridge I can cross when it happens.”

“So then, what’s the problem?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Fuck, Laurel, I don’t know how this happened, but . . . I think I like her.”

There’s silence.

“Uh, what do you mean? Define like? Are we talking friends here or . . . more than friends?”

“More than friends,” I answer.

“Ohhh my,” she coos into the phone like a teenager. “Hubba, hubba, our boy has feelings.”

“Laurel, I’m serious. This isn’t good.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see how this is an issue. Is it not good to like your future wife? Huh, I must be old-school then because I thought that was a great reason to like someone.”

“Not when you’re going into this marriage on a business deal. This should have been platonic, and well . . .”

“You guys had sex,” she finishes for me, her voice far too excited. How come she doesn’t understand the severity of this?

“Not quite,” I say. “But pretty close to it.”

“Oh boy, let me guess, you went down on her.”

“You know”—I sift my hand through my hair—“details are not important.” She laughs, and it just annoys me. “Laurel, this isn’t funny. I’m serious, this is a problem.”

“Let me get this straight. You hang out with this girl for two weeks, you strike up a deal, you’re getting married, and then you go down on her, and you’re in all kinds of panic because now you’re starting to like the woman you’re supposed to marry this Saturday when, in reality, you shouldn’t like her because this is a business deal, not an opportunity for a love affair.”

“Exactly,” I say with relief.

She gets it.

“You’re being an idiot.”

Or not.

“I’m not being an idiot,” I defend. “I’m being sensible.”

“Really?” she asks. “Is it sensible to push away feelings you might have for a woman only to marry her and live with her for a year with no chance of shaking off the feelings, only giving them the opportunity to continue to grow the more time you spend with her? Seems pretty stupid to me.”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .” I mutter.

“Seriously, what’s the big deal? So you like her. Deal with it. Seems like an ideal situation to me because this could be the chance to maybe fall in love again.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think . . . I don’t think there’s a chance for that. Or at least, a chance at reciprocation, and I don’t want to get hurt again. I don’t think I can take another rejection.”

“What do you mean there isn’t a chance for reciprocation?” she asks. “You don’t think she likes you?”

“I don’t think she’d open herself up like that. She’s . . . she’s damaged, Laurel. She’s been hurt by many men. I’m not sure the trust is there.”

“But it’s also been two weeks at most. How do you know that six months from now, she won’t feel the same way about you? That she won’t trust you by then?”

“But what if she doesn’t?” I ask. “I don’t think I can stomach falling for her, only for her to never feel the same way. I don’t want to put in the time and put my heart at risk only for it to be crushed.”

Laurel sighs over the phone and then grows serious. “Do you remember our senior year in college, when I met Ginny?”

How could I forget Ginny? She was the one woman who put Laurel into a tailspin after she broke up with her. Laurel questioned everything about herself. The way she dressed, the way she wore her hair, the way she acted around people, and the way she represented herself. She went into a deep depression, stopped eating, and really turtled in on herself. It took a long time to get Laurel back to the same woman she once was.

“I know where you’re going with this,” I say.

“If you do, then why are you questioning opening your heart again? You saw what I went through. You saw how I was able to—with your help—open my heart again. I suffered so much heartache, and here I am, dating someone new and loving that I have a person I can go out on dates with and talk to before I go to bed. Are you saying you’ll never open yourself up again?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “This is so complicated. We’re two damaged souls trying to connect and get what we need in life. She hasn’t really opened up to me, but I haven’t opened up to her. There’s still a wall, but the attraction is heavy. She doesn’t even know about Cadance and that I was engaged to another woman two months ago. I thought I loved Cadance, Laurel, but here I am with feelings for a different woman. I was going to fucking marry Cadance because I thought I was in love with her. Fuck, Laurel, I’m so confused.”

Surely I should still be grieving a lost relationship, but I couldn’t give two fucks about Cadance at the moment. I no longer care that she’s out of my life. What does that say about our relationship? Was it just infatuation? Have I simply replaced Cadance with the next willing woman to sleep with me? Or do I actually see the chance of more with Aubree . . . which terrifies me if she doesn’t feel the same way.

“Tell me this,” she says. “Do you think you can go a whole year sleeping next to this woman in a small guest house and keep your hands to yourself?”

I snort. “Fuck no.”

“Exactly, which means you’ll have to take a chance on something. You have two chances as far as I see it. You can take a chance on your willpower and keep your hands to yourself for a year, or you can take a chance on your heart, and see if the person you’re going to marry in a few days very well might be the person you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with. Now you just have to figure out what you’re going to do.”

“THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE TODAY,” Maggie says as we sit in front of her on Hayes’s couch, ready for whatever presentation she’s put together. To say she’s in her element would be an understatement.

I met up with Aubree in town, where we picked up some cheese, crackers, meats, dried fruit, and nuts for a charcuterie board to take to Hayes and Hattie’s house. We didn’t say much to each other as we shopped around, but we did look like a couple, which was what was important. Dee Dee checked us out at the register, and as we were leaving, she said she planned to put together a newlywed special at the front of the store of everything people would need to help celebrate our wedding.

Just what we need, more attention, especially when I have this burning itch to put my hands all over Aubree. My brain tells me not to go there.

On the drive over to Hayes and Hattie’s house, Aubree quickly put everything on a tray, not even bothering to make it look nice. She grumbled the entire time, saying something along the lines of, this is why you don’t ask people if you can bring anything. She also grabbed two jars of a special kind of pickle. They were the last two in stock.

And now that we’re here, with our poorly constructed charcuterie board on the island and pickles in the fridge, Maggie has sat us down and is about to present her wedding ideas to us.

Hands together in front of her, she says, “Now, this might seem a bit overwhelming, and if at any time you want me to stop, I can, but I had a long chat with Ethel this morning, and I really think we’ve put something together that will be quaint like you want, but also a beautiful celebration of love.” She claps her hands together three times. “Brody, you may enter with the first board.”

From the hallway, Brody walks in, holding a large board against his chest.

“Excuse my lack of professionalism in this presentation. I can only be as professional as what is handed to me.”

“I told you it would be fine,” Hattie says from the side where she and Hayes sit together, his arm draped over her shoulders. Hmm, I should be touching Aubree too.

I take that moment to press my hand to her thigh while saying, “No need to impress us. We’re just excited to get married.”

“Well, I want you to know, this is not how I normally work, but like I said, I was given magazines, a printer with minimal ink, glue sticks, and markers.”

“She’s being dramatic,” Hattie says.

“Shush, we don’t need your commentary.” Maggie clears her throat. “Hayes, the mood music, please.”

“Alexa, turn on wedding music,” he says before kissing Hattie on the cheek.

“Playing wedding music, instrumentals on Amazon Music,” his Alexa says.

Maggie stomps her foot. “Hayes, I gave you a list of songs you could play on your guitar.”

“I know.”

“Why aren’t you playing them?”

“Because I wanted to play with Hattie this afternoon instead.”

Hattie chuckles and pushes at his chest. In return, he grips her chin and turns her head toward him, only to kiss her very passionately in front of everyone. Lucky son of a bitch. I wonder what Aubree would do if I turned her head and kissed her passionately like that in front of everyone.

Probably accept it, but then tell me how we shouldn’t be doing that kind of stuff later when we’re alone. The rhetoric that’s been a real wet blanket on my needs.

At least I would have been able to kiss her, though.

Brody turns to Maggie and says, “They got to play while I was attempting not to glue my fingers to your poster board?”

“Listen,” Maggie says, quieting everybody with her stern voice. “The side chatter is very unprofessional, and I’m trying to be professional.” She gestures toward us. “We have a newly engaged couple getting married on Saturday. This is DEFCON 1 status. Okay? We will need the entire town to help us pull this off, and I’d like to start making decisions without having to listen to you two make out.” She motions to Hattie and Hayes. “And you complaining about not making out.” She gestures to Brody.

“I just really like you,” Brody says, almost with a pout.

Wow, does he really think that’s going to work⁠—

Maggie’s expression softens as she walks up to him. “I really like you too.” She lightly kisses him on the lips and then whispers something in his ear that makes him smile.

Christ, it did work.

I’m going to bank that for possible use later.

She kisses him one more time and then clasps her hands together. Brody stares at her as if she’s the best thing that’s ever happened in his life. So . . . my assumption is they’re going to get married soon as well. If Brody has anything to say about it, they will.

“Okay, as I was saying, we have decisions to make and not a lot of time. So, Brody, if you could turn the poster board for us, I’d appreciate it.”

Brody turns the board around, and we’re met with a neatly organized collage of pictures and ideas. At the very top, in bold lettering, it says Mr. and Mrs. Preston. Below is a picture of the barn, hay bales, lace, and bulb lighting. Rows of old dining room tables with mismatched chairs, lace runners, and wildflowers. A picture of The Cliffs with a bowl of mac and cheese next to it, which I think is funny. The tractor is used as a backdrop for the bar, and there’s a layout of a dance floor and what the tables would look like lined up—although that’s more tables than I’d expect. And then of course a bouquet of wildflowers strung together by jute. There are a few other things, like favors and the wedding party and . . . Chewy Charles. It’s very well put together.

Stepping to the side of the poster board, Maggie holds up a wooden spoon and starts painting a picture for us.

“The wedding starts at dusk, right before the sun sets. String bulb lights illuminate the barn, and hay bales are lined up row by row but covered with burlap and tweed. Hayes plays a soft melody of Wildest Dreams and Love Story. The procession starts, led by Hattie, followed by MacKenzie and Chewy Charles.” I hold back my snort because she’s truly trying to paint a pretty picture for us. “Then the bride steps out, and there isn’t a dry eye in the barn. She’s so beautiful there will be sonnets written about her. The town will have no other choice than to clap because she’s breathtaking, like a gust of angel breath caressing the farm.”

“What about the groom?” I ask. “Is he angel’s breath?”

Maggie’s eyes fall to mine. “His jawline will make people weep.”

I wink at her. “That’s what I like to hear.”

She smiles and continues. “The couple says their I do’s, and then they’re announced as Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt Preston. The cheers will make the cows one farm over lift their ears with interest. Potatoes will sprout new eyes. The bees will flitter about, proud of their new owners.” Dear God. “And then, while you’re off taking pictures during the golden hour, the tables will be arranged and set up. Tables from around town will be brought in along with chairs. They’ll be quickly decorated while a dance floor is assembled. This will be the busiest time, but guests will enjoy some spiked cider and bear claws in the barn while talking about how beautiful the new couple is.”

“Because of the jawline,” I say.

Maggie points at me with her wooden spoon. “Precisely. Once pictures are done, we’ll introduce the new couple, the family, as well as Chewy Charles, because that has been told to me by a spicy four-year-old. Then we feast on mac and cheese from The Cliffs and cherry pie for dessert. Wildflowers will be used for décor and the bouquets. Invitations will be e-vite because we don’t have enough time to print, but I think that’s okay. I would say we’re looking at about . . . one hundred and fifty people⁠—”

“What?” Aubree practically yells. “Where are you getting that number from?”

Maggie looks stunned. “Uh, Ethel gave it to me.”

“Ethel?” Aubree asks. “She’s not in charge of the guest list. I wasn’t even planning to invite her.”

“Ooo, that would be a bad idea,” Maggie says. “I know I’m not from here, but just from what I know, not inviting Ethel would be a black mark on your name.”

“Babe, we have to invite Ethel,” I say.

“But if you invite Ethel, you have to invite Dee Dee,” Aubree says. “And if Dee Dee is invited, then the whole Peach Society is invited. If the whole Peach Society is invited, then Rodney will want to come⁠—”

“You’re not going to invite Rodney?” Hattie asks. “He drove your knight in shining armor onto the dance floor on a locomotive. You don’t think that deserves an invite?”

“A locomotive, Aubree,” I repeat because this seems like a lot of fun.

“Be that as it may,” she says, looking at me with those stern eyes. “I don’t think one hundred and fifty people should be at the wedding.”

“What is your ideal wedding party size?” Maggie asks.

“I don’t know . . . ten?”

“Ten?” Maggie shouts, then quickly calms herself. “Ten is . . . very intimate. Ten might be too intimate. If it were ten, I don’t think we’d be invited.” Maggie motions to herself and Brody with the wooden spoon. “And even though there are times when I’m terrified of you, I’d still like to witness your marriage. Plus, Ethel and Rodney are a must for the invite, given what they did for the proposal.”

“I second that.” Hattie raises her hand. “On all the accounts, even the terrifying part.”

Aubree snaps a look at her sister, who curls into Hayes.

“Fine, we can expand the guest list to twelve.”

Maggie winces. “Again, I just don’t think that’s enough people. You see, normally I wouldn’t blink an eye when paring down the guest list, but the problem is, Ethel has made it quite clear that this is a town event. She stated that the proposal was a town event, and now the wedding is a town event, and it won’t happen on time unless the town is involved. Therefore, it seems like we’re going to have to include the town.”

“Then we just elope,” Aubree says. “I’m not into the big wedding thing.”

“It might seem big,” Maggie says. “But in reality, it’s actually quite small and intimate. You won’t even be able to tell.”

“Trust me, if I’m up there saying I do and notice more than ten people staring up at me, I’ll be able to tell.” She turns to me, and with those pleading eyes, she says, “Let’s just elope.”

Oh boy.

Here’s the thing. Right now, I’d do anything to make Aubree happy. Reason number one: I got her into this mess, and I want to make it as smooth as I can for her. Reason number two: this guy, **thumbs toward himself** is currently crushing on his fiancée, and well, he wants to keep her happy. Reason number three: I don’t care for a large wedding either.

But the problem with all of that is, we need to convince the people of the town that we’re a couple so when shit hits the fan with Wallace, and he comes charging into Almond Bay—because he will—he won’t be able to prove our relationship is fake.

And that’s what matters the most.

But I can’t say that in front of everyone, so I calmly place my hand on Aubree’s thigh and say, “Babe, I know this is overwhelming, but think of it this way. These people love you, and they want to help you. Plus, your brother has already told me that he’ll murder me if we elope, and as much as I would like to elope with you, I want to do the right thing by your family. You all have been through a lot. Let’s make this a day for celebration.”

Her eyes connect with mine, and for a moment, it’s almost as if there’s appreciation in them. Appreciation for my comment, appreciation for understanding her family dynamics.

On a sigh, she turns to everyone and says, “Fine, but we are not having one hundred and fifty people.”

Maggie claps her hands in excitement. “Brilliant. What is your cap?”

“Fifty,” she says.

Maggie winces but then nods. “Okay, that’s doable. I think we can manage that. Ethel will have to be cutthroat, but I think we can manage. Now.” Maggie lets out a long sigh. “What are you going to do about a dress?”

Aubree shifts uncomfortably and says, “Well, I just thought I could wear Cassidy’s, if that would be okay.” She glances over at Hattie.

“You want to wear Cassidy’s dress?” Hattie asks.

“I mean, if that’s okay. If not, I can replace something else. I just thought it would be the easiest, cheapest option.”

“Money doesn’t matter,” I say quietly, just in case she needs to know that.

“Thank you,” Aubree whispers.

But then Hattie presses her hand to her chest and says, “I think . . . that would be so sweet.”

“Are you sure? You weren’t going to wear it when you eventually get married?”

“Does it matter?” Hattie asks. “We could all wear it. Kind of like sisterhood of the traveling pants but with a dress.”

That makes Aubree chuckle. “Well, if you’re cool with it, then I’d like to wear it.”

I’m shocked that she’d want to wear something so sentimental to a wedding that’s all for business, but then again, maybe it’s a strength thing. What we’re doing on Saturday, getting married for convenience, can’t be easy on Aubree, and maybe if she has her sister there in spirit, it will be easier for her to walk down the aisle.

That makes a lot of sense.

“I think it will be perfect,” Hattie says. “Are you going to wear the veil with it?”

Aubree shakes her head. “No, that’s more your thing.”

“If I can step in for a moment,” Maggie says, raising the wooden spoon. “If you’d like, I could fasten together a flower crown to go with the wildflower bouquet. Even something that resembles more of a headband.”

“Oh sure, that would be fine,” Aubree says.

“Wonderful. I have something in mind that’ll work perfectly. And just so I can report back to Ethel, who is my supplier at the moment, I need a verbal yes to what I have going on here.” With her wooden spoon, she points at certain aspects of the wedding—the tables, the lace, the wildflowers, the barn, and the food. And with every slap of her spoon to the poster board, we give her a verbal yes. That’s until we reach the cherry pie.

“No,” Aubree says.

“What?” I ask in surprise. “Babe, that’s our special pie.”

I can practically hear the eye roll she’s holding back. “I think we should have more options for those who might not like cherry pie.”

“Uh, didn’t you hear?” I say. “We’re trendsetters. Everyone in town likes the cherry pie.”

“Just in case,” Aubree says in an annoyed tone. “Also, there will be no trains at the wedding.”

“Aubree,” I say in a challenge. “How could you do that to Rodney? He’s probably polishing up the locomotive right now, getting it ready for another debut.”

“No trains,” she says, practically putting her foot down.

“No trains it is.” Maggie speaks behind her hand to Brody. “You’re going to have to tell Ethel that.”

“Why me?” he asks, visibly shaken.

“Because I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, honestly, Brody.” She lets out a deep breath and then smiles at us again. “Okay. If we’re all set here, I believe we have some cheese and crackers to tend to.”

“Hold on a second,” Hattie says. “I thought you wanted the ceremony under the tree.”

Oh, that’s right. I peer at Aubree as her lips twist to the side. I know what the tree means to her. Would she want to get married there, in her sister’s dress? Or would she save that for someone who means more to her than I do?

“The barn works,” Aubree says, and because I’m crushing on this girl, a stab of disappointment hits me in the gut. The dress is fine, but the tree . . . she’s saving that. “I don’t want to move too many things around on the farm.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie asks. “Because we can make it happen.”

“No, the barn is great.”

“Wonderful. So . . . cheese and crackers?”

“Great, I’m starving,” Brody says as he puts down the poster board.

Maggie loops her arms around his waist and stands on her toes to kiss him sweetly on the lips. “Thank you for being my easel.”

“Anything for you,” he says as he kisses her, slowly moving his hand right to her ass.

God, that’s irritating.

I miss that. The ability to freely and wholly love someone. To touch them and grab them and kiss them however you want, whenever you want. I know now that Cadance wasn’t the right person for me. I’m still questioning why because there was no closure there, but even with that, I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me. But that doesn’t stop me from missing the way I held her hand and didn’t think twice about it. Kiss her with everything in me and not worry about what she might say after.

I want the ability to hold and to cuddle and to run my hand up Aubree’s shirt without her stiffening or wondering what I’m doing.

Christ, I want her.

I want her bad.

And I have no idea how this happened. How all of a sudden, I can wake up in the morning and feel perfectly content because I have my arm around her. Or how I can smile when I see her, all dirty from working on the farm, looking like a hot mess, but still think she’s beautiful.

I don’t get how I could just know of a woman one day and then want more the next.

And I want her to want more.

I want her to want to get to know me, to want to be with me.

To give this a fighting chance and not treat it as a contract.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Aubree asks as she stands.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, standing as well.

Without taking my hand, she walks out toward the back deck, where a beautiful, still pool expands across the yard with a picturesque view of the ocean, offering peace and serenity. I need to get myself a house like this because Jesus, Hayes knows what he’s doing.

When Aubree shuts the sliding glass door and walks me farther out to a firepit and bench area, she takes a seat, so I join her.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Sort of,” she says as she stares out at the ocean. “Just wanted a second to breathe and thought that if I did it alone, it would look like I was mad at you.”

“Are you mad at me?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head and rubs her hands over her thighs. “Just overwhelmed. I didn’t think this wedding was going to be a thing, and now it’s a thing, so I’m starting to get anxious. I feel like we’re doing it for everyone else but us, and then I think, why would we do it for us? This isn’t a real marriage filled with love. This is a business transaction, so we should be doing it for everyone else because it’s a show, you know? And we need to perform, but then it made me sad for a second because I’m going to wear Cassidy’s dress, and why would I do something sentimental like that if this wedding isn’t sentimental? But then again, I’m nervous and a little scared and worried, and she was the closest thing to a motherly figure that I’ve had in my life, and I just thought that she should be there, and that felt dumb and⁠—”

“Hey,” I say, gripping her chin so she has to look at me. “Shhhh, you’re starting to freak out.”

“I know because this is all so much.” Her scared eyes peer up at me.

Wanting to offer her comfort, I say, “If you want to call it off, we can call it off. Like I said, I can walk away, give you the land, and figure something else out. I’m not opposed to that, Aubree. This was a lot, me asking you to do this, and when I came up with it, it was completely selfish. I didn’t think what this might do to you mentally. All I thought is that you would get the land, and it would be fine, but . . . now I see the toll it’s taking on you.”

“Stop,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not taking the land from you. I’m going to earn it. You’re going to get your cabin, and all of this will be over in a year.” See, when she says things like that, it brings me right back to reality. This is a business transaction to her, and that’s all it will ever be. And I don’t blame her. That’s how I approached it. That’s how I came into this. That’s how I sold it. Why would she have any feelings other than that?

She shouldn’t.

I continue, “But if you’re uncomfortable⁠—”

“I’m just nervous.” She turns toward me on the bench, bringing one leg up as she faces me. “Aren’t you nervous?”

I drape my arm over the bench and face her as well. “It hasn’t hit me yet. Maybe when the day comes, I’ll be nervous, but I’m also comfortable with you,” I say as I take a chance and place my hand on her leg. I rub my thumb over her soft skin. “If I wasn’t comfortable with you, I’d probably be terrified.” I swallow and tilt my head down as I ask, “Are you comfortable with me?”

She’s silent for a second, which feels like hours before she answers. “If I wasn’t comfortable with you, I wouldn’t want you to hold me at night,” she replies so softly that I almost don’t hear her.

But her answer brings a smile to my lips. “Would you even say that we’re . . . friends?”

“That’s asking a lot,” she says, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “How could I be friends with someone who walks onto my farm on day one and starts picking apart everything I could be doing better?”

“I wasn’t picking it apart,” I say. “Just . . . being an ass to drive you nuts.”

“Do you think that was a smart idea?”

“No, but my plan worked.”

“And what plan was that?” she asks, her head slightly tilting, looking so goddamn beautiful that it makes me want to pull her in close and claim her as mine.

“A plan that I shall never unveil,” I say. “That’s between me and my plotting book.”

“And this is why you should never get involved in any business dealing or relationship with an author. Because they will plot every second of it until they get their way.”

“Sad you didn’t figure that out sooner,” I tease. “Instead, you fell for the good looks and the charm.”

“Good looks I’ll give you. Charm? Not so much.”

I smirk. “Hey, as long as you can admit to the beauty that is my face, that’s all I care about.”

“Oh my God.” She rolls her eyes and playfully pushes at my chest.

I love this. Seeing her like this. Smiling and joking. Not tense or worried. We all need this Aubree in our life—this lighthearted woman who has spent most of her life worrying and trying to make something of herself.

Maybe I can be the one who helps her show this side to others.

“You feeling better?” I ask her, wanting to take her hand in mine so damn badly.

“Better about marrying you? Not sure I’ll ever feel good about that.” Her smile lets me know she’s teasing.

“Baby, you could do a lot worse than me,” I say, right before I lean forward, cup her chin, and place a short but sweet kiss on her lips just because I want to remind her exactly what I’m capable of.

When I pull away, her eyes almost look dazed as they peer open to me.

“Now, let’s get in there before they eat all the fine cheese we picked out,” I say as I stand from the bench.

And just to test the waters, I hold my hand out to her to take.

She looks up at me for a moment, stands . . . and then takes my hand.

I hold my breath, not wanting to scare her away, because Jesus Christ, she’s holding my hand.

Everyone, stay calm.

I SAID, STAY CALM!