“I’m not going,” Aubree says as she gets dressed in the bathroom.
“Aubree Rowley, you are going, and that’s final,” I say back, raising my voice. I didn’t even call her Mrs. Preston, which just shows how serious I am.
She pokes her head out of the door and says, “I don’t do town events.”
“You do now,” I say. “Since you’re attached to me, and I do town events.”
“Why do you have to be someone who does town events?” she asks as she heads back into the bathroom.
“It was all part of the plan to get people to like me in this town, so I had a backup plan if you tried to run me out of it. That plan was making friends with everyone, which made me a town event person.”
She steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed in a pair of green shorts and a matching peach and green top. She pinned her curly hair up into a thick bun with a few tendrils framing her face, and she put on mascara and some light makeup.
“You had a whole plan?”
“Would it even be me if I didn’t plot out an entire action plan of how to get your hand in marriage?”
She shakes her head, the slightest smile on those plump lips. “Wow, seems like I had no choice in this matter.”
“I would like to say you did, but in reality, you were doomed the moment I waltzed into town.”
“Seems like it.” She stuffs her phone and her wallet into a tiny purse with a long string. She slips on her sandals, and that’s when I take her all in, fully dressed and looking gorgeous.
Hold on a second . . .
“Uh, why are you all dressed up?” I ask.
“I’m not going to a town event in my work boots.”
“Wait, so this whole time you were getting ready and giving me shit about how you don’t do town events, you were planning on attending the End of Summer Jubilee all along?”
She offers me an evil grin. “Wyatt, would it even be me if I didn’t give you a hard time about the things you want to do?”
“Ooo, I see what you did there.” I waggle my finger at her. “Clever.”
“Thank you. I’ll meet you at your vehicle. I have to grab a sweater for Mac. Ryland texted me that she’s chilly.”
“You were so invested in going that you had organized to take Mac a sweater?”
“Yup.” She smirks and then heads out the door to the farmhouse.
We’ve been bickering all morning about attending the End of Summer Jubilee, and how she’s not going. And she planned to attend all along. Christ.
I don’t need this kind of stress today.
Do you know why?
Because in my pocket right now is the engagement ring I picked out for her a few days ago, ready to be placed on her finger with the help from a few people in town, Ethel leading the parade.
The last thing I need is for Aubree to stay home. Although, if it came down to it, I would have dragged her out of here like a sack of potatoes over my shoulder. I have no problem doing that.
I lock up the guest house, and while Aubree heads into the farmhouse, I wait for her at my SUV. I drag my hand over my face and think about this past week. The progress I’ve made with her, the jokes and laughs we’ve shared over dinner . . . our new nighttime ritual, a ritual that I sort of wish wasn’t just a nighttime thing because fuck, those lips.
I’m addicted to them.
And today is evidence of that because when she walked out of the bathroom just now, they were all glossy and begging for me to taste them again. I know that’s the last thing I should be thinking about. She’s supposed to be a friend, a business partner, not my own personal make-out buddy.
But fuck me, I can’t stop myself.
And the whole idea behind the kissing was so that she could be less stiff around me, especially with what I have planned today. But the only thing stiff between us now is my goddamn cock.
Morning showers have been fun, but nighttime showers are a requirement. I say I’m washing the stink away when, in reality, I’m stroking myself, trying to get my head straight before I jump in bed and start kissing her.
So why not stop the kissing? Well, for one, I like it too damn much. And two, the last thing I need is for her to be tense when I propose. I need her to kiss and hug me and act like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.
You must be wondering why I am not cluing her in on the proposal. I do know she hates surprises. But I want a genuine reaction from her. Call me crazy, but I haven’t been too impressed with her acting skills. I want people around us to feel her surprise and, even though she might not love me and this is all for show, I know that when she does say yes and she kisses me, it will be believable—because we’ve been practicing.
The first kiss, I know she was scared.
The second, well, she kissed me back, and I felt a zing of lust rush up the backs of my legs.
The third, hell, I was enamored because she gave me more.
And after that, it’s felt like a frenzy I couldn’t control. And I know she feels it too because she’s returning the same kisses. But last night was too much. My hand was seconds away from running up her shirt to her breast. I was ready to take it to the next level even though that’s not what we’re supposed to be doing.
Aubree pops out of the house and heads down the stairs, looking irritated. “Uh, everything okay?” I ask.
“I need to change.”
“Why?” I ask just as I look down and see a giant red paint stain on the front of her shorts. “How did that happen?”
“Let’s just say Mac isn’t good at cleaning up. Be right back.”
“Okay,” I say.
As she walks away, I text Ethel.
Wyatt: Running slightly behind. Aubree had to change, got paint on her clothes. Everyone still in position?
Ethel: We’re good over here.
Wyatt: Awesome, thank you.
Ethel: Do you have the ring?
Wyatt: In my pocket.
Ethel: Good. Now leave the rest to us.
Wyatt: See you soon.
I pocket my phone and am surprised to see Aubree approaching. Instead of her shorts and shirt, she’s now wearing a light blue sundress with sleeves. The blue makes her eyes pop, and the dress’s silhouette highlights her every curve.
Jesus, she’s beautiful.
How she thinks she’s not a catch is beyond me. Any man would be fucking lucky to call her his. And here I am, stealing her away for a year. Maybe by the end of it, I’ll help boost her self-confidence so she won’t second-guess her worth when she decides to venture out into the dating world again.
“You look great, Aubree.”
She tugs on her dress. “It isn’t too short?”
“No,” I say as I peer around her to check out her ass. “Seems perfect to me.”
“If my skirt blows up during this event, you will be responsible.”
“Why am I responsible?” I ask as I open the door for her.
“Because you’re making me go to this thing.”
“Stop, you were going anyway.” I tug on her seat belt and hand it to her. “Buckle up, babe.”
Then I move around to the other side of the SUV and hop in.
Just to test the waters and see how comfortable she is, I place my hand on her thigh and glance at her.
“Uh, what are you doing?” she asks, clearly not accepting my audacity.
“Attempting to prepare you for affection.” I smooth my thumb over her inner thigh, and she swats my hand away, laughing.
“That tickles, you can’t do that.”
“Your inner thigh tickles?” I ask as I put my hand back where it was.
“Yes, very ticklish, so don’t.”
“Interesting.” I rub my thumb again, and she shifts her leg.
“Wyatt, stop, or I’ll end up punching you out of survival, and I don’t think you want that, do you?”
“I’m not opposed to love taps.”
“This would not be a love tap. This would be a full-on fist to the face.”
“Ouch.” I chuckle as I turn onto the main road that leads to town. “That seems rather brutal.” I place my hand back on her thigh, but I don’t move my thumb this time. “What about hand-holding? Where are you with that? Still on the same page?”
“I don’t know,” she says, unsure.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to hold my hand, but maybe you can loop your arm through mine, something like that, which keeps us close together but doesn’t require you to do something you don’t want to do.”
“I can do that.”
“Perfect. I was also thinking that you can sit on my lap when we sit down.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult to stomach.”
“Funny,” I deadpan, which makes her chuckle. “And then there’s the whole scene I have in my head where we get caught making out by the inn. Serious tongue action, possibly some inappropriate groping—”
“That won’t be happening.”
I laugh at the disgusted sound in her voice. “Wow, the only other thing that would have suggested you were disgusted at the mere thought of us making out was if you threw up in your lap.”
“Almost did. Good thing I have control of my gag reflex.”
My eyes shoot to her playful ones, and I can’t help but laugh.
This is the real Aubree. When she isn’t hiding behind a wall, behind her feelings—behind the world that once crumbled around her—this is the woman we get to see. Playful and fun. Witty and sarcastic. If this continues, it’s going to be a really fucking easy year.
I clear my throat and say, “Uh, gag reflex, huh?”
“Oh my God, you’re such a guy.”
“Guilty,” I say. “But do you blame me?”
“Yes, I do. You could have easily not made a comment. You could have been sophisticated and moved past it.”
I scoff. “Babe, if there is one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I’m anything but sophisticated.”
“Very true,” she says. “I don’t think anyone who writes about a killer fucking his prey right before slashing her throat could be sophisticated.”
“It was a consensual fuck. The throat slicing, well, that was because she was a cuddler, and he wasn’t. She had to go. But hot scene, right?”
“Weirdly, yes.”
I tap my temple. “All from up here and experience.”
“I’m hoping the fucking part was from experience and the murder part was from your head.”
“An author never tells.” I catch her twist her lips as she stares me down, causing me to laugh. “Fine, the fucking part was all real. The murder part was a fantasy.”
She shakes her head. “You have so many issues.”
“But here you are, letting me touch your thigh and discussing your gag reflex. So am I the one with the issues, or are you?”
“You,” she replies, making me laugh again as we turn and see cars lined up all along the street. Thankfully, we can park behind The Almond Store in the private parking section, something I discussed with Ethel since she warned me that it would be crazy down here.
She was right.
Once parked, Aubree and I get out together, and I offer her my arm. She loops her arm through mine, and we head over to the inn, where the main event is happening. See, we don’t have to hold hands to look like a couple. We got this.
Cars take up every parking spot on the side of the road as well as parking lots and even side streets. Music blasts from the inn’s lawn while the sound of generators blowing up bounce houses can be heard in the far distance. Flower garlands are draped from lamp posts to the shops up and down the street to the business signs. Every shop in town has their doors open, welcoming floods of customers. I underestimated the town’s population because, holy fuck, am I going to propose in front of all these people?
What the hell was I thinking?
Ethel didn’t mention how big this event was going to be. I just assumed a few townspeople milling about, catching up on the latest gossip while sharing a drink and snacks. But this . . . this is something else.
It’s what some might call a hullabaloo.
Food trucks, drink stands, and vendors line up along the inn’s lawn. Ropes and cones are blocking entrances, directing the crowd to the flow of traffic. Maps are being handed out, live music is playing, and those blown-up wind men who you usually find outside car dealerships, but for some reason, they’re flanking Five Six Seven Eight, catching the attention of everyone in town.
“Wow,” I say. “This is not what I expected. A lot of people are here.”
“Exactly why I don’t like coming to these things, but here you are, trying to be the best friend of the town. Look what you got us into.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, this was my mistake.”
This was a big mistake.
“You know, it’s never too late to turn around,” she says.
Tempting, very tempting.
I shake my head. “Can’t turn around now because I told Ethel I’d be here. And if there is one person in town I can’t disappoint, it’s Ethel.”
“It’s scary that you know that already.”
“Like every good author, I do my research to determine what I’m getting myself into.” Except how big this festival was. Clearly.
We make our way to the inn and walk through the front door, heading straight for the back lawn where a dance floor is set up along with a stage and a full band, Hayes being the lead guitarist. How the hell did Ethel make that happen?
From the look on his face, I’m going to guess he’s not too thrilled about being up there as he strums along to a cover of Why Do Birds Suddenly Appear. Yikes, I hope he’s not up there because of me. If he is, I’m going to owe him big time.
And just like out front, the area is packed. Circles of people are everywhere, hovering over high-top tables, firepits, and picnic tables. Some people dance, and others wait in line for food while kids run around like maniacs, chasing each other.
So many people.
Tons and tons of people.
Yeah, this was a huge mistake.
There is no way Aubree will cope with being surprised in front of all these people. I need to tell her what’s going on. Give her a heads-up.
“You know, I actually need to tell you something,” I say, turning toward her.
“If it’s about the murder sex thing, I really don’t want to know.”
“No, it’s not about that,” I say. “I actually, uh—”
“Aunt Aubree!” Mac yells as she runs up to us, wearing a cute pair of pink overalls. Her hair’s tied up into wonky pigtails. “You’re here. You’re here.”
“I am,” Aubree says with a laugh.
“Come dance with me.”
Aubree cringes. “Ooo, you know, that’s not something I know how to do well.”
“Yes, you do.” Mac pouts. “You’re the best dancer.”
“Yeah, go and show off your dance moves,” Ryland says, joining us. “Show the town the dance moves you do with Mac in the kitchen.”
Aubree gives him a death stare as she tosses Mac’s sweater at him. “Those dance moves are not for the public.”
“Why not?” Ryland smiles. “They’re so good.”
“Yeah, they’re so good.” Mac bounces up and down. “Come on, Aunt Aubree. Pwease!”
Oh hell, good luck saying no to that.
Aubree sighs in capitulation and takes Mac’s hand. “Okay, but you better dance with me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Mac says as they take off toward the dance floor.
“She’s a good aunt,” I say, watching her walk away as Ethel starts her next song.
That’s when Ryland turns to me and says, “So Ethel told me you’re proposing.”
Christ. I nearly choke on my own saliva. I was not expecting him to say that.
“She . . . she told you?” I ask.
“Yeah, she did. Told me you were planning a proposal and that I needed to be here.” From the stern set of his eyebrows, I guess he’s not too happy about finding out about the proposal through Ethel.
Call me crazy, but I assumed Ethel would sing a love song, and I’d propose afterward. I didn’t think she was going to tell Ryland. That means she definitely told Hayes. Who else did she tell?
“Uh, yeah. I was planning on proposing,” I say, pulling on the back of my neck. “Is that, uh, is that okay?”
He looks me in the eyes and in a very serious tone, asks, “You tell me. Do you love her?”
Man, do I hate lying to him, but at this moment, I know I need to pull out an award-winning performance.
“I do,” I say, giving him the same eye contact. “Very much so. And I know it might seem soon to you, but I just don’t want to wait around. We’ve both talked about wanting to get married, so I figured, why wait?”
Ryland slowly nods. He looks out toward where Aubree and Mac dance together. Aubree moves their arms up and down while Mac jumps and twists, her legs flailing about. Even though Aubree made it quite clear she’s not a dancer, the smile on her face and the way she looks at Mac shows me that there is so much more to Aubree than she likes to show. She has many layers, and when you get to the very core, the heart of her, it’s easy to see she’s such a beautiful, loving soul.
“She’s been through a lot, Wyatt. As someone who has lost a sibling, I know you can understand that.”
“I can,” I say. “And I know she’s been treated poorly in the past.” I’m very aware I don’t know the extent. “I know how fragile yet strong she is, and I have no intentions of breaking her or hurting her.”
“Good,” Ryland says as he places his hand on my shoulder and then turns to me. “Because if you fucking hurt her, not only will I hurt you but Hayes and the rest of this fucking town will too. Got it?”
Jesus . . .
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay then.” He nods toward the back of the inn. “Rodney is waiting for you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“He has his train ready. Ethel said you’d be coming in on his train while she sings At Last.”
“Uh, that’s not what was discussed,” I say, glancing toward Ethel, who seems to be giving us a dangerous look, one that says get a move on.
“Well, that’s what she told me. You are to be unveiled by a train.”
“I don’t want to be unveiled by a train. I just want to propose, simple as that.”
Ryland claps me on the shoulder and says, “You involved a former Broadway star in your proposal. Did you really think it was going to be a simple proposal?”
“I did,” I answer.
“Fool.” Ryland shakes his head. “Dude, you’re being unveiled by a train.”
“This is not what I asked for.” I glance behind us. “Is there really a train back there? Because I didn’t ask for one. I don’t even have any likeness toward trains. We never discussed anything about a train,” I say with a slight panic because if a train is involved, what else is involved? Are there train sounds? Are there outfits? Is there a whole Broadway number planned? And I didn’t tell Aubree, and she’s out on the dance floor. What the hell am I supposed to do?
“Really? She made it seem like you were all in on the train,” Ryland says. “Very excited about the train.”
“Not all in on the train,” I say. “Think we can skip the train?”
Ryland shakes his head. “No, I don’t think there’s any skipping the train. Ethel has this thing mapped out, which, by the way, why the fuck did I have to hear it from her? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on, or Hayes, for that matter, since you two have been talking?”
Yeah, why didn’t you do that, Wyatt? Maybe because you’re an idiot and didn’t think this all the way through. I didn’t think about Ethel’s dramatic side. I didn’t consider the family. I didn’t think about the possibility of an entire town plus all their friends and family being here. Given that this isn’t a real relationship between Aubree and me, I didn’t think about the steps I’d take if I planned on marrying someone for love. The only reason I’m doing a big proposal is for the show of it, so if Wallace ever asks around.
I didn’t consider the family’s feelings—a huge miss on my end.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess I was just so wrapped up in this jubilee proposal that I completely forgot to talk to you and Hattie about it. I promise that moving forward, that won’t happen again.”
“Good,” he says. “And good that you can admit to your shortcomings and mistakes. That will bode well for you when you’re married to Aubree. She’s very strong-willed.”
Uh, yeah. Found that out on day one.
“She is, one of my favorite things about her.” A clearing of a throat is projected through the microphone, and when we both look up, we find Ethel staring at us with daggers ready to fly from her eyes right at us.
“Better get in the train,” Ryland says.
“But I don’t want to get into the train. I actually need to talk to Aubree for a moment.”
“Sorry, no can do, you have to get in the train. That was my job, to get Mac to distract Aubree and to get you to the back.”
“I understand, but I just have to say something to her real quick.”
“Nope.” Ryland pushes me toward the back. “To the train you go.”
“Ryland, seriously.”
“Seriously,” he says back with strong conviction. “You get back there, or else Ethel is going to have my head, and do you really want to do that to Mac, have her lose another important person in her life? Now. Get. Back. There,” he says, shoving me along until I’m moving in the direction he wants me to go. “You don’t want Ethel on your bad side.”
“No, I don’t, but—”
“No buts, get in that train.” He gives me one last shove. I’m fighting a losing battle. So I follow the path to the back of the inn only to stop dead in my tracks.
What the actual fuck?
More people.
So many people.
But instead of milling about on the lawn, drinking and eating and having a merry old time, these people are lined up, all wearing green leotards and bonnets in the shape of flowers. They’re stretching, cracking their necks, and practicing dance moves.
This can’t be real.
I tentatively walk forward, taking in every long-sleeved leotard and colorful flower bonnet until I see it, right there, plain as day.
A train.
But not just any train. A kiddie caboose. You know the type of trains that you see in the mall, carting around unruly children? Yeah, that kind of train, and sitting proudly at the engine is none other than Rodney, dressed in a pair of blue-and-white-striped conductor overalls, matching hat, and red bandanna tied around his neck. With the joy in his expression and the pride in his chest, this man is ready to deliver the future groom to his bride.
Jesus Christ, I should have discussed Ethel’s plans with her.
Why are people dressed as flowers?
Why are there so many people?
Is this a whole Five Six Seven Eight production? Will there be the snapping of thumbs? Possible jazz hands?
Will there be a pas de bourrée?
I don’t even know what that is, but will there be one? Am I required to do one? I can barely do a kickball change.
“You’re here,” Rodney says. “Finally. Get in the back.” He thumbs toward the caboose.
“Uh, I’m a little confused,” I say. “What exactly is happening here?”
“He arrived? Where is he?” Dee Dee spots me and heaves a sigh of relief. “My God, what took you so long?” She’s sporting a clipboard and a headset, looking all kinds of official. “Get in the back of the train. The music is about to start.”
She pushes me toward the back of the train while a few people dressed up as flowers step into the other carts. Will this thing be able to tote all of us? Seems questionable.
“Can I ask what’s going on?” I ask. “I thought Ethel was just going to sing a song, and I’d propose to Aubree, but now there’s a train and people and, wait . . . are those confetti cannons?”
“Yes, with biodegradable confetti. Now sit down.”
“Wait, I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“It’s called the proposal of a lifetime, Wyatt.”
“But—”
She walks off before I can ask more questions.
Leaning forward, I tap a leotard-clad woman on the shoulder and say, “Pardon me, miss, but do you know what’s going on?”
She glances over her shoulder and looks me up and down. “If you don’t know what’s going on, then that’s a big problem.” And then she turns back around.
Helpful.
I drag my hand over my face as I sit in this tiny train, all crouched in together. My knees to my nipples.
Yup, Aubree is going to kill me.
Kill me dead.
Dee Dee starts shushing the crowd, quieting them down just as Ethel’s voice singing At Last filters to the back of the inn.
“That’s our cue,” Dee Dee says. “First group, go.”
A wave of purple flower bonnet dancers extend their legs and start floating toward the lawn, leaping in the air. I lean to the left, dangerously testing the balance of my caboose as I attempt to get a view of what’s happening. If I just lean a touch more . . . yup, I spot her. Aubree. She’s standing in the middle of the dance floor all by herself, looking confused as flower people start circling her.
Hattie has joined Hayes on stage and stands behind him, her arm looped around his shoulders as he plays. A crowd starts to form, and oh my God, Aubree is going to murder me when this is all over.
The music picks up, and more of the dancers file out onto the main lawn on Dee Dee’s direction.
“And smile. And smile. And smile,” Dee Dee says while making a smile motion with her finger. “That’s it. Remember your positions.”
Can I ask what my position is, because if I knew things were going to be this extravagant, I would have, for one, said no, and if I didn’t get my way, I would have at least asked to be a part of the rehearsal. I had plenty of time to rehearse this week. And if I didn’t, I would have made time because right about now, I’m feeling all sorts of nervous.
Not because I’m afraid she’s going to say no, but because I’m terrified I’m going to humiliate myself.
Humiliate her.
For the love of God . . . humiliate Ethel!
“And go train,” Dee Dee says.
Wait, what?
Go train?
Rodney starts the train, and we jolt forward.
“Jesus,” I mutter as I grip the handle in front of me.
“You ready?” Dee Dee asks as I start to move toward her.
“No,” I say. “What’s happening? What do I do?”
“If you don’t know what you’re doing in that caboose, then I can’t help you.” She holds her headset and says, “And go train.”
We jolt forward again, this time picking up the pace as we head right out to the dance floor.
And I can guarantee you I’ve never felt more ridiculous in my entire life as I sit in the back of this kiddie train with my knees practically up to my neck because my large body is not supposed to fit into a small cart like this. Dancers move around with petals in their hands, starting to cover me as they walk along the train, indicating there will be a grand reveal.
That’s me. I’m the grand reveal.
The prize at the end of this drama piece.
Yup, Aubree is going to murder me in my sleep tonight. There’s no doubt about it.
Ethel coos into the microphone, her voice carrying through the cliffs that lead to the ocean. And even though I’m terrified about what will happen next, I can admit that Ethel’s voice is actually really good. A part of me assumed that the quirky former Broadway star now inn owner wouldn’t quite live up to the hype, but she does. I’m really impressed.
But enough about Ethel, back to me.
Still covered by what I can only assume are felt petals attached to a dowel, the train moves around in a circle on the dance floor. Around and around we go until . . . we come to a stop.
The music dies down, leading into instrumentals.
And then . . . the petals lift, and I am revealed. Like a fat man in a tiny suit—get the reference? But instead, I’m the six-foot-three man in the kiddie train caboose.
I look around, taking in the scene unfolding in front of me. A crowd has circled the dance floor. Ryland and Mac are near the stage, right next to Hayes and Hattie. Abel is to the left as well, standing next to Echo. Loads and loads of dancers are lying on the ground, their flower heads acting as a pathway to the one and only red-faced Aubree standing a few feet away, her hands clutched together, her nostrils flared.
When our eyes meet, her eyes narrow, indicating her displeasure. But it’s so brief that I think I’m the only one who catches it before she plasters on a smile. A smile so bright that if I didn’t know any better, I’d be convinced that Aubree is thrilled to see me. Huh, maybe her acting skills aren’t as bad as I thought.
As the music softens, Ethel steps down from the stage and approaches us, holding the microphone.
I look at her.
She looks at me.
And when I don’t move, she slowly mouths, “Get. Out.”
Oh right.
Remove myself from the train.
That’s if I can get out of this thing.
My feet seem to be stuck in the confined space, so I do a little shimmying back and forth. I place my hands on the edges of my seat and lift, popping my rear end out and unfolding my legs to a stand.
There we are.
With a smile on my face, I step out of the train with one leg, and just as I start to step out with the other, Rodney jolts the train forward—most likely assuming that I’ve extracted myself already—and I lose my balance, tumble forward, and land face first onto the dance floor.
The crowd makes a resounding ooooo sound as my chin scrapes across the not-so-smooth parquet tiles.
Motherfucker, that hurt.
“Oh God,” Aubree says as she steps forward, but I hold out my hand to stop her.
“I’m . . . I’m fine,” I grunt as I stand quickly, my chin and my ego the only things that are bruised.
“Where’s your shoe?” Ethel asks from the side of her mouth.
“Huh?” I ask.
“Your shoe,” she says, staring down at my foot.
I glance down, and lo and behold, my shoe is not on my foot. I look up to where the train is departing and say, “It must be in the train.”
“Dear God in Heaven,” Ethel murmurs and then says into the microphone, “Rodney, stop the train.”
He stops it and looks at Ethel, confused.
“His shoe is in there. Can someone grab his shoe? He needs his shoe,” Ethel says in an annoyed tone.
One of the flower ladies reaches into the caboose of the train and pulls out my shoe. She tosses it to the girl next to her, who drops it but then picks it up quickly and tosses it to the next person. And like an assembly line of footwear, my shoe is delivered to me.
I hold it close to my side, waiting for what’s to come.
“What on earth are you doing?” Ethel asks. “Put it on.”
“Right,” I say before fumbling to put my shoe on. Once all footwear has been secured, I smile at Ethel, who nods and motions for me to proceed toward Aubree.
This is it.
This is the moment.
Settled and confident—false confidence—I reach into my jeans pocket for the ring and . . .
Wait, where is the ring?
I feel around in my pocket, coming up short.
“Do you have the ring?” Ethel asks through clenched teeth.
“I thought I did.” I pat my pockets and then reach into them again.
Oh God, the ring was in there. Did it fall out when I tumbled out of the train?
I start searching the ground, looking around, scanning, but I don’t see anything.
“This isn’t funny,” Ethel says. “You’re ruining the moment.”
Don’t need the added pressure, Ethel!
“I thought I had it in my pocket. I put it . . .” My finger grazes over something metal when my fingers search my pocket once more. “Oh wait, here it is.” I pull it out, and I lift it to show Ethel. The crowd around us cheers, congratulating me on my stupidity.
Meanwhile, Aubree stands there, frozen, watching me look like an absolute fool.
Isn’t she lucky?
Clearing my throat, completely ready now, I kneel on one knee and hold the ring up to her as if I’m Rafiki, showing Simba off to Pride Rock.
Ethel steps forward and holds the microphone up to my mouth so the entire town can hear me confess my fake love to this woman who looks like she would like to crawl into her own dress.
And yes, as I look up at the way she tugs on the corner of her lip with her teeth and the blush in her cheeks, I realize this wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. Everyone quiets down and waits for me to make a grand speech about my undying love for this woman. You know, sometimes as an author, you create these large scenes in your head, thinking it will be one of the greatest things you ever write, that it will add brilliantly to the storyline you’re creating, but when they play out, they might not go as planned. They might fall flat.
They might end up terribly on the page.
And for me, it might not be executed the way I initially thought.
This is easily one of the weirdest, most embarrassing things I’ve ever been a part of.
But I go with the flow because, if anything, I’m flexible.
Hopefully, Aubree is too.
“Aubree,” I say as I feel myself wobble from being on my knee longer than I want and holding up this damn ring. I should have talked to her first and then gotten down on my knee. Mistakes. All mistakes. “When I heard that I was part owner of the Rowley farm, I had no idea that deed would open me up to a love I’ve been looking for all my life.”
“Aw,” the crowd all coos together.
At least I have them on my side.
“Our first conversation was, well, angry at best.” Chuckles. Yup, they’re invested. “Our second was much different. I got to know you better, you got to know me, and quickly, you became who I wanted to talk to in the morning, during the day, and at night before bed. I found myself falling for someone I never saw coming. And now that I have you in my life, now that I can call you mine, call you my love, I never want to let go of that.”
I shift on my knee, my arms burning from holding up this damn ring.
Aubree just stares down at me—still in shock, still blushing.
Please, Jesus, let her say yes. After all of this, let her say yes.
“So, Aubree Rowley, will you do me the greatest honor and be my wife?”
It takes her one second longer than I prefer to answer, but when she does, she nods, and the crowd erupts in jubilation around us.
Ethel takes the microphone and shouts, “She said yes!”
More cheering sounds off.
The confetti cannons blast into the air.
And the music starts up again, this time playing an instrumental version of Marry Me by Bruno Mars.
On shaky legs, I stand just as Aubree goes to kneel. Together, we look like an engagement seesaw because when she starts to stand again, I go back down.
Urgh.
“Stay there,” I say to her as I stand.
Everyone continues to cheer as I reach for her hand, but at the same time, she tries to wrap her arms around me for a hug, so I poke her in the stomach instead, causing me to drop the ring.
Christ.
I bend back down to pick it up, and I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking, but as I stand, she kneels again.
Motherfucker.
I snag her hand and pull her to her feet. I grip her finger, slip the ring on, and then hold up her hand for everyone to see. The crowd erupts again, still happy for us, despite the awkward display we just put on for everyone.
Some people shout, “Kiss!” while others clap and cheer.
Knowing we need to seal the deal, I smile down at her and try to put my arms around her, but at the same time, she lends her hand out for what I can only assume is a handshake.
Her fingers brush over my nipple as I bend down to hug her.
Her fingers bend back against my chest.
And there we are, my ass sticking out as I attempt to hug her, her trying to handshake my erect nipple.
This is not how I imagined this.
Whispering, I say, “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers back. “Should I kneel again?”
“For the love of God, no. Just hug me.”
And thankfully, that’s what she does. She wraps her arms around my back, I wrap mine around her shoulders, and we embrace.
For the hell of it, I kiss the top of her head and then raise my fist to the sky in victory, erupting the crowd all over again.
Well, that was . . . eventful.
Just as I start to let go of her, I hear a throat clear next to me, and I glance to the side to find Ryland standing there, holding Mac, waiting to congratulate us.
“You’re getting married,” Mac chants. “Can I see the ring?” Aubree holds the ring up to Mac, and Mac brings Aubree’s finger close to her eye to examine it. “It’s so pretty.”
“Thank you,” Aubree says.
“Congrats, sis,” Ryland says. “Still trying to wrap my head around all of this. I didn’t even know you were in love or even seeing anyone last week, and now you’re engaged. Insane, but I told Wyatt if he hurts you, he’s a dead man.”
That shakes the confusion and shock out of Aubree because she chuckles. No longer wide-eyed and nervous being surrounded by her family. “Get in line. I’m not afraid to wield a shovel if he wrongs me.”
And I fully believe that.
“Why would Uncle Wyatt hurt Aunt Aubree?” Mac asks.
“He wouldn’t,” Ryland says. “We’re just joking.”
“It’s not nice to joke about hurting someone,” Mac replies.
Ryland lets out a deep sigh, the kind of sigh every parent lets out at least once a day just as Hattie and Hayes join us as well. “I know, I’m sorry. I won’t joke about it again.”
“Your apology is accepted. Can we get cotton candy?” Mac asks, jumping up and down again.
“Didn’t you already have a lollipop?” Ryland asks.
“Yes, but I want cotton candy now.”
“How about we find something with protein?” Ryland says.
“Does cotton candy have protein in it?” Mac asks.
“No.” Ryland shakes his head, and she pouts.
“I think I’ve had enough protein today. I don’t need any more.”
“Nice try,” he says as he takes her hand in his. “Congrats, you two. I’ll catch up a little later.” He takes off, hand in hand with Mac, and all I can think of is how grateful I am that Ryland is in charge of her. I’m not sure I would have been able to step up to the plate like he did. He has the necessary patience required to raise such a young child.
Hattie and Hayes are next as they step up to congratulate us. Hattie pulls Aubree into a hug, and Hayes lends his hand out to me. I give it a firm shake as he says, “You just upped the ante on the proposal. Not sure I can top that. Someone else will be expecting something soon.” He nods toward Hattie, and I laugh.
“Take your time and do it right. No need to rush. Also, Rodney has a train if you want to use it.”
Hayes laughs. “You looked pretty sick in that thing, man. Like a man on his steed, riding into the sunset.”
“I could tell you were envious.” I rub my hands together. “Not everyone can look as cool as me.”
“Very cool.” He smiles, and then with a brow raised, he asks, “I have to ask, was there a reason you rushed into a proposal? Just curious.”
“If you’re implying something, the answer is no. We just want to be married is all.”
“Are you assuming I’m pregnant?” Aubree asks, joining the conversation.
Hayes holds up his hand. “Not assuming anything, just, you know, making sure. Always good to have all the information.”
“We’re not,” Aubree says.
“Shame,” Hattie says. “I would have loved a shotgun wedding.” She then pulls me into a hug and congratulates me. “I’m happy for you two. Now let me see the ring.”
Aubree holds up her hand, and Hattie takes it. She examines the ring for a few seconds before she looks up at me. “Wyatt, I don’t think I could have picked anything more perfect for her. This is . . . this is stunning.”
Huh, maybe I know more about Aubree than I think I do.
Aubree glances down at the ring, then back at me. “It really is perfect.”
Perfect, huh?
Some might count that as a win for me.
The train might have been a large loss. Along with the tumble out of it. The chin scrape and the seesaw attempt at a hug, but the ring . . . the ring is a win.
But I’m wondering, because Aubree has been pretty good at faking this entire endeavor, if she truly means it when she says the ring is perfect or if she’s acting. Not that it matters, but you know, just for ego’s sake, it would be nice to know if that comment was genuine.
“Thanks. When I was looking through all of the rings, I had something simple yet elegant in my mind. When I saw that one, it immediately reminded me of you.”
That’s not a lie. That’s facts.
It felt like an Aubree ring.
Hattie clasps her hands together. “Isn’t that just beautiful? They’re so cute together. So perfect and right for each other. An opposites attract kind of thing, like me and Hayes. But you know, Hayes and I have been together longer, not that it matters, but we have, and sure, we live together, and so do you, but we’ve been living together longer. And if you’re wondering if I’m saying all of this because I’m jealous that Wyatt proposed before Hayes, I’m not. Not even a little. I think it’s great, especially since we just found out about you guys. Nope, not jealous. Thrilled actually. I’m so happy for you and not even the least bit jealous. Not even a tiny bit.”
Hattie did not pick up on Aubree’s acting skills. Because I’d say she’s totally jealous.
“Hattie . . .” Hayes says.
She glances over her shoulder, a scowl in her eyes. “Yes?”
He pulls on the back of his neck, looking visibly uncomfortable. “It, uh, it seems like you might be slightly jealous.”
Wow, dude. I even know to keep those kind of thoughts held in. Why does he think saying that out loud will help anyone?
“I’m not jealous of my sister. She deserves happiness,” Hattie says. “I’m fine over here. Not irritated with you at all. If I think about it, I honestly don’t even want to get married, no offense to you guys. But marriage, ew, gross. I don’t want to be tied down to someone for life. I like having the option of just upping my life and running to whoever has their arms open and ready for me.”
And now she’s playing with fire.
“Excuse me?” Hayes says, falling right for her trap. These Rowley women are not to be messed with. “Can we have a moment?”
Proud of herself, Hattie walks off with Hayes.
Glad I’m not a part of that conversation. Nope, I have a happy fiancée, ready to . . . uh, why is Aubree looking at me like that?
Like she has murder on her mind but is masking it with the maniacal smile plastered across her lips.
Uh, Hayes, actually, can you bring that conversation back here?
Speaking softly even though we’re alone, she asks, “What the hell was that?”
“Your sister? Oh, I think that was her—”
“The proposal, Wyatt.”
Yup, that’s what I thought she was talking about, but you see, always deflect at first. Clearly, it didn’t work this time.
“Oh that.” I place my hands on her hips, acting as if we’re having an intimate moment. She’s a loose cannon, and I have no doubt that my balls are at high risk right now. “That was not how it was supposed to go.”
“And how was it supposed to go exactly?”
“Funny story,” I say.
“I can already feel myself laughing,” she deadpans.
Yikes.
Swallowing hard, I say, “Well, the train and the dancers and the confetti cannons were not my idea. That was all Ethel. When I thought about proposing, I asked her for some assistance. I thought it would just be her singing to us, but, well, she went a bit over the top. Dee Dee was involved. She had a whole headset and everything. I’m still trying to figure out who she was communicating with. Anyway, this was all on her, so don’t hate me.”
Aubree looks over at Ethel, who is back on stage, smiling and waving at us. We wave back.
“And that’s what makes you new to town,” Aubree says. “You never get Ethel involved in planning anything. It will only end badly.”
“This didn’t end badly. This ended up great for me. You said yes, and the whole town saw it.”
She smooths her hand up my chest and speaks closely. “Yes, but you fell out of a kiddie train, scraped your chin, lost the ring, found the ring, and looked green the entire time. Not to mention, you have yet to meet my wrath when we’re in private.”
“Ooo.” I shiver. “Don’t tease me with a good time.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes away from me. “You’re so annoying.”
A DECENT FIRE sparks in front of us as Aubree, Hayes, Hattie, Abel, Echo, Ryland with a sleeping Mac on his chest, and I all form a circle around one of the firepits at the inn. It’s been a long afternoon turned into evening, and nearly everyone in town congratulated us. We spent a good half hour talking to Ethel, complimenting her and thanking her. She took pictures with us and then went around, boasting about how she was able to pull off the most epic proposal ever. Her words, not mine.
Pretty sure the train entrance brought down the epic-ness a notch or two.
Hattie sits on Hayes’s lap, Echo and Abel are next to Ryland while Aubree sits next to me, holding a stick and poking the fire every once in a while.
“So any thoughts on the wedding?” Hattie asks.
“They just got engaged, babe. Do you really think they’ve had time to think about it?”
“No,” Hattie answers. “But Maggie comes into town tomorrow, and if you want help, you know she’s your girl.”
“Who’s Maggie?” I ask.
“Hattie’s best friend,” Aubree answers. “She owns a wedding planning business.” Aubree turns her attention to Hattie. “Is she bringing her boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Hattie answers with excitement. “I’m so excited to see them together. They’ve known each other for some time actually. Her brother’s best friend. She’s had a crush on him for a while, but being the girl Maggie is, she never acted on it, besides the night of her brother’s wedding. They made out, and well, he practically ran away. Anywho, they reconnected in Bora Bora, found love on the island, and are together. I’m so excited.”
“We won’t need her help,” Aubree says. “We’re just going to do something small. Probably just something at the courthouse.”
“What?” Hattie sits taller. “A courthouse wedding? But . . . don’t you want a big party?”
“No,” Aubree says as she pokes the fire. “That’s the last thing I want. I don’t want the attention. I just want to be married and then move on with our lives.”
I clasp her on the shoulder. “Isn’t she so romantic?”
“Very romantic,” Echo says, surprising me since she hasn’t really said anything the entire time we’ve been in a circle around the fire.
“You’re not going to have Mac as the flower girl?” Ryland asks.
“I really don’t think it’s necessary. We might just . . . I don’t know, elope.” Aubree shrugs her shoulders. But her siblings don’t like that response because their expressions morph into anger.
“There will be no eloping,” Ryland says. “I’ll be walking you down the aisle, so erase the word elopement from your mind. Not fucking happening.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to stand next to you with a bouquet in my hand as you stare up at the love of your life and say I do. No elopement.”
“You know”—Aubree stares at the fire, looking like she’s completely disassociated herself from the emotion of the conversation—“some might say that the wedding is about the couple, so if we want to elope—”
“No eloping,” Ryland says again, this time stirring Mac awake.
“You’re being loud,” she says in a grumpy voice.
“Sorry,” Ryland says as he rubs her back. “Let’s get you home.” He stands from his chair but stares Aubree and me down. “No eloping. You hear me?”
Now I’m all for making my bride happy, but I don’t think I want to cross the brother of the bride. He seems like he could be really scary at times.
“Got it,” I say.
“We’re going to get back too,” Hattie says while standing. “I’m starting to get cold.”
Hayes stands and takes her hand in his. “Congrats, you two.” He smiles softly. Hattie congratulates us as well, and then they take off.
Abel is the next to stand. “I’m passing out over there,” he says, motioning to his chair. “A few more minutes and I would have been out cold, and how humiliating that would be if the town caught their doctor drooling in front of the firepit.”
“Humiliating,” I say as I shake his hand.
“Congrats, you two.” Abel shakes his head. “Still trying to wrap my mind around this, because wow, but yeah, excited about the intimate wedding that’s not an elopement that I’m inviting myself to. Night, you guys.”
And then Echo rises.
I almost didn’t recognize her at first when she came up to congratulate us. She didn’t have her typical straw hat or overalls on, so it took me a second. Thankfully, I recognized her voice right away.
“Aubree, think I can chat for a second?”
“Of course,” Aubree says as she stands and walks over to the side, in the dark where I can barely see them.
I watch as Echo says something to her, and Aubree nods. They glance in my direction and then turn their backs away from me.
What the hell is going on over there?
It almost looks like they’re in cahoots, but I have no idea over what.
After a minute or so, they hug each other, and Echo takes off, leaving Aubree to join me once again in front of the fire. “Uh, care to share what that was about?” I ask.
“She was just saying how happy she is for us.”
“Uh-huh, and why couldn’t she have said that in front of me?”
Aubree glances over her shoulder at me. “She wanted to make sure you weren’t threatening me to marry you.”
“Did she really?” I ask.
“No.” Aubree laughs. “Just saying she’s happy for me and then asked me a work question. No biggie.”
“Okay, because if you told her about us, you could tell me, you know. You don’t have to hide it. My best friend knows about you and me.”
Aubree pauses as she’s poking the fire. “Who is your best friend?”
“Her name is Laurel. I met up with her this week. She helped me pick out the ring.”
“Wait, she’s your friend who is a lesbian, right? Not that her sexual preference defines her, but that was why you couldn’t marry her?”
“Correct,” I say. “So if you need someone to tell, that’s okay, Aubree. Better that I know, though, so I can manage who knows about us and who doesn’t.”
She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Yes, she knows. I told her a few days ago because I was struggling with it all and needed someone to talk to. I figured she would be best since she’s removed from the situation.”
“I can understand that. Was she checking on you just now?”
“She was. Wanted to make sure I was good with how everything went down. I told her I could have done without the public display, but I was fine with the proposal and moving forward on everything.”
“The public display was to solidify our standing in the community when Wallace finds out. Trust me, he’s going to ask questions. There is no way he’ll be okay with this. He’ll try to prove it wrong any chance he gets.”
“Seems like he’s really fun,” Aubree says, full of sarcasm. “When are you going to tell him?”
“Well, when are we getting married?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. When do you want to get married?”
“I was thinking next week.”
Her brows shoot up. “That eager, huh?”
“I’ve been saving myself for marriage,” I say in a teasing tone. “I’m ready to consummate.”
“In your dreams, Preston.” She fully turns toward me now and folds her legs under her bottom. “When is Wallace getting married?”
“A few months. I don’t remember exactly, but we have a little time. I’d rather not wait, just in case he decides to elope before us. So the sooner, the better. Once we’re married, I’ll tell him.”
“Think he’s going to be mad?”
“Livid,” I say. “There’s no way he doesn’t call bullshit on it, but I can handle that side of things. I just need you to pretend to love me.”
“You make it hard.”
“Do I?” I ask, teasing her. “So I make it hard?”
“Dear God, Wyatt,” Aubree says as I laugh out loud. “Can’t you be normal?”
“No,” I answer. “Sorry. Also, can we talk about your reaction to the proposal? Were you trying to shake my nipple? What was going on there?”
“Uh, I had hundreds of people watching me. I didn’t know what to do. You could have given me a heads-up. You know, let me know that you were planning on proposing.”
“In my mind, I was hoping for your real reaction to the proposal.”
“Well, you got that. Doesn’t get more real than what you experienced.”
I push my hand through my hair. “Yeah, didn’t think about the fact that you might be awkward and try to shake my nipple.”
She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to shake your nipple. God, you’re so dramatic. I was attempting to shake your hand.”
“Once again, that’s so romantic.”
“I was confused and caught off guard. You weren’t the one standing on the dance floor while flowers twinkled their toes all around you with Ethel singing directly to you.”
“Nope, I was the clueless asshole, floating in on a kiddie train looking like a fucking white knight on the wrong steed.”
She chuckles. “I really enjoyed when you fell out of it and landed flat on your face.”
I press my hand to my sore jaw. “Yeah, I know, you laughed way more than you should have given I face-planted.”
“It was nervous laughter.”
“Liar,” I say.
“You’re right, I’m lying, but I still enjoyed it. I also liked the panic on your face when you thought you’d lost the ring.”
“I actually felt my balls tickle my stomach in fear. Ethel would have made my life a living hell if she went through all of this trouble and I lost the ring. She would have been devastated.”
“Possibly would have ended the proposal in tears.”
“And not the kind of tears you should have shed when I got down on one knee.”
“Once again, a heads-up would have been nice.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
“You plan on doing this again?” she asks.
I shrug. “Possibly. It’s been a fun experience so far.”
“Only someone with some serious issues would call this arrangement fun,” she says as she stands from the chair and shivers before rubbing her arms.
“Are you cold?”
“Yeah. The wind off the ocean is starting to cut through the fire, and I don’t think I can take it much longer.”
“Not a problem. I’m ready to leave too. Just means we can move onto stage two of the proposal.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and asks, “Does stage two involve removing clothing?”
“You said it, not me,” I say.
“Not going to happen, Preston.”
“Says the girl who stuck her tongue down my throat last night.” I playfully bump her shoulder.
Her jaw falls open in shock. “You started it.”
“But man, did you finish it.”
“Ugh, you’re infuriating sometimes, you know that? We both got carried away. We’re both apparently very horny, so it was bound to happen. Trust me, not happening again, and since we understand how to kiss each other, I don’t believe there’s a need to kiss each other good night anymore.”
“You don’t think so?” I ask.
She shakes her head as we start heading toward the inn.
“The point was to get used to each other, and we’re used to each other now.”
“Yes, your excitement over my proposal really showed that.”
She points her finger at me. “Your fault, remember that. I could have been all giddy and excited if you had let me in on the secret. Any reaction is a product of your missed opportunity to communicate.”
“It’s called spontaneity. Can’t we have any?”
“Remember . . . I don’t like surprises.”
We walk up the back steps to the inn, and I open the door for her.
“How are we supposed to have an eventful marriage if you don’t like surprises?” I ask her as we walk through the back hall of the inn to the main living space, where a few people enjoy coffee and treats.
“I don’t want it to be eventful. I want it to be mundane and boring. I want to know what every day is going to be like. I want a schedule, a routine. I don’t want anything to throw that off.”
I shiver. “You know, the way you talk like that, it really gets my gears going.”
She looks up at me with a comical expression. “Gears going? I can practically hear the dirty talk now.”
“There they are,” a voice says just as we move to the front of the inn. When I look up to see who it is, I’m met with the same woman I saw outside of The Hot Pickle. What’s her name again?
Amalie?
“Congratulations on the engagement,” she says, rubbing her hand over her pregnant belly.
“Thank you, Amanda,” Aubree says while stiffening next to me.
That’s right, Amanda. And the husband is Matt, who doesn’t seem to be . . . oh wait, there he is, carrying a plate of treats in one hand and a cup in the other.
“Quite the proposal. I especially liked how you shook hands. It really screamed romance.”
Man, either she’s a rotten bitch spoiled to her very core with mold growing on her bones and algae seeping into her heart or the baby that’s growing inside her is an itty-bitty alien from a far-off planet implanted inside her . . . and is making her act like an absolute rude ass.
The alien thing would be interesting to talk about, but I’m probably going to be realistic about this and chalk up her attitude to moldy bones and algae heart.
“I was caught off guard and nervous from everyone staring at us,” Aubree responds as she moves in closer to me, definitely not the normal, confident ballbuster. What kind of hold does this girl have on Aubree? Just like the last time they engaged, Aubree has lost all her confidence around her.
“You never were one to enjoy being the center of attention. That’s probably from when you were growing up, never wanting to be in your dad’s violent path, always attempting to blend into the background.”
Who does this woman think she is? Just saying Aubree’s personal business like that.
“You would think your fiancé would know that about you and plan a more private proposal.” She glances over in my direction with her nose curled.
Yeah, it’s the fucking moldy bones on this one. No alien is that fucking rude.
Too bad she has no idea who she’s dealing with.
“Thank you for your observation, Andrea.” See what I did there? “But you must not realize how much this town loves Aubree. How much they cherish her. They wanted to make this day joyous for her. They wanted to celebrate with us.”
“They have always been fans of the Rowleys, haven’t they,” she says, interrupting my tirade. “Although, I’d say their love was more directed at Cassidy and now Hattie.”
Oh wow.
“Then again, they probably rally around Aubree because she was always the one . . . left out, right, Aubree?”
Aubree curls into me. Fuck, she’s so uncomfortable.
“Could explain why you had such an odd reaction.”
“It wasn’t odd,” I say. “It was genuine. She gets nervous when the focus of attention, but I’ve never seen a smile so big on her lips. I’ve never seen a town come together so thoughtfully for one person, and I’ve never felt more love than I have today. You can make all the snide comments you want, but we know they aren’t a reflection on the love we have for each other, but a reflection on your unhappiness and attempt to make other people feel how you feel day in and day out . . . miserable.”
And then I take a leap of faith and reach down to take Aubree’s hand in mine, to let her know that I’m here for her, that she’s not alone. I wait for her to pull away, to reject me holding her hand, but she doesn’t.
Instead, she entwines our fingers, pressing her palm tighter against mine.
She trusts me.
She believes me.
She believes in this connection.
It might not be love, but it doesn’t need to be. We have a deeper understanding for each other, something that extends past the kisses we’ve shared this week or the agreement we made. This is an appreciation for one another.
Amanda places her hands on her hips, looking angrier than ever. “How dare you make such an assumption about me.”
“Just like you made an assumption about Aubree?” I ask, squeezing her hand tighter. “You act like you were friends, like you know her, but you know nothing about her. You don’t know the kind of strength this woman has as she works on her dead sister’s farm day in and day out, living out her sister’s dream. You don’t know the loving heart she has as she helps her brother take care of their niece, who still struggles with the loss of both of her parents. And you have no fucking clue how this woman will set aside her life to help out anyone in town. The reason people are celebrating today is because Aubree let herself come first. She let herself have a moment. So don’t come over here and try to shit on her happiness. I’m not going to allow it.”
Amanda folds her arms across her chest and cocks one hip to the side. She’s not done. It’s clear as day in her body language and the uneasiness in her eyes. “Any author can make up nice things to say about someone, but do you really mean it? People have seen you two around town, and sure, you’re next to each other, but you’re never intimate. For two people who seem to be soooo in love, you sure don’t look like it.”
I’m about to say something when Aubree moves in closer to me, her hand still in mine, her shoulder pressing against mine. I can see that she’s filling herself up with courage, and I squeeze her hand three times, letting her know that we’re in this together.
“Amanda,” Aubree says, sounding shaky. “I understand that we went our separate ways, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to spread your unhappiness on me and our big day.”
It’s a simple comment. Not the insult I would have made if I were in her shoes, but it’s just enough for Amanda to back off with a look of shock.
Maybe she didn’t expect Aubree to stand up for herself. Maybe in all the time they’ve known each other, Aubree has never stood up for herself. Maybe Amanda has used her knowledge of Aubree’s past to her advantage and walked all over Aubree like her dad did. Either way, the stunned look on Amanda’s face was all the indication Aubree needed to walk away.
Hand in hand, Aubree tugs me away from the negativity and straight out the inn door. She doesn’t let go of my hand and she doesn’t say a word. She vibrates in anger, so I don’t say a word either. Instead, I keep by her, squeezing her hand, reminding her that she’s not alone in this.
When we finally get to my car, I bring her to the passenger side and open the door, but she doesn’t get in. She turns toward me instead and looks up at me.
“That was . . . that was embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“Why the hell are you sorry?” I ask. “There is nothing to be sorry about. You weren’t the one being an asshole. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“She’s just . . .” Aubree looks away. “She’s not the best person, and I hate that she brings up the past. She knows me so well from that period of my life. I don’t like it being brought up, or for people to know about it. I just hate that you had to hear it.”
“Are you afraid I’m going to judge you?” I ask.
Her eyes find mine. “No,” she answers. “I mean, you . . .” Her voice shakes. “You . . . you defended me.”
“Of course, I did,” I say. “Do you really think I’d just stand there and let her make you feel bad about yourself? No fucking way. From her husband’s silence, just standing there eating petit fours, my guess is that she’s very unhappy, and she’s projecting that unhappiness on you. Her problem, not ours.”
“I guess not.” She glances away, but I can tell something else is on her mind, so I tip her chin and have her look at me.
“What are you not saying?”
“It’s stupid.” She shakes her head.
“Nothing is stupid. Just tell me.”
“I shouldn’t even be asking,” she says.
“Aubree.” I force her to look me in the eyes. “Ask.”
She heaves a heavy sigh and then says, “Did you mean it?” Her eyes look impossibly large as she stares up at me. “It’s okay if you didn’t mean it, but I was just wondering—”
“Did I mean what?” I ask.
She wets her lips and then softly says, “Did you mean the words you said to Amanda, or was that . . . was that something your author brain was able to come up with on the spot?”
Fuck. This woman has no clue how incredible she is. She underestimates her heart, her looks, her strength. Fuck, I hate how hurt she’s been.
I bring our connected hands to my lips and press a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “I meant every word of it,” I say. “There are things I can lie about when it comes to this relationship like how we met and this fake love I have for you, but there are things I can’t lie about. And that’s who you are as a person. Your very core, your morals, your values, those are all true. That’s not something I can make—”
I don’t finish what I’m saying because her hand loops around my neck, and she pulls me down to her mouth, where she kisses me and kisses me hard.
Shocked for a second, I still, but the moment her tongue parts my lips with hers, I follow suit and place one hand on her hip as I press her up against my SUV, my mouth exploring hers just as much as she’s exploring mine.
Fuck, these lips. They’re unlike anything I’ve ever kissed before. Full and soft but tentative and timid at the same time. They’re eager, yet they don’t fully go all in. They wait for me to take charge, and I really fucking love being in charge.
I bring my hand to the side of her head, pressing up against the SUV, and push my pelvis against hers as I angle my head to the side, giving us both better access as her tongue wanders into my mouth.
So sweet.
So delicious.
She has such a hard outer shell, but on the inside, she’s warm and—
“Get a room!” someone shouts a few feet away, startling us both.
I pull away as Aubree’s hand goes to her mouth. She looks just as stunned as I feel.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what came over me.”
Seeing that she’s visibly stressed and unsure of herself and her actions, I decide to lighten the mood. I don’t need her overthinking this because if she starts overthinking it, then I’ll do the same, and that’s the last thing I need.
So I say, “I think you were terrified about closing out the good-night kiss, so you felt like you had to get one more in.”
Her expression falls flat and that irritated look I’ve become so fond of reappears. “Thank you for that.”
“Thank you for what?” I ask.
“Reminding me why I find you so unbearable.”
I open her car door and gesture for her to get in. “Anything for my lady.”
She shuts the door on me and buckles herself up.
If I wasn’t so stunned by that kiss right now, I might even laugh at her reaction. But hell. That was . . . that was not something I was expecting.
I’ve kissed her before, and I’ve liked it. I’ve liked every second of it.
But that kiss. I felt it all the way down to my toes.
I felt it in the pit of my stomach.
I felt it knocking on my head, telling me something was there. Something I’m ignoring and not ready to face just yet.
And because of that, I push it all to the side and to the back of my mind where I won’t touch it.
I won’t even go near it.
Because I’m afraid if I do . . . I might get hurt again.
