Swoon. “Thank you. So do you.” I link my arm in Colin’s—swoon—and catch a whiff of his cologne—swoon—and practically dance down the aisle with him, buoyed by the cheers and applause all around us. And as I walk with Colin, my arm in his, his cologne in my nostrils, his sex appeal wafting off him like a physical thing, and his smile constantly directed at me, I can’t, for the life of me, remember a damned thing I promised myself only a few minutes ago.
Poor Amy has it bad for Colin
