45
FARROW HALE
Maximoff, my husband, tries so hard to shove cake in my face, and he’s disappointed when I’m the one who smashes buttercream frosting at his lips.
Mouth dropped, he cradles a slice of vanilla cake in his hand. Cake crumbs slide off his jaw.
I smile and lick frosting off my thumb. “Can’t be first at everything, wolf scout.”
Cameras are flashing around us. We’re the center of attention at the reception, and I’m okay with ignoring everyone right now. It’s just Maximoff and me.
“Say that a little closer,” he eggs.
My grin widens. I doubt I’ve stopped smiling since we kissed in the rain. The lighthouse is still in view from the cliffside restaurant, wooden overhangs and a few tents on the sundecks shield us and guests from the sprinkling rain, which falls lighter than before.
The smell of fresh seafood, breakfast, and saltwater melds with the scent of hydrangeas and marigolds.
I run my tongue over my bottom lip. “He wants me closer,” I tease.
“Come here, man.” With his clean hand, he actually grabs hold of my black button-down and tugs me into his chest. Our knees thread, and he looks at my lips. “Open your mouth.”
I’m near-laughter as I comply. Maximoff brings the slice of cake up to my lips and feeds the dessert to me. I’m mid-chew, sweet frosting destroying my taste buds, when he wipes his sticky fingers down my cheek.
My smile bursts. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you.”
Before I say anything else, I draw him into me and we kiss warmly. A cooing noise spreads around the restaurant and quickly reminds me that we’re still under a spotlight.
Maximoff flushes a little, and I find a cloth napkin from the dessert table. Jane and Thatcher picked out the six-tier, towering cake, and honestly, it’s perfect.
Every layer is a different flavor: banana nut, vanilla, chocolate, lemon, almond, and marble. Something for every guest, and that’s how Maximoff would want it: for everyone to be happy tonight.
I wipe wolf scout’s jaw, making sure to get all the buttercream off. He’s only letting me do this because he has a napkin in his hand and rubs at my lips.
“Good?” I ask, crumpling the napkin.
Maximoff smiles. “You have no idea.”
Our eyes dive into one another. I think I do.
After all the thank yous and first dances, the sun begins to set as the rain lets up. Oranges bathe into the horizon and reflect off the rippling sea, and while Maximoff dances with his sisters and brother, I run into Oscar lounging on a sundeck chair and eating cake.
He grins. “There’s that married motherfucker.”
My lip quirks. I lean casually on the balcony and zero in on his nose. “Still haven’t taken out the hoop piercing?”
“It’s growing on me—” He cuts himself off, staring down at the banana nut cake. “Ugh, don’t make eye contact.”
I give him a look. And then I see why Oscar just morphed into a high school boy. Jack Highland saunters onto the sundeck, a Canon slung around his neck. He snaps a few candid photos of Ben and Beckett Cobalt and then drifts further away.
A smile toys at my mouth. Oscar is acting strange as fuck, so I ask, “Care to share with the class?”
He stabs his cake a few times. “I fucked up.”
“You fucked up,” I repeat, dumbfounded. “How badly are we talking about?”
“I asked Highland if I could kiss him.”
My brows spike. Shit. “Oscar,” I say with a slight laugh.
“He’s been flirting with me,” Oscar says heatedly. “And I’m not the only one who sees it.”
“I’m guessing it went poorly.”
“Not just poorly, bro. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.” He sets his plate on the arm of the lounge chair and wipes his fingers with a paper napkin. “Mostly because I should’ve just asked if I could give him a blowie like a fucking adult.”
I laugh hard. My back to the sunset, light wraps around me.
He shields the brightness with one hand and waves me on. “Keep it coming, I deserve it.”
“No, I’m just wondering how in the hell that would’ve been less embarrassing.”
“Being shot down for a kiss is like face-planting when you’re trying to accept a participation award. And it was legitimately awkward. You know what, he stared at me for a full-second like I spoke fucking Thebulan from Luna’s tentacle smut.”
Donnelly hops up on the balcony railing. “That’s my favorite smut.”
“Exactly.” Oscar gestures to him. “Where’d you come from?”
“Bathroom.” Donnelly slips a cigarette behind his ear and gives me a rising smile. “Dr. Hale.” Feels good to hear my last name. “What are we talking ‘bout?” His South Philly accent is thick.
I motion to Oscar.
He sighs. “I asked Highland if I could kiss him, and I was rejected.”
Donnelly nods. “At least you asked for consent.”
Oscar blinks, deer-in-the-headlights. Reliving the embarrassment.
Now I do feel badly. “Did Jack say anything to you?”