Page 152 of Pink and Country

“Barn wedding?”

April poked my chest, and her cheeks turned a bright shade of red. “Oh, I forgot you got a front-row seat to my dream recap.”

“So?”

“I don’t care as long as you look at me with those eyes when I walk down the aisle.”

* * *

“Keep your eyes closed. No cheating.” April muttered something I didn’t quite catch. “Come on, Fairy, play with me here.” Clamping her elbow, I led her inside the cabin. April hadn’t been here in more than two weeks. But right now, it felt as if she’d never left. Once we passed the threshold, I freed Bernice from her carrier, kicked the front door shut, and we moved further in. “Okay, one step to your right.” We halted. “Now turn ninety degrees to your left. Perfect.” I sucked in a breath. April stiffened under my touch. I circled her and caught her lips between mine before stepping back. “Okay, open your eyes.”

I couldn’t contain my excitement another second.

Beside me, April stayed silent, her eyes round and her lips pursed. Tension invaded my shoulders, and ice crept up my spine.

“So? What do you think?” April twirled on herself. When her face met mine, I saw the tears in her gleaming eyes. She rushed into my arms, and I relaxed. A little.

“I don’t know what to say. I can’t find the words.”

I leaned back and framed her face with my hands. “You’re happy?” A guy needed some reassurance here.

“You’re kidding, right? It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” Her voice cracked. “You did all this for me?”

April’s arms tightened around my midsection. “I love you. You make me the happiest man on Earth. I want this room to have your colors. And your energy.”

I scanned the den. With Nick’s help, I’d transformed it into an office for April. A place just for her. I knew it was her favorite room in my house—our house—so I’d created the perfect writer’s nest. A striped, plush, golden pink rug. A white desk stocked with every shade of paper and pen I could find. A new and improved hanging chair with fuzzy colorful pillows. A rose-gold velvety lounge chair. A wall-width wooden bookshelf Nick built himself and filled with novels, biographies, art, and picture albums. A guitar in one corner, in case April gave writing lyrics a try.

April traipsed around the room, her finger brushing every surface. “I love everything about it, Carter. I can’t believe you sacrificed your den for me.” My heart swelled in my chest, and I prowled in her direction, sweeping her off her feet, ready to christen her new office.

“There’s no sacrifice when you’re involved, Fairy. And this isn’t my den. It’s ours. It’s our house.”

* * *

One month later

“You need to get dressed, I have a surprise for you,” I said as I dried my hair with a towel, exiting our hotel room in Atlanta. We drove here yesterday afternoon after I pretended I had a meeting in the city. At April’s request, we booked a king-size bedroom, smaller than our walk-in closet at home. It was simple, yet cozy. A white duvet, a dark-green carpet with bronze patterns, and an en-suite bathroom comprising a tub-shower and a vanity sink. No fancy double-size round bathtub or glass shower. No kitchen—anyway, we never used those while staying at the hotel—living room, or panoramic view.

“A surprise? You already made me the perfect home office. I’m still not over it.”

My pulse picked up. “The office was just an appetizer, woman. Now let’s get ready.”

Thirty minutes later, we stood on the sidewalk, April’s back facing the wide building.

“Listen to me, Fairy. Since you won’t accept gifts or anything money can buy, I hope you’ll accept this.”

A lineup of about a hundred people stood outside, waiting for the doors to open. “What’s this?” April asked, her voice trembling. “Atlanta Convention Center,” she read aloud, half a statement, half a question, as we approached the entrance. “You’re having a show here?”

I shook my head. “Just wait and see. Do you trust me?” April nodded. “Then follow me.”

We intertwined our fingers, and with a baseball cap over my head and my shades on, I led April inside through the side entrance. A security guard with buzzed ginger hair in his mid-thirties asked us for our passes. I fetched them from my pocket and handed him all three. I bit a smirk when his eyes ping-ponged between the name written on my VIP pass and my face. I might have used the name “Clay Stephenson” when I filled the form. I thought it sounded author-like when I picked it. The security guy scratched the side of his head and looked at something on the pad in his hands. Finally, he motioned us in. Taylor followed us close. April’s grip on my hand tightened as she took the entire room in.

“Carter, what is this?”

I opened my arms and motioned her inside. “April, I’m proud to offer you your first book fair. You told me one day you’ve never had one. I made a few phone calls, met with your agent, talked to your publisher. And—”

April jumped into my arms. My heart liquified and pooled at my feet.

“You what? How did you do this?”