Play Along (Windy City, #4)

by Liz Tomforde

“So, who is she?” On this day, where everything feels like a sign, I don’t hesitate when I say, “My future wife.”

There’s been only one woman who has held my interest and now that she’s no longer wearing another man’s engagement ring, spending my time with anyone else holds zero appeal.

“Will you pick a favorite color for me?” I huff a laugh under my breath. I vaguely remember thinking about this answer before. “Yellow.” “Yellow.” He appraises my answer. “Why yellow?” “It’s like you. Bright. Happy.” Reminds me of the sun.

“Kenny, have you ever thought that maybe you’re not the problem? That maybe the issue is no one has ever let you feel safe and that’s why you’re not affectionate?”

Our wedding song is on full blast as Isaiah makes his way to the plate, but before he gets there, he turns back in my direction. With the entire stadium singing the song I walked down the aisle to, Isaiah extends his bat, points at me, and winks. He fucking winks. It’s the moment reality hits me… Miller was right. I think I might have a crush on my husband.

“Grief seems like a privilege, in a way,”

“To have loved someone so much that you can’t imagine life without them. I’ve never felt that.”

“And now look at you two. Accidentally married and purposefully in love.”