Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Oh?” I tease. “You do know that’s my uterus involved in that decision, right?”
“I know. Just had a feeling your lady bits were thinking the same thing.”
“...I was,” I admit. “I almost lost her. Of course, I want to give her grandbabies while she’s still here to see them grow up.”
“We will, sweetheart. As many as you want.” His hands tighten on my waist possessively. “We’ve got time. Your ma’s a stubborn woman. The Reaper won’t be back anytime soon after she chased him off. She’s not going anywhere—except possibly being swept off her feet.”
“What?” I lift my head from Grant’s chest, peering over my shoulder—just in time to watch Officer Henri Fontenot bow to my mother like an old-fashioned gentleman, offering her his hand while she blushes and titters. “Oh, no! Isn’t he the new guy you warned me about? The shameless flirt?”
“Yep. Every woman over fifty in town loves him. Old Mrs. Maytree calls in with a ‘stolen cane’ three times a week and demands Henri come find it. It’s always in her bedroom closet.” Grant chuckles. “I promise he’s a gentleman. Frenchie won’t do anything too dastardly to your ma.”
I giggle.
“Oh, I’m more worried about her doing something dastardly to him,” I groan, but it’s full of laughter. This entire day is full of good humor and more joy than I ever thought possible. I smile as I look up at Grant. “You know, I think you’ve made this the happiest day of my life, Grant Faircross. Good job.”
Grant smiles, hazel eyes gleaming like bronze stars as he spins me into a stomach-fluttering turn. “Then that makes this the happiest day of mine, Ophelia Faircross.”
I think I die hearing him say my name that way.
Sometimes little girls’ dreams do come true.
And maybe I’m about to make another little girl’s dream come true when it’s time to throw the bouquet.
I swear I don’t do it on purpose. I toss the thing wildly, blindly over my shoulder, listening to the laughing, shrieking scramble of women.
When I turn around, I see my sister holding the bouquet with her face beet-red.
For a second, Ros looks stricken, but then she smiles, hugging the lilies close and looking up at me with damp eyes.
God, I hope it’s her turn soon.
I hope she finds the love she deserves—a good man who’ll care for her, cherish her, treat her with the same tender care Grant shows me.
And it’s with real tenderness that Grant keeps me on my feet even when my legs go wobbly with exhaustion as the party starts winding down.
With the energy waning, that’s our cue.
Hand in hand, breaking away from the others, all of them pretending to chase us but giving up far too soon as we break for Grant’s truck.
It’s parked on the road through the trees, festooned with cans and ribbons and a garish Just Married painted on the rear window. The back is crammed full of camping supplies for our big road trip slash honeymoon deep in the wilds of Vermont.
Nothing but us, tall trees, a tent, a gorgeous lakeshore, and as little clothing as possible, if I have my way.
“Get moving while there’s time,” Micah Ainsley says, ripping open the door like our personal valet. “I’ll distract any stragglers.”
His albino skin glows like ivory under the moonlight.
“Thank you!” I gush. “But you don’t need to go through this much trouble for us, Micah, if you don’t want to—”
I never finish. He’s already rushing through the trees, yelling about being attacked by a giant raccoon.
“Oh my God! He’s always such a serious guy too.” I snicker.
“He’s earning his hazard pay today,” Grant agrees.
Breathless, still laughing, we tumble into the truck and pull away.
I’m a floofy mess in the passenger seat, my dress spilling everywhere and licking at Grant like waves. I tuck my hair back and pull the skirt in closer.
“Sorry. This dress slaps when I’m standing, but sitting down, it just wants to eat me alive. We should probably change before we head out...”
“Not a bad idea,” he says. “First, we’ve got one more stop.”
My curiosity deepens, but knowing Grant, I might as well wait and see instead of asking questions.
I don’t have to wait long.
He steers us quietly through the streets of Redhaven—or as quietly as he can with cans rattling behind us and everyone who sees the truck yelling their congratulations and fist-pumping the air as we pass.
The streets grow more somber as we turn down a familiar lane lined with overhanging birches, all bowed toward a wrought-iron fence I know almost as well as my childhood home.
“Oh. You meant this stop,” I whisper, staring at the cemetery gates as Grant pulls the truck into a parking slot.
“Thought he’d want to see you in your dress,” Grant rumbles gently. “And I thought you’d want to say goodbye.”