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November.
Thirty days until the wedding.
Thirty days until I get to see what all the purchases and planning and brief, nonsensical sorts of questions she’s asked me throughout the past weeks add up to.
Thirty days left for her to decide whether or not she wants me to be her husband, or whether she wants me to go back to being just her boss.
Maybe her friend.
Hopefully her friend…
I might be too reliant on playing Stardew Valley with her each weekend to go back to being just her boss. I have chickens that I’ve named. I need to pet them every day. It’s imperative I see a pixel heart rise above their heads even though Brigid insists there’s an auto-petter I can get to avoid the experience.
I’d hire an assistant before letting a robot take care of my sweet baby hens…
Okay, yes. I hear it, the flicker of madness. It’s obvious, but—plainly put—I don’t know what I’d do if I had to give up the world Marcella has shown me.
“Can we go apple picking next weekend?” Marcella murmurs, sleepy. “I want to bake another pie. And make a deconstructed candy apple so it’s not a pain to eat.” She yawns. “I’ve never made funnel cake before… The apple options at that horror story were pitiful…and I did so have my heart set on caramel apple funnel cake.”
I squeeze her arm. “I adore everything you just said.”
The smallest smile eases over her face as she reaches to grasp my hand. “I’ll let you stir the dry ingredients again. Maybe you can peel the apples, too. With one of those fancy machines that makes the skin into one long string. Apple noodle skin snake snacks for me.”
I am going to make her the best apple noodle skin snakes I possibly can.
Practically asleep now, she whispers a curse. “I need to coordinate a time when Mom, Bridge, and Penny can come wedding dress shopping with me. I’m not looking forward to that. But I did find an appropriate boutique relatively close.” She steals my hand completely when she rolls onto her back, looking up at me. “You have no friends, so I’ve asked Mark and Jeff to be your groomsmen.”
“What?”
“They’ve already been fitted for their suits. Would you like Cody to be your best man?”
My mouth opens, but she doesn’t let me respond. “You don’t actually get a choice. Since my two friends and Mom will be my bridesmaids, you need three people on your side, too.”
Of course. That makes perfect sense. How silly of me to think such a question wasn’t rhetorical. “Do you need me to ask him, or have you already?”
“I’ve told Bridge that you will ask him soon. He already knows, though, because he also already has his suit. The asking part is a formality, to solidify your broship.”
Chuckling, I smile, say, “Touching your head,” and make sure my nails reach her scalp when I comb my fingers through her hair.
Her eyes half-lid before they close and she snuggles my arm, pressing my fingers into the crook of her neck.
“Pumpkin?”
“Mm?”
“I could have sworn you weren’t this affectionate.”
She bites my finger.
I think my heart skips a beat on its way into her palm.
Planting a little kiss over the bite mark, she murmurs, “I’m touch averse, which means I’m touch starved. Congratulations.” Her eyes open—deep and dark and hopelessly beautiful. “You now know how to touch me in such a way I don’t feel the primal need to perform an autopsy.”
“That’s—” I clear my throat. “—great. Really great.”
“I had fun tonight.”
“Me, too.”
