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How hard is it to remember a tea bag?
Apparently, monumental.
Yet, here stands a man, who’s known me less than a week, carting around a medical necessity on my behalf like it’s no big deal.
Without being asked.
“What are you going to pull out next? A pineapple? A pair of nunchucks?”
“Technically, you pulled those out.”
“Shane.” I grit my teeth.
“Willow.”
The careless way he rebuttons his jacket puts me over the edge.
“You—you can’t do things like this.” This time, my words are a broken whisper.
Shane inhales as his hands come to frame my elbows. “Respectfully, Willow. You can’t tell me what to do. If I want to take care of you, I will.”
Then he turns me toward the security line, places a hand on the small of my back, and guides me forward without another word.
Chapter 15
Willow
Iparrot the standard wedding vows in a daze, focusing on the knot in Shane’s black tie. Our officiant, Allen, has a substantial mustache, and even bushier eyebrows, but his kind eyes feel like my last tether to sanity as they lead me through the ceremony. I know I’m fixating on the retired judge, but every time I look at Shane, my heart lodges in my throat.
His decisive words from the lobby paired with the breathless wonder laced through his earlier compliment are still jumbling my common sense. Shane being commanding shouldn’t have been a surprise. I can even rationalize him caring for me because providing me with medical insurance is part of our contract.
But wanting to do so?
Wanting is a whole different story.
Delilah surging forward with a pair of rings shakes me from my fog. My best friend has taken her ring duties very seriously since her role as photographer went up in smoke when security took our phones. I thought Shane was going to pummel the guard over making me hand over mine.
After showing Shane my stable blood sugar, I reassured him that I shouldn’t dip low. Earlier this week, I had a virtual meeting with the nurse at my endocrinologist’s office and have been adjusting my insulin per her advice. Delilah also reminded my frustrated groom that twenty years ago, blood sugar was only monitored with finger sticks before meals, at bedtime, and as needed. Begrudgingly, he agreed but has been scowling ever since.
Shane’s throat works as he collects my ring from Delilah’s upturned palm.
He’d asked for my ring size yesterday and if I had any preferences. I’d told him nothing flashy because the idea of something expensive on my finger made me more nervous than when I’d had the briefcase full of money. Shane’s lip had twitched before he nodded once.
Now, as he sets a gold band on my ring finger, my breath hitches. Tiny multi-shade stones are scattered throughout, forming colorful constellations. When Shane’s thumb rests over the ring, pressing slightly, my eyes fly to his.
All traces of his grouchy self are gone, replaced with a vulnerability that makes my ribs ache. I see the question Shane isn’t asking in his gorgeous green irises.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, my eyes misting.
The smile I receive is one I want to capture over and over. In oil. In charcoal. In clay. In every medium possible.
Allen directing me to place Shane’s black band on his hand is exactly what I need to not fall apart. I almost want to rib Shane over choosing the thick, dark ring, but it’s so perfectly him that only a wistful sigh escapes my mouth.
When Shane clasps my fingers again, the lingering tension in my shoulders disappears.
“These rings are an unbroken circle,” Allen continues, “symbolizing a love that has no beginning and no end. With these vows and rings exchanged, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Shane simply stares at me, jaw tensing. Then his free hand frames my face, his thumb gentle on my cheek while long fingers curl into my hair. The halting way he brings his face to mine is maddening. Even Allen shifts his weight, obviously not used to waiting this long for a post-ceremony kiss.
