How to Say I Do

by Tal Bauer

“Wyatt, kiss me.” My lips moved against his as I spoke. He stopped dancing like his feet had turned to stone, and his hands rose and cradled my face. He searched my gaze for a single moment before he leaned in and seized my lips with his own. Wyatt tasted like sea salt and waves, chapped lips, and the coconut margarita he’d had earlier. Like promises and patience and the way he’d touched his fingers to his hat brim when he’d said “Howdy” in Dallas. Like sweetness and adoration and the first blush of falling in love. The world was gone, replaced by Wyatt. His lips moving over mine, his breath shuddering across my lips. His tongue, slipping out to tease at the same time his thumbs glided over my cheekbones. Tiki torches and drums. Moonlight melting into firelight. Liam’s voice somewhere over my shoulder. Wyatt in my arms. My hands were everywhere, greedy for him, traveling up his arms and over his shoulders and down to his chest. He dragged me closer, burying his face against mine. “Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.