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“Meredith made quite the first impression,” he added now and motioned to his bruise. “The next Picasso.” Michael’s jaw dropped, horrified. I shot Wit a glare. He smirked.
Then he adjusted his towel around his waist, and it wasn’t like I meant to check him out, but it happened anyway. The beads of water dripping down his chest and his tanned, taut, washboard abs.
I laughed and stretched out next to him. Not close enough for us to touch but more than comfortable enough to fall asleep. The sheets and pillows smelled like the sea and citrus. “Oranges,” I murmured. “My shampoo,” Wit murmured back. “I love oranges.” “So you love me.”
Wit wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like ‘sweetheart.’” “Fine, cross it off the list.” I smirked, my heart racing. I had no idea where this was coming from, who this person inside me was, but it felt good. I felt good—confident and a little daring. “No baby,” I told Wit. “And no sweetheart.” “Sounds good, darling.” Wit winked. “Now, where’re we going today?” “It’s a surprise, dearest,”
Wit glanced up, turquoise eyes bright in the sunlight, their impossibly gold rings gleaming. “You’re very affectionate,” he said, gaze catching mine. “You know that?” I shook my head, unable to respond. Who said stuff like that? Affectionate? I couldn’t imagine Ben or any of his friends ever using that word. And the way Wit said it—his voice. It was gentle, honest, intimate. How could it be that intimate? We’d just met.
Wit leaned in, and as he whispered a familiar name in my ear, a light hand landed on my knee. He didn’t give it a reassuring squeeze like Ben used to; he just let it rest there…which was somehow even more calming. Warmth ignited under his palm, and I felt myself wanting to twine our fingers together. “You’re affectionate, too,” I murmured, and when Wit looked at me, I smiled. “Just an observation.”
He’s always on a swivel, I’d thought, remembering our bike ride to Morning Glory, how he’d observed everything. He wants to appreciate it all. I liked that.
Ian is my assassin, I’d messaged him earlier. I got Ethan to tattle. Six-year-olds coming in clutch, he DMed back and then: We’ll figure it out. Not you’ll figure it out, but we’ll figure it out.
Wit winked, and I just about sprung at him.
Shes so me
“How was the rest of your day?” Wit asked, leaning back against the wall. It put some distance between us, so I moved forward to close it and more. I kind of kicked his feet apart so that I could stand in between them. “My dad told me about the bocce scene,” he said, clearing his throat. “He appreciated your manners.” “And I appreciated that he didn’t run away,” I replied before telling him about Viv. “I was jogging home, and suddenly, there she was on the phone, walking in circles under a tree…” By the time I finished, one of Wit’s hands was resting on my waist. His fingers were warm through
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My stomach was swoop, swoop, swooping when we met in the middle, especially when Wit half grinned and began gently tracing my face with his fingertips. My eyebrows, my eyelids, my nose, my cheekbones—he saved my lips for last. “I kind of want to kiss you, too,” he murmured. “Would that be all right?” “Yes,” I murmured back. “Definitely all right, and preferably soon.” “Hey.” He held up his hands. “I’m being chivalrous.” I sighed. “Preferably now, Wit.” “Okay, no need to beg—”
Wit smirked. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” I blushed. His smirk spread into a crooked grin. I kissed it.
“Dammit, Wit!” Michael’s best man shouted. “It’s not even seven!” Pause. “But, like, good for you, man.”
But it had taken him less than ten seconds. It had taken him less than ten seconds to connect the dots, while Ben had never connected them.
I pushed through a patch of leaves to see him staring up at me. “What?” I asked. He smiled. “Nothing.” I laughed. “I love climbing trees.” “Yes,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling. “Just like you love climbing me.” My breath caught. Just like you love climbing me. “You’re wicked,” I said. “And you go wild for it,” he said back as I jumped to the ground.
“Where’re we going?” I asked once he was buckled up next to me. “I don’t know,” he replied. “How about anywhere you want?”
While Wit dunked his first bite in melted butter, I unlocked my phone and asked a passing busboy to take our picture. “Okay,” the kid said when he had the camera positioned. “Smile.” And I did smile—a smile so filled with happiness, happiness I hadn’t been sure I’d ever be able to feel again. But then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted butter dripping down Wit’s jawline, and I was overcome with the need to lean over and lick it off. The busboy would take a burst of photos, after all. It wasn’t like we would post this one. “Oh, hell yeah we will,” Wit said after we’d scrolled through all
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“Sarah talked about her for months before her visit,” Wit said quietly. He chuckled. “It was like Taylor Swift was coming to town.” I half smiled. Sarah was the most devoted of Swifties.
Wit and Nicole looked downright giddy when it was their turn, bouncing down the aisle instead of executing a smooth walk. “Oh, lord,” I heard Jeannie say at the same time as Great-Uncle Richard asked if they were drunk. I knew they weren’t. Their brother was getting married; they were thrilled.
Of course, Sarah’s was not complete without quoting Taylor Swift, a line from the classic “Lover.”
“You two are cute,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “How long have you been dating?” My gut twisted. We aren’t, I almost told her, even though I knew it looked like the opposite. Wit had absentmindedly hooked an arm around my waist, and I was leaning into him so that my chin rested on his shoulder. His was on the top of my head. It was all so natural—so amazingly but agonizingly natural.
Under the table, Wit’s hand went to my knee. “What’s wrong?” he murmured. I didn’t take my eyes off Sarah and Michael. “How do you know something’s wrong?” “Just do.” The back of my neck warmed, and I willed myself not to let it spread to my cheeks. “Nothing’s wrong,” I told Wit and kissed his cheek—once, twice, three times. Across the table, my mom gave me a look. “I’m just dying to dance with you.” “You should be,” he replied lazily. “I am an exceptional dancer.” “Are you now?” “Yes,”
I threw back my head and laughed. “What?” he asked. “What’s so funny?” “Your teeth,” I answered. “Your teeth…” Purple. His teeth were purple from the blackberry lemonade. “Oh no!” Wit dropped my hand to cover his mouth. “What will Aunt Christine say?” I rolled my eyes before he took my hand again and unexpectedly dipped me, my legs wobbling like Bambi’s in my high heels. Half my hair had also fallen out of its braid crown. “She would say we’re a hot mess,” I told him. “We’re more than hot,” Wit said. “We’re stunning.”
“Enough with this pretending nonsense. If you want him, go get him. Don’t miss your shot.”
“I know you don’t like hearing this,” I heard him say, “and I know I promised not to tell you, but you are pretty, Killer. You’re pretty, beautiful, stunning, mesmerizing.” He paused. “But that’s not all you are. You’re everything Claire said and more. Clever, funny, caring, lively, strong, brave—all of it. You are all of it.” He kissed the top of my head. “And I do know how much you adore me,” he whispered. “I just wish it was as much as I adore you.”
“Hey, Stephen!” I called, and two seconds later, I was right next to him. I grinned, took his hand, and said, “Tell me more about New Zealand.”
“Because I adore you, Stephen,” I murmured. “I adore you, but I love you even more.” “As much as I love you, Killer?” he asked, grinning at me in the moonlight, his smile so crooked and perfect. I didn’t answer. I just kissed him, and then he just kissed me.
