“I WISH MOM was here to see this,” I say softly, watching as Melanie flits around Corie—making sure the beautiful, oversized, white bow lays just right down Corie’s backside. “You look…” I shake my head, sure that there are no words to express how gorgeous she is right now. Her dress is simple, with a V-neck cut in the front and a deeper V-cut in the back, the bow serving as the focal point of the dress. It’s stunning, and elegant, and it fits her curvy body like a glove. I know if mom were here, she’d probably be bawling her eyes out. I, however, try my best to keep my emotions in check.
Turning away from the full-length mirror, situated in the corner of the dressing room, Corie smiles at me and holds out her hands. Moving as fast as my wedge heels will allow, I close the distance between us and take hold of her outstretched fingers.
“I wish she was here, too. But you’re here, and that means everything to me.”
“Are you kidding? I would never have missed this. Thanks to Mel and Deb, I didn’t have to,” I say teasingly, flashing her a knowing smirk.
“I know,” she replies, smiling sweetly. “I’m glad I didn’t elope. They were right, and I’m happy—I’m really happy that we’re doing this.”
“Told you so,” Melanie whispers in a sing-song-y voice from where she now stands across the room.
Chuckling, Corie mutters, “Yeah, yeah. I deserved that.”
“You did, because it’s a gorgeous day for an outdoor weddin’, and you look ravishin’. I can’t wait for you to walk down that aisle toward my brother. He’ll fall in love with you all over again. I guarantee it.”
Corie blushes, spreading our arms wide as she looks down at herself and then shrugs. “He said he wanted me in the prettiest of white dresses. For the man I love, I aim to please.”
“Speakin’ of the man you love, I have to go give him this,” she tells us, holding up the plastic container which houses his boutonniere. “I’ll pop back in just before we’re ready to start.”
She hurries off, heading for Ashley’s dressing room, and Corie squeezes my fingers in excitement before she says, “I cannot wait to see him. I feel like it’s been forever.”
I laugh, not just because it’s really only been a matter of hours, but also because I can completely relate. Since Leo goes where Ashley goes, and Ashley was forbidden from seeing his bride until the ceremony, I haven’t seen Leo since he kissed me silly last night.
“You know you’re next,” Corie declares, arching an eyebrow at me.
Certain that I’ve missed something, I ask “Wait—what?”
“You’re next in line. We always said that this is what we wanted, our own version of happily-ever-after. I have that with Ashley—now, it’s your turn. Maybe with…”
Her voice trails off and my eyes grow wide in disbelief. “Leo and me?”
“You never know,” she replies hopefully.
“Corie, we’re not even together.”
“Right,” she says dubiously. “Just like on my birthday weekend, you weren’t going to get attached?”
“Corie,” I chuckle, shaking my head at her. “You’re crazy.”
I say the words, but I know that there are holes in my argument. Big, wide, gaping holes. I did tell her that I wouldn’t get attached to Leo. I told myself the same thing. Now, all these weeks later, and he’s still the only man that I want.
“I’m calling it,” she says, letting go of my hands to press hers against her hips. “You and Leo.”
“Babe—that’s insane. Leo—he—we—we’re not together!”
“Not yet.”
Hearing the adamancy in her tone, I take it upon myself to remind her, “We barely know each other. We’ve spent, what, a total of six days together over the last month and a half? We’re, like, practically strangers.”
She grins at me, titling her head to the side as if to silently express that she thinks I’m ridiculous.
As if I could be considered the ridiculous one in this conversation.
“I’m sure you don’t know some of your regulars at Magnolia’s even a fraction as well as you know Leo. If you do, we’ve got entirely different issues to discuss.”
I laugh at her silliness, rolling my eyes, but she’s not done.
“Ashley and I had one night. One night and we knew. I mean—we didn’t know that we’d end up here, but we knew that we’d never find what we had in each other with anyone else.”
“Corie,” I scoff, reaching out to rest my hand on her shoulder. “You’re being outrageously romantic. I get it. It’s your wedding day. You’re floating on a cloud right now. I’ll even give you the fact that I really like Leo—a lot—but we’re not together. We haven’t gotten that far. There is so much we still don’t know about each other. I mean, shit, babe, I don’t even know how old he is!” I confess.
“He’s thirty-three,” she informs me matter-of-factly.
I open my mouth to speak, having already had my next argument balancing on the tip of my tongue. Then her words register in my brain, and I forget what I was going to say.
“He’s thirty-three?” I murmur, letting go of her shoulder as my arms drop to my sides.
“Mmhmm.”
“He’s…older than Ashley,” I say, processing this new information aloud.
“Yes,” Corie replies hesitantly. “This bothers you?”
I cough out a laugh, shaking my head as I admit, “No. It’s actually—damn, he just got a little hotter.”
She bursts into a fit of laugher, taking a moment to calm down before she says, “I’m not saying that I think you two are ready for marriage. In fact, what you guys have going on, it’s none of my business—a truth that Ashley is forced to remind me often. But I will say this much—since Leo met you, he’s different.”
“He is?” I ask softly, the hopeful tone of my voice betraying me.
“You’re different, too. It’s subtle. I can tell you’re both trying to play it safe. That is, until you two are in the same room with each other—then you create this electric current that everyone can’t help but notice. That is not something you’ll ever find with anyone else. I just know it. Trust me. I’ve been there.”
I don’t know what to say, suddenly all out of arguments. That, or simply drained of the desire to prove her wrong. The truth is, she’s right in ways she doesn’t even realize. I won’t even pretend to imagine that there’s some guy out there who could ever outshine Leo. And I don’t just mean in the bedroom. There’s something about him, something beneath his hard exterior and quiet demeanor, something that makes me feel safe, even with him being thousands of miles away from me.
“Mmmhmm,” Corie hums, pulling me from my thoughts. “Just as I suspected. You want him. You want him bad. To which I only have one thing to say—be brave, Jill Stevens. Be brave.”
THE DRESS SHE’S got on has me staring so much, I feel like a fucking perv. The straps hang off her delicate shoulders, and the flower printed fabric fits her like a glove. Even with the hem stopping below her knee, she looks sexy as hell. She curled her hair, the ashy blonde strands hanging in waves down her chest and back, and all I can think about is burying my hands in it while I sink my teeth into the flesh at the base of her slender neck.
“Hey, dipshit.”
I tear my eyes away from Jill, looking at Frank as he approaches. Aubrey follows close behind with her hand tucked into his. “What’d you just call me?”
“Dipshit,” he answers flippantly, shrugging as he brings his beer to his lips. Before he takes a swig, he adds, “Only calling it like I see it.”
“Be nice, Franky,” Aubrey laughs.
“Don’t give me that, sweet cheeks,” he insists, shaking his head as he looks at her from over his shoulder. “You know I’m right.”
Irritated that he’s not making any sense, I mutter, “What the fuck, Frank?”
“You know how much your girl likes to dance. Music’s been playing for nearly forty-five minutes, and you’ve got her out there with her pops, like you’ve got two left feet—and we all know you don’t.”
I look back out on the dance floor—which is really more of a concrete porch right outside the barn doors. There’s a perimeter made up of folding wooden chairs, and strands of flowers are hung with the twinkle lights strung up above us. The sun’s still in the sky, but I suppose it’s a nice touch; at least, that’s what I know to tell Melanie should she feel the need to ask, as she organized most of this.
There aren’t more than thirty people here, not including the security detail that surrounds the venue. It was important to Corie that this be a private affair—a hard thing to pull off with some of the big names in attendance today—but things seem to be under control thus far. More than that, Frank isn’t wrong, and the dancing is well under way. Except, right now, Jill isn’t dancing with her dad. Looks like Sage’s little man, Jace, has flirted his way into her arms, and she’s twirling him around, laughing as he chuckles.
“You’re going to let a two-year-old steal your woman?” Frank scoffs.
Pushing my shoulder off the side of the barn, I right myself as I clarify, “Not my woman.”
He barks out a laugh, slinging his arm around Aubrey’s shoulders and asks, “Think his dick knows that?”
“Frank!” She smacks a hand against his chest, but her reprimand is hardly affective, spoken through her poorly disguised amusement.
“Truth is, only men brave enough to touch her are her pops and that toddler over there. With that predatory stare you keep throwing her way, nobody’s trying to get near her.”
I scowl at him, pointing out, “This is hardly the Wildhorse Saloon. Not exactly worried about her going home with some other guy.”
“Maybe not,” pipes in Aubrey. “But if you want her to go home with this guy,” she says, pointing right at me, “then I suggest you be a gentleman and at least ask her to dance. A lady deserves that much, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. Mmhmm. Think on that, dipshit.” Frank winks at me, tipping his bottle in a silent cheers before he takes Aubrey out onto the dance floor.
When my eyes find Jill once more, I watch as Jace wiggles out of her arms before running out of sight—presumably to his mother. I wouldn’t know. The second Jill lets him go, she straightens and looks right at me. This time, instead of smiling and looking away, she keeps those pretty blues locked on me as she begins to sway her hips back and forth.
I take one step in her direction, and the grin that lights up her face is my guiding light across the space that separates us. As soon as she’s in reaching distance, I take hold of her waist and pull her close. Resting her hands on my biceps, she looks up at me and says, “I’ve never seen you in anything other than a t-shirt and jeans.”
I don’t bother looking down at the navy blue button-up I wear, sleeves rolled up, ends untucked over my khaki slacks. Instead, I meet her observation with silence, waiting for her to say more. I don’t wait long before she leans into me, running her hands up and around my shoulders as she murmurs, “I thought you’d never come.”
Quirking a brow, I grip her waist tighter and grumble, “This dress, that hair, those fucking shoes—you’ve pushed me too far.” Dipping my head, I bring my lips to her ear and whisper, “This means war, baby.”
Pressing against me, she breathes, “I surrender.”