“Just a little.”
“You hear that, Lo?” Dex nudges me. “My wife’s gonna make your backside famous.”
“Hey,” Bridger snarls. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
Dex grins. “Love the protectiveness, my friend. Ten out of ten. No notes.”
“Hush, all of you,” Sayla says. “And get ready, because I’m going to start recording in five … four … three … two …”
Bridger comes toward me, opening his arms to make room, and I slide into them, all too easily.
“You okay, kitten?” His question is soft and low, so quiet, only I can hear. I nod, but the truth is, I’m a bit breathless from being held like this.
The shock of being caught by Kylie and Megan froze me for a moment, but as Bridger and I move together again, warmth floods my body. With him, I can’t help but feel protected and secure. And I flash back to those kisses on my palm. And my wrist. From Bridger.
My husband.
The song continues, reaching lyrics about a bride wearing white, and a groom wearing out the words I love you, and in this moment, I do feel special.
Even if it’s only for Sayla’s montage.
So I press my cheek to Bridger’s shoulder, and my hands find the back of his neck. When my fingers thread through his hair, a low rumble sounds in his throat. So I lift my head, pulling back just far enough to look up at him. At the same time, he raises a hand from my waist and tenderly tips my chin with his fingers.
His eyes roam my face, examining my features, and yes, I know we’re doing this so Sayla can get Bridger on video from this angle, but the moment seems like more than just a performance.
“Cut!” Sayla chirps. “That wasperfect!”
Bridger shifts his gaze to her. “We’re done?”
“Yep, I got some perfect footage.” She lowers her phone. “Great job, friends!”
Bridger releases me, and my stomach twinges.
Yep. Great job, friends.
Dex scrolls on his phone, and “Marry Me” ends, then “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone begins. “This song is dedicated to the next stage of Operation Fool Margaret,” he announces over the music.
“Cake time!” Sayla beams at us, then she crosses to the far side of stage, where there’s a table set up I hadn’t noticed before. It’s draped in a white cloth, and on it is a two-tiered cake covered in white fondant with a sugar-crusted topper in the shape of a heart. “Surprise!”
I glance up at Bridger. “I wouldn’t mind a little cake.”
Sayla waves us over. “Let’s go, kids!”
She positions Bridger and me around the backside of the table, then she instructs us how to hold the knife handle at the same time while we cut. Like we need directions for that.
The names and date engraved on the silver blade are from Sayla and Dex’s wedding. When I gave them this knife as an engagement gift, I never dreamed I’d be using it to slice a cake myself.
Something bright flares in my chest, and I kind of like playing the role of bride and groom with Bridger. Honestly, I should probably appreciate this moment now, since I won’t have another chance. No more weddings for this girl. Ever.
“Okay now,” Sayla says, circling us with her phone. “Both of you take a little piece and feed each other.”
“You arenotsmashing cake in my face,” he says.
“Only for the footage,” I tease.
His mouth quirks. “Are we really doing this?”
“I think we are.”