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.”

A quiet, unassuming woman who’s pretty in the kind of way that sneaks up on a person. One whose smiles and blushes I count, who makes me happy.

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?

“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.”

“You make me feel safe,”

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

“Maybe that’s what marriage is,” I suggest. “Arguing over pizza toppings.” Eli’s brow furrows, so I continue. “I mean, no two people automatically start agreeing on everything once they say ‘I do.’ So, they learn their differences and how to navigate them. What things are fine to disagree on—like pizza toppings—and where they need to come to a consensus. That’s marriage.”

“I like the way you look with a blush on your cheeks,” he says, his gaze moving across my face. “Especially when I’m the one who puts it there.”

“We can’t have that,” I whisper. “I won’t let them deport you, hockey player.” His eyes snap to mine. “No?” I shake my head. “I think I’d like to keep you.”

People pleasers get a bad rap, but unless pleasing others comes at your own expense or you’re unable to ever say no, it’s a great characteristic.

“I’ve got you.” If I weren’t already in a state of limp sloth, those three words would have immobilized me. I don’t think it’s ever solidified as a conscious thought before now, but I’m suddenly very sure that I’ve got you might trump I love you in my book. Maybe it’s the overuse of the latter, the casual and interchangeable way people use love for their favorite ice cream flavor, their sibling, or their spouse. Or maybe it’s just that, given my last few years’ of being alone and adrift, the idea of someone having me has been elevated.

Eli: Healthy confidence sounds just like what every woman is looking for in a guy. Goes hand-in-hand with being a nice guy. Bailey: You’d be surprised. Healthy confidence is incredibly sexy. Eli: Thanks. It’s nice to know you find me incredibly sexy, Leelee.

Eli: I’ve been told I can be too much. Bailey: You are NEVER too much for me, Eli. And I don’t want you to hold back.

I can’t eat much, and I find myself spinning my rings incessantly, wishing they worked like Dorothy clicking her heels together, sending me to the no-place-like-home that is, apparently, my husband.

“I don’t care how my children find love. I only hope they do.”

“I am his wife.”

“You love me?” I know I sound incredulous, and Bailey’s face dims slightly—not what I wanted. At all. “I know it’s soon, and we still barely know each other but⁠—” “I wasn’t aware love had a strict timeline,” I say.

“I love you, Bailey not-yet Hopkins,” I tell her. “And it may be soon, but I’ve known for longer.”

“You do not overwhelm me, Eli. You aren’t too much for me. The last thing I want is for you to hold back.”

Eli encouraged me to apply to more schools, telling me he would be the Ruth to my Naomi and where I go, he will go, which made me laugh.

“First of all, they’d be dumb not to take you. Your grades were phenomenal, my sweet little nerdling, and from what I understand, your recommendation was stellar. You’re a sure thing. And if they don’t take you—well, we can discuss what you want to do. As I said, I’m willing to do whatever. Our life together isn’t just about me. My career doesn’t need to take precedence over yours.”

“What I want most is you,” Eli says, brushing his lips across mine so sweetly, it makes something clutch in my chest. “Wherever I can have you. I do love it here. Love our house, love my team, even love this little town. But I’d do life wherever you are, so long as you’re my partner in it.”

“You got in,” Eli repeats, kissing the top of my head. “Of course you did. Because my girl is amazing.”

“I like your face,” I tell him, stretching up to kiss his jaw. “I like your everything.” I give his neck a little nibble. “Always trying to one-up me with your words.” “I’m not trying to one-up anyone,” he says. “It’s the truth.”