competent in the water than I expected. But we need to watch him carefully. He was getting brave at the end. I don’t want him thinking the pool isn’t dangerous.”
Britta pauses, her spoon hovering over the chicken in the pan. Her face tightens with worry. “Absolutely.”
“We’ve got this. We won’t let anything happen.” I can’t stop myself. I drop my hand to the small of her back and lean closer. “I promise.”
She turns slightly, meets my gaze. My mouth hovers maybe six inches above hers. Her breath goes shallow. I see the heartbeat at the base of her neck flutter, mirroring the racing of my own. I could kiss her right now. She might let me. She might part her rosy lips and welcome me inside her mouth so I can worship her. She might moan, melt against me.
She might also kick me in the balls.
Willing to take the chance, I lean in. Jamie lets out a shriek and clangs two metal trucks together.
We jump apart, and I curse under my breath. It’s not his fault. And maybe he did me a favor. As much as it chafes, with hot food cooking and a toddler watching, it isn’t the time to make a move. And I don’t think Britta is ready.
She jerks her gaze back to the stove. “Don’t do that again, Griff.”
As I drag the potatoes from the oven, I see her rubbing her engagement ring again like it’s a talisman that will protect her from the temptation I’m throwing her way. I refrain from pointing out that I’m not going to make it that easy on her.
She’ll figure that out on her own soon enough.
A few minutes later, we’re all sitting down to a home-cooked meal. We eat in silence broken only by our attempts to help Jamie’s spoon find his mouth and the clatter of silverware against dishes.
“Keeley called me this morning,” Britta says.
I hear the note of confusion in her voice. “When she says she’s determined to be your friend, trust me. That woman means it.”
“I don’t know why.”
“You and my brother have always been close. They’re getting married.”
“True…” she concedes but doesn’t sound convinced.
“And I’m sure it’s because she’s been my best friend for a couple of years and she knows how important you are to me. She knows I love you even if you don’t.”
Britta grabs her bottle of water to avoid looking at me. “Keeley asked me if I would help her plan her wedding. She said her mom is too far away and that she feels overwhelmed by the amount of planning to be done in a short timeframe. They’re talking about getting hitched in two months. It’s really fast.”
“When you know it’s right, why wait?”
She presses her lips together, then flips her engagement ring with her thumb—precisely where I can see the diamond glint. “Exactly.”
It’s tough, but I don’t let her prod me. She’s wrong about Makaio, and I think we’re both aware of it. I could remind her that he skipped out on her when she needed him. I could also admit that I will never let him adopt Jamie because I’m not convinced he’d make my son’s best interests a top priority. I could also promise her that, once we go to bed tonight, I’ll be more than happy to show her what she’s been missing between the sheets with Mr. Hawaii. He might look like a fucking underwear model, complete with stupid smile as he stands, hands on hips, showing off his cotton-clad junk. But I know I can make her want, orgasm. Feel. If she’ll let me give her a reminder, I will be happy to help her compare notes afterward.
“Broccoli?” I pass her the dish, refusing to rise to her bait.
“Thank you.” Naturally, she extends her left hand to me and grabs the dish. Her diamond gives me another mocking wink.
I manage to keep calm. “So what did you tell Keeley?”
She pauses. “I agreed to help. This will benefit Maxon, after all. I owe him for everything he’s done for me over the last few years. Besides, I guess you told her I was organized?”
“And she’s so not. Keeley is fun and smart, but she’s a free spirit. Calendars and schedules and deadlines give her hives. Watching her flounder with all that would make you crazy, angel.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that.”
I send her a smile that tells her there’s no way in hell she’s stopping me. “What does Makaio call you?”
She pauses, then frowns as if she’s giving my question a lot of thought. “He’s not really the pet name sort.”
Is she kidding? The slight furrow in her brows tells me she’s not. And it doesn’t seem as if she’s sure how she feels about that.
I should probably shut my mouth but I’m really dying to know. “All right. What did he say to you when he proposed? What did he do? How did he give you the ring?”
“He didn’t. Um, we were talking at my house a couple of Sundays ago. While barbecuing in the backyard, he pointed out all the reasons we’re great together and asked me if I would do him the honor of marrying him.”
Wait a minute. Hold up. She’s given me a wealth of information there. First, why didn’t the asshole make a big damn deal of proposing to her? It doesn’t sound as if he even got down on one knee, much less hired a skywriter or something awesome. It was like… Hey, since I’m in the middle of flipping burgers, I’ve got a minute to ask you if you want to spend the rest of your life with me.
Fuck that.
The bigger nugget of fact I got out of her speech, however, is timing. He proposed on Sunday. When I barged into their impromptu engagement party, it was the following Thursday night. She said she’d just accepted his proposal four hours prior. So she made the bastard twist in the wind for four days before answering him?
I smile. I’ve got her. Right here. She’s telling me without telling me that she doesn’t love Makaio. What woman whose heart is filled with devotion waits four days to decide if she wants to share the rest of her life with him?
None.
I shovel chicken into my mouth and study her. The last forty-eight hours between us may have sucked, but life is definitely looking up.
“What is that expression?” she challenges.
“I don’t know what you mean.” My grin widens.
“That smirk. Why do you suddenly look so smug?”
I weigh the pros and cons of keeping this revelation to myself. But I’m not playing a long game. I don’t have time for quiet.
Finally, I shrug. “I’m just thinking there’s no way you’re going to marry this guy.”
“Excuse me?” She sounds shocked. “I am. I have no doubt.”
I shrug like she’s wrong, but whatever. Britta can’t stand that.
“What is your problem? You can’t have me, so you’re going to try and talk me out of marrying him?”
“No. I don’t hate that idea, but…” I shake my head. “He’s got everything wrong. He has no special endearment just for you? He doesn’t try to make you feel like the most amazing woman in his world?” I shake my head like that’s a big fucking mistake because it is. “He didn’t do anything awesome just for you, or even give you a ring, when he proposed? Then again, I guess that wouldn’t be logical.” I scoff.
Britta scowls. “It was very romantic.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“It was,” she insists. “And we shopped for a ring together after I said yes.”
Because he wasn’t going to spend money on her or any gesture of emotion until he knew he had to.
“And when he proposed, I’ll bet he outlined all the reasons getting married made sense—you’re both responsible, have good jobs, handle money well, like the same movies, and his picture-perfect family adores you. Right?” When she presses her lips together mulishly, I laugh. “Right. Then he talked about your lives together with all the excitement of a pile of compost before waxing boring about the requisite ten-minute coitus you’ll share twice a week that he’ll find a perfectly adequate expression of your shared passion. Am I far off the mark?”
She sputters. “Miles off, in fact.”
“No, I’m not. That’s why it took you four days to decide to marry the loser.”