“Even when I do this?” She lifts her head, her usually delicate features twisted into an unrecognizable grimace so terrible it sends the seagull flapping away with a startled squawk.
I burst out laughing.
“See?” She laughs with me, her smile banishing the momentary horror. “I have lots of those in my back pocket. We had monster face contests at summer camp, and I won every year.”
I shake my head. “Just when I think I’ve discovered all your hidden talents, you surprise me all over again.”
“Yeah, well, I have a lot to offer.” Her smile fades as her gaze softens. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Anytime.” I press a kiss to her forehead.
“So…how about next weekend, when you get back from Nashville?” she asks, slowly sliding the ring off my pinkie finger, making my heart thud harder. “A small ceremony? Just our nearest and dearest at the courthouse and cake at your grandparents’ place after?”
“How about tomorrow?” I ask, smiling so hard my jaw starts to hurt. “You and me at the courthouse before the barbecue at Kirby’s place?”
Her brows shoot up, but there’s excitement in her eyes as she says, “Tomorrow? Isn’t that crazy?”
“I don’t think so. It’s only a few days sooner than next week, and everyone we love is already going to be at the barbecue. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind swinging by the courthouse for a few minutes first.”
“A few minutes,” she echoes with a huff. “Clearly, you underestimate how many nice things I have to say about you. Because I will be writing my own vows, and they will be long. We’re only doing this one, so I need to leave everything on the field.”
“I love it when you leave everything on the field,” I say, pressing a long, sweet kiss to her lips.
“Oh, yeah?” she murmurs, smiling against my mouth. “I thought you loved it when I saved some energy for taking you home with me after the game.”
I hum in agreement. “Yes, I do. Promise you’ll always take me home?”
“I promise,” she whispers, and then she kisses me again, and all hope of keeping the front of my fitted swim trunks decent for the walk back to the car evaporates in a wave of longing.
But I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything except getting Colette home and showing her how deeply, eternally grateful I am to see my ring on her finger.
Speaking of the ring…
I pull my lips from hers and take the ring from her hand. “Here, let’s see if it fits.”
She holds up her left hand, and I slide it onto her ring finger down to her knuckle, where it, unfortunately, gets stuck.
She frowns. “That’s weird. It looks like the right size.”
“I borrowed one of the rings from your jewelry box to have it sized,” I confess. “The one with the big blue stone.”
“Yeah, that still fits perfectly. Or at least it did last week,” she says, trying to ease the engagement ring down, but backing off when her skin goes white around her knuckle. “Weird. Maybe I’m puffy from the sun.” Her lips turn down. “Or other things that make you bloat. I swear, if I start my period on our wedding day, I’m going to be pissed.” She wags a warning finger at her mid-section. “You hear that, Aunt Flow? Hold off until Sunday, okay? Show me some mercy for once in your wretched existence.”
“I think she’ll listen. I wouldn’t cross a woman on her wedding day,” I say, holding out my palm for the ring. “Let’s run by the jewelry store on the way home. If we beg hard enough, I bet Maisy will put a rush on resizing it.”
“Oh, yes! And that way, I can get a ring for you, too!” she says, clapping her hands. “Perfect. Let’s go. Now that we’ve decided to pull the trigger on the crazy, we should hustle. Even a low-key wedding is no small feat to pull off in twenty-four hours. We’ll need to hit up the courthouse for a license this afternoon before it closes, check to make sure the justice of the peace is working tomorrow, call everyone and fill them in, and buy the biggest cake at the bakery.” She tips her palm back and forth. “Or maybe just the one with the most icing. I’ve been craving cake like crazy all day. I mean, that alone would almost be enough to convince me to get hitched.”
“An excuse for cake?”
“An excuse for all the cake,” she corrects, kissing my cheek before adding with a smile, “and all the icing.”
“Then let’s jet, woman.” I pat her ass. “License, then rings, then cake, then phone calls?”
“License, then cake,” she says. “We can get married without rings if we have to, but there’s no way I’m getting hitched if I don’t have cake to feed you after.”