A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

I’m in my spinster era. Every twentysomething has one of those, right?

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Eli says, finally. “And the kind words. But I still don’t think this is something you can help with.” He stops, then meets and holds my gaze with an intensity that freezes me in place. “That is,” he continues, those blue eyes blazing, “unless you want to marry me.”

She takes the tiniest step closer to me, like I make her feel safer. Good. I like that.

Can I help it if the man makes me shine brighter? Feel lighter? And blush like a schoolgirl with a crush?

Don’t like his house! I tell myself, with as fierce of an internal voice as I can. You cannot like Eli and his house too! But it’s too late. I like him and his adorable, perfect house.

Chronic-Ills of Narnia? Get it—chronic ills? Chronicles? Such a missed opportunity.”

“I am of the opinion that if you really want something, you sometimes have to make your own luck, even if it’s risky.”

“Who’s taking care of you, Bailey?” Eli’s words settle over me, soft as snowfall, only warm not cold. “No one,” I murmur. “I could,” Eli says, and now I’m really not sure if I’m dreaming. Because this is the exact kind of thing I wish someone would tell me. “I would.”

“But whose name will be on the back of my jersey?” His face darkens, and it only makes me push more. “Maybe Van? He’s a fun guy.” Eli’s heated look turns molten, and he shakes his head slowly. “Mine,” he says firmly, his low voice wrapping like a fist around my heart. “You can only wear my name.”

And this—this feels like exactly what my mouth is made for. Bailey. Only Bailey. Forever Bailey.

I more than like Bailey as a person. More than think she’s pretty. More than like kissing her.

“But inside the horse you’ve got a whole feelings army you’re about to let loose,”

“One more thing—you will never be too much for the right woman. You’ll be exactly enough.”

I’ve found one of the hardest things about losing people you care about is the guilt of remembering the things they weren’t so great at. Thinking about their flaws and disappointments makes me feel like a traitor.

Now, her beauty hits me like a solid punch. It knocks the breath clean out of me, just as sure as if someone really did hit me right in the diaphragm. Long brown hair in waves cascading over her shoulders, a dress that floats around her like she’s the princess in a fantasy movie—almost magical. If a team of birds suddenly appeared, carrying the train of Bailey’s dress in their beaks, I wouldn’t bat an eye.

And when the blur of the quick ceremony ends with Alec telling me to kiss the bride as the whole tent erupts in cheers, Bailey’s lips on mine feel like forever, not fraud.