Sayla looks up from her phone. “Nice job, friends. Mama Adams will definitely believe your performance.”
Right.
Friends. Performance.
For Loren, yeah. Sure. Both those words ring true. As for me? I’m scarred for life by my future wife.
Because once I’m her husband, I won’t be free to kiss her again.
Ten minutes later, Sayla and Dex are still replaying the video like it’s some kind of Steven Spielberg blockbuster. But each rewatch makes it harder for me to breathe. So I quietly pay the tab and offer to walk Loren to her car.
Again.
Outside, the sky is starry and clear. Inside, I’m still reeling. For half a block, we don’t speak. Our movie soundtrack is chirping crickets. Then she says, “Sothatwas a pivot we didn’t see coming, huh?”
Laughter slips out of her, and I push my hands deeper into my pockets. “Which part?”
“All of it,” she says. “But especially the end.” Her voice cracks, and I get that what she really means is the kiss.
“Yeah, that was weird,” I say. “For both of us. So we should probably?—”
“Never kiss again?” She lets out another cascade of laughter.
“Yep.” I bob my head. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Okay, good. Me too.”
As we continue walking, I make the mistake of glancing at her. I swear moonlight’s dancing in her hair. Like a literal waltz. If I said that out loud, though, she’d probably remind me hair can’t do that. Still, I defy anyone to look at her right now and say she isn’t magical enough to pull it off.
Her gaze flicks up to mine.
Caught looking.
“What?” she says.
“Nothing,” I mumble, shifting my focus back to the sidewalk. “I guess I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“We decided we should avoid kissing from now on, right?”
“Right.”
“That’s what we both want, of course.” Sharp blades of heat chafe my throat. “But what about the ceremony tomorrow? If Sayla’s recording. Or taking pictures for my mom?—”
“Which she will do,” Loren chimes in.
“I’m assuming,” I say. “Then the whole ‘you may kiss the bride’ thing after our vows would feel off if we … just shook hands.”
In my peripheral vision, Loren nods. “I agree.”
“Agree with what?”
“That we probably need to kiss one more time,” she says.
“At the wedding,” I clarify.
“Right. And after that, no more.”