Southern Storm (Southern 3)

“I have to pee,” I whisper, and he opens one eye. “Morning,” I say, and this time it’s me who goes in for a kiss. Sure, it’s a fast kiss, a peck on the lips, but the fact I didn’t second-guess myself is huge. I think it even stuns him, giving me a chance to run to the bathroom.

“What time is it?” I ask from the bathroom after I pee, and I’m washing my hands.

“A little past seven,” he grumbles. I laugh when I walk out, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “I must have drunk a bit too much last night,” he says, looking over at me. “I didn’t think I did.”

“Well, do you remember we got married?” I joke, and he laughs.

“The only thing I remember clearly is us getting married.” When he gets up, I look him up and down, and for once, I don’t feel guilty about it since he’s technically mine. “Do you want to grab some coffee and hit the road?”

He closes the distance between us, and I can do nothing but stare at him. “Yeah, that sounds good.” My mouth is suddenly dry. “I can be ready in ten minutes.”

“Okay, me, too.” He leans in and kisses me, and unlike my kiss, this one is all tongue. His hand tangles in my hair as he turns my head to deepen the kiss. He slowly ends the kiss, and my eyes slowly open.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he says, walking away from me. I wait for him to get to his room, then lean my back against the wall and let out the huge breath I was holding. I shake my head, trying not to think of him and his kisses while I overpack for the two days we’re going to be away. I do, however, pack the lingerie that Olivia slipped me yesterday when I was getting dressed. I just shoved it into the backpack without even looking at it. I put on my cutoffs and a tank top that falls just above my belly button. I slip on my flip-flops while I braid my hair and then walk out at the same time as he is walking out of his bedroom, wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt.

“You ready?” I nod and walk downstairs with him.

“How far is this?” I ask, and he grabs his phone and puts in the address.

“It looks like a couple of hours,” he says, putting on his sunglasses, and the sun reflects off his wedding ring. “We can stop at the diner in town, or we can—”

“Out of town,” I say, and he just nods. “They are probably camping out to see if we walk in and if the news is real.”

“I already confirmed it while I was brushing my teeth,” he says. “Being mayor and all, I put out a statement.”

“A statement,” I repeat. He hands me his phone, and I see the statement right on the top.

From the desk of the Mayor

I am very happy to announce that yesterday I married my best friend, Savannah Harrison. We exchanged vows surrounded by our immediate family and friends. It was everything that we wanted.

We thank you for your privacy in this matter and will be sharing our official portrait as soon as we get back from our mini honeymoon.

Mayor Beau & Savannah Huntington

“Very official and very real,” I say, looking back at him. He just smiles at me. “There is so much we have to talk about.”

“We do,” he tells me. I hate that he has his glasses on, and I can’t see his face.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” he says the last word softly.

“Well, where are we going to live?” I ask, trying to ignore how his term of endearment makes me feel.

“We can live at my house when you don’t have Ethan,” he says, “then we can stay at your house when you have him. Besides Ethan loves my house.”

“You’ll be okay with that?” I ask. “You didn’t even bat an eye or think twice about it.”

“A house is just a house,” he says, looking over. “It’s who is inside that house that makes a home. You’re my home.” I reach in my bag to take out my sunglasses so he can’t see the tears in my eyes.

“For my whole life, all I wanted was a place to call home, and when I bought my house, the only thing I could think of was making a home for Ethan,” I tell him, sharing another piece of myself I haven’t told anyone else. But that is the way it is with Beau. He gets all my secrets and guards them. “I filled it with all the furniture I could. I hung pictures all over the place. I have his growth chart on the frame at the back door. I wanted him to feel like his home was his comfort place. I didn’t even think of it the way you just said it.” The tear now falls, and I look over at Beau, who grabs my hand and kisses it. “But you’re right. A home isn’t the house; it’s the people in it who fill it with love and memories.”