“Add that to the napkin.” I force a chuckle. “As of tomorrow, we’re officially done with pivots.”
“We can still do other normal coupley stuff to prove our marriage is real, though.” Her shoulders pitch up, then drop. “Stuff that doesn’t involve lips.”
“Like …?”
“Like you carrying me over the threshold ofour mansion. Or cooking in the kitchen ofour mansion. Or curling up to watch TV inour mansion.”
“I’m sensing a theme here.”
“Is it …mansion?”
This pulls a laugh out of me. My future wife is hilarious. It’s one of the many traits I adore about her. For better or worse.
I adore her.
We continue to the corner and make a right. Two blocks down, Loren discovers we’re conveniently parked next to each other. Not a coincidence. When I arrived earlier, I found her car first, then circled the block, waiting for a spot to open up nearby. Just in case.
She digs in her purse for her key fob, and the door unlocks with a chirp.
My heart stutters too.
“I have something for you,” I say. “For tomorrow.”
“You already got me a key to amansion.”
“Just one more thing.” I circle my car, pop the trunk, and pull out a black dress bag from the only wedding shop close to Harvest Hollow.
He Wed She Wed.
Loren stares at the bag for a moment. “What did you do?”
“I saw this while I was picking up my tux. And I thought of you.”
She pulls down the zipper, freeing a cascade of whitesatin. Her eyes go saucer-wide, and she runs a hand up and down the fabric, finally landing at the … heart area. Her fingertips trace the straight neckline from edge to edge, and heat spreads behind my ribs.
“But I already have a dress,” she says. “And I know you hate anything to do with Foster, but?—”
“This isn’t about him,” I rush to say. “The truth is, my mom will expect to see you in an expensive gown.” I frown. “No offense.”
She snorts. “I’m not sure how else to take that.”
“Well, hopefully you’ll never have to meet Margaret and find out.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and she gives her head a little shake. “I can’t believe you bought me a whole new wedding dress just for the sake of a few pictures.” Her eyes flick to the fabric again. “And not just any dress. This is adreamdress.”
“You like it?” The question comes out raspy, and I kind of hate how much my happiness depends on her answer.
“I absolutelyloveit,” she breathes.
“I’m glad.” I shrug, acting nonchalant, but the truth is, I’d give up everything to see her glow like this.
“How did you even know my size?”
Because your shape is seared into my brain.
Because I’ve memorized each of your curves.
Because I study everything about you. Inside and out.