Page 109 of Flirting with Trouble

He wraps me in his arms, those dark eyes holding me captive. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have a second chance at love, but even more so, to have it with him. I love his patience, his sense of humor, and the sexy beast he becomes when we’re alone. Most of all, I love the way he loves me for who I am, flaws and all.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he coaxes.

“It’s going to cost more than a penny for today’s thoughts.”

A butterfly flies between us, hovering there like a beacon over our hearts, its delicate wings fluttering. It flutters in place so long, I can’t look away. It rises and lands on Wells’s shoulder. A warm, comforting breeze washes over me, lasting longer than a typical breeze. Gently demanding my attention the way a long hug goodbye makes your thoughts slow down and take notice. It feels like a sign. My pulse quickens, a lump forming in my throat.

Wells takes my hand and turns it over, brushing his thumb over the tiny butterfly tattoo on my wrist, as if he senses it, too. He lifts my wrist and presses a kiss to it. As his lips leave my skin, the warm breeze and the butterfly slip away like secrets.

Wells laces our fingers together, stepping closer, and whispers, “Save those thoughts, sweet girl. I know what’s in your heart.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Wells

As I pull on my slacks for Leni’s wedding late Saturday afternoon, I glance into the bathroom at Victory putting on her makeup. She’s leaning forward, applying eyeliner. Her face is tipped up, her hand steady, and her lips are parted, like an artist midpainting. She’s wearing the new dress we bought in Chaffee, the soft pastels hugging her curves. One strap hangs off her shoulder, the back still unzipped. I don’t want to think about her going back to the city tomorrow. I like seeing her entrenched in my world, hugging my mom, joking with my dad, brothers, and friends, stealing glances at me across a fire while she’s chatting with the girls. I thought our days apart were hard these last two months, but I know they’ll be even harder now. Hell, I missed her like crazy this afternoon when I had to go in to work for a few hours, and she hung out with my sisters and some of the other girls.

Last night, when she and the girls were taking turns holding the babies, my future flashed before me like a movie. I could see it so vividly, when Fitz and the guys called out to me, I didn’t even hear them. They gave me hell for that, and we ended up having a pretty deep conversation about relationships. I’ve never given much thought to how people fall in love. But now I know, at least for me, it didn’t happen in a single moment or because of one particular thing. It’s texts and games and furtive touches. It’s holding hands in a city of millions of people and knowing there’s no one else I’d rather be with. It’s the way her eyes light up with new ideas and her sweet laughter that I can pick out of countless others’. It’s the way she cuddles into me when she’s sleeping, and takes over my bathroom like it’s her right, and that first-morning smile that says, Good. You’re still here, like she worried it was all a dream.

She’s putting on mascara now, her mouth forming an O. She glances over as I put on my tie. “Are you okay out there?”

“More than okay. You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. Would you mind zipping me up?”

She gathers her hair over her shoulder and I step behind her. Our eyes meet in the mirror, my fingers brushing her skin as I zip her dress. It’s such a simple thing, zipping up a dress, but it feels much bigger because I want to do it today, a month from now, next year, when we’re old and gray.

“What were you and the guys huddled up about last night right before we left? It looked like you were scheming. Were you cooking up a prank for the wedding?”

I wrap my arms around her from behind and kiss her shoulder. “They asked me if you wanted to get married again.”

Her brows knit. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth.” I have a fleeting worry about the truth scaring her off, but I don’t hold it back, because I want to know if it’s her truth, too. “That we haven’t talked about it, but if you do want to get married again someday, it’s going to be to me.”

“Oh,” she says so softly, it’s impossible to read the feelings behind it. She turns in my arms and straightens my tie. “That was a confident answer.”

“I’m a confident guy.” I hold her a little tighter. “You’re it for me, sweet thing, but there’s no pressure to get married. I don’t mind being your boy toy until they bury me six feet under.”

“Promises, promises.” She grabs my tie and tugs me into a kiss.

The winery grounds have been transformed into a magical evening of twinkling lights and gorgeous flowers. Leni and Raz said their vows just before sunset in a beautiful ceremony that left everyone glassy-eyed. I’m not usually moved by weddings, but seeing my childhood best friend, the woman who taught me perhaps the greatest life lesson of all—how precious a trusting heart is—marry the man of her dreams brings a rush of happiness. Leni is beautiful in a white off-the-shoulder satin gown, and Raz couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked down the aisle and then stood before him while they pledged their love.

Now, beneath a canopy of lights strewn over the patio, surrounded by the people they love, as they dance their first dance as husband and wife, Raz is looking at her like she is the only thing he sees. I know that feeling well, and I glance at the woman who owns my heart and soul so completely, even when we’re miles apart, she’s still all I see.

Victory is watching them with a dreamy expression. I hold her a little tighter against my side and kiss her temple, I love you on the tip of my tongue.

“They look beautiful, don’t they?” she says softly.

“They do. I’m happy for them.”

The song comes to an end, and we all applaud. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ says. “Please join Leni and Raz on the dance floor.”

The Backstreet Boys’ “Everybody” blares from the speaker, and cheers erupt as people rush to the dance floor. Keira and Bellamy run over and loop their arms through Victory’s.

“Come on, Vic!” Bellamy urges as they drag her toward the dance floor.

“That’s it, just take my girl away,” I tease.