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This is the woman who tried to perform CPR on me while I was still breathing. God, I’m madly in love with her, but she’s not good under stress. And her heart won’t let her see reality when it’s not filled with rainbows and roses. It’s an endearing quality that’s also dangerous.
I start to speak just as Koen and Scottie approach our table. The blushing bride doesn’t look me in the eye, and I can’t blame her. I tried to steal her for purely selfish reasons.
“I haven’t had a chance to meet your wife,” Koen says.
“That’s right.” I smile. “Koen, this is Amelia.”
She slides from my lap back to her chair and offers her hand to him. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting us. We needed an excuse to get away by ourselves for a little while.”
“Thankyoufor coming.” He releases her hand.
“I heard you built your house,” Amelia says. “That’s impressive.”
Koen goes into a long spiel about the inspiration and the process while Scottie’s gaze floats around the tent with her hand resting flat against her stomach.
I can’t take my eyes off her hand as she occasionally moves it in a slow circle. Either she’s hungry or pregnant. Her hand stills, and she abruptly drops it to her side. My gaze lifts to meet hers.
After a few slow blinks, I offer her a tiny grin. A beautiful blush paints her cheeks.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “I’ll be right back.”
Amelia ignores me, and Koen gives me a quick nod while talking. As I emerge from the tent, I loosen my tie and stroll toward the backyard, where the chairs have been picked up. Then, I follow a flagstone path behind the detached garage to a firepit, stacks of wood, and open barrels stuffed with pieces of scrap metal.
“Amelia is perfect for you.”
I turn.
Scottie steps closer, the skirt of her dress gathered in one hand.
“Is this where I say Koen is perfect for you?”
“Is he not?”
I lift a shoulder. “He’s fine.”
“Fine?” Her eyes widen.
“You’ll have babies and most likely grow old and die together surrounded by grandkids and great-grandkids.”
She laughs. “Sounds like a horrible life.”
My hands slide into my pockets. “The first night we had dinner in Austin, had I kissed you, had I shown interest beyond friendship, would you be standing here today in that wedding gown with that ring on your finger?”
“Price—”
“Humor me.”
She sighs. “No.”
I nod several times.
“Had I kissed you and told you about the baby, would you have left your wife and daughter to be with me?”
I grunt a tiny laugh with my lips pressed together.
“Humor me,” she says.
“No. I would not have.”
