Proving his status as The Best Boyfriend Ever, Beck offered to hold my Loop earplugs and my phone when we got out of his truck. Because, of course, no one thinks of adding pockets to a bridesmaid’s dress.
Even though bridesmaids have so much shit to hold. So stupid.
Beck releases my hand to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out the little disk. I take it and pop the lid.
“Those things work?”
I give a half shrug and slip one of the earplugs into place. “Not as good as my Bose, but they’ll do.”
Beck’s tiny frown is so damn cute. “Did you bring your Bose?”
I snort a laugh and adjust the second one. “Mom forbade me to pack them.”
That frown of his sharpens. “Why?”
“We can’t have those in the pictures, honey,” I say in a damn good imitation of my mother. “Besides, they’ll ruin your hair.”
But judging by the look on his face, my Hillary Mercier impression doesn’t amuse him.
“Screw the pictures. You should be comfortable so you can enjoy yourself. Make great memories.”
Oh man.
Denying it is just dumb.
I am falling for Beck Olivier.
“We can watch from here,” Beck offers.
I look toward Margaret and Merrick, but mostly, I see the back of people’s heads.
“Nah, let’s go closer.”
The Loops make it bearable to close in, but with a saxophone, a trumpet, percussion, drums, bass, two guitars, and a keyboard that make up the band, I still turtle into myself when we part through the crowd.
That is, until Beck closes in behind me, pulls me against his chest, rests his elbows on my shoulders, and covers my ears with his arms.
I am instantly cocooned.
It’s like… snapping into a charging station.
Like docking into warmth.
And strength.
And love.
Shit.
I’m not falling for Beck Olivier.
I’ve already fallen.
If I wasn’t sure when he performed undergarment field surgery on the steps of St. John’s cathedral, I’m sure now.
Because nothing in my life has felt like this.
I’ve never felt so…