He pats my butt. “Not a chance, June Bug.”
; “UGH. WHY ARE YOU SO HORRIBLE?”
I give up and go limp-rag-doll the rest of the way to the truck. My only consolation is an up-close view of Ryan’s glorious butt.
We make it to his truck, and he sets me down beside it. I’m just getting ready to lay into him, but he’s faster and backs me up to the truck and silences me with his mouth. I mean to push him away, I really do. But one of his hands is pressing into my hip, and the other is lost somewhere in the back of my hair, and my body wins the argument against my mind.
I give in and slide my hands up the back of Ryan’s jacket and over his muscles. My eyelids roll closed as Ryan angles my face and takes full control of the kiss. His lips taste faintly of orange and bourbon, making me want more. More, more, more. He’s never won a fight like this before, but I hope it happens this way forever. Because here’s the secret: he thinks he’s winning, but in this kiss, I’m most definitely the victor.
Ryan breaks away, cupping my jaw, breath as ragged as mine. He smiles. “Love.”
I narrow one eye and try not to grin. “Like.”
He dips his head and nips at my lip. “Stubborn, stubborn woman.”
I run my finger over the top of his dress shirt collar, just barely brushing against his skin. “I told you how I felt about you all those years ago when I tipped my chin for you. It’s your turn.”
He pulls away now to look me in the eyes, dark pools hypnotizing me. Tenderly, he wraps his arms around me and settles me against him. “Okay, here it is, then, June Bug. I’m going to lay it all out so there’s no room for confusion. I love you. I always have. Pretty certain I always will.”
I breathe in his words and smile when my lungs are full. I’m not sure what right turn I made in life to get me here, but I thank every act of courage, every broken heart, and every seemingly wrong turn that got me here, encircled by Ryan’s arms. Our life together won’t be perfect. Far from it. We will fight every day. I will salt his ice cream, and he will draw more mustaches on me while I sleep. But I look forward to every bit of it.
I raise up onto my tiptoes to brush my lips over Ryan’s as I whisper, “I win.”
One year later…
June
“I didn’t come for a visit to get caught in y’all’s weirdo crossfire,” says Stacy, the friend whom I will mercilessly take back the Best Friend of the Year trophy I had made for her.
Yes, it is an actual trophy I had engraved, and I gave it to her ten minutes ago. But don’t think I won’t pry it out of her pretty little swollen fingers if need be.
I narrow my eyes at her. “No more complaining. Snap to it unless you want to say bye bye to that shiny little trophy.” I extend the brown paper bag in front of me and twitch my head toward the bronze trophy that has a little boy kicking a soccer ball on the top. Oddly, the store didn’t have any trophies with two attractive women hugging on the top, so I had to settle for this one.
Stacy gasps. “You wouldn’t!”
“I think you already know the answer to that question.”
Stacy eyes the paper bag and then snatches it from me. “Be right back. But when I get back to California, I’m telling Logan about how you made me do your bidding, and you will definitely receive a strongly worded text about it.”
I’m undeterred by her threats and smile like an evil mastermind, because I am one. I try not to stand too close to the window as I watch Stacy waddle (she’s super pregnant, so I’m allowed to say that) across the street toward Le Café where I know Ryan will be found in the kitchen—spices and seasoning set around him like an artist’s paint set. He’s been itching to create a new dish all month, and last night, he shot straight up in the middle of the night and proclaimed, “I HAVE IT!”
He clicked on the lamp, searing my eyeballs with painful light, and started scribbling away in the notepad beside the bed. I’ve learned over the last six months of our marriage that Ryan’s best ideas hit him during the night. It’s horrible, and I wouldn’t have married him had I known this fact.
Anyway, after he was finished writing down his masterpiece, I made him snuggle me until I fell back to sleep, but then that turned into something different, and now we’re both exhausted today. WORTH IT.
However, just because I’m deeply in love with him, and he’s deeply good at loving me, doesn’t mean the war we began as kids has stopped. Which is why I can’t resist pressing my face against the glass to see what happens next.
Stacy looks over her shoulder after she crosses the street and makes direct eye contact with me through the glass. I give her a thumbs up and then a shooing motion, and she rolls her eyes. Now, she’s inside, and my stomach has butterflies.
One minute later, the door to Ryan’s cafe opens again, and Stacy comes out, Ryan hot on her heels, paper bag in hand. I quickly roll myself away from the window until my back is flat against the wall. Wait, busy! I need to look busy. I wipe my hands on my pink apron and start buzzing around like Cinderella. La-de-da, nothing suspicious happening here! I always sing while I tidy the bakery.
The door chimes as Stacy and Ryan step inside, and I shiver at the sight of him. He’s glorious. Gets hotter every time I see him. And today, he’s wearing a navy shirt that makes his eyes look like even darker pools of delight.
“Hi, babe!” I say in my cheeriest, nothing-to-see-here tone.
His smile hitches as he rounds my counter. “Stacy brought me this donut. Says it’s from you.” He holds up the bag.