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September 2 - September 2, 2023
“You’re breathtaking.” His voice has a low rasp to it that makes me shiver. “You like the dress?” I ask. “What dress?” he says, and I can’t help it—I grin. And then I laugh, even as a tear escapes. “Shut up.” “That’s not hard. You’ve got me speechless.” “Thayden,” I say, “stop.”
He doesn’t want to marry you, remember? He told you this. He’ll come around, his mama said.
“Please just let me get this out! I’m going to explode otherwise. So, we’re getting married. And get this: I want to marry her. I know I’m not exactly experienced in serious relationships. Or relationships at all. But when you know, you know, right? Or is that just a phrase people say?”
So, today, I saw her in her wedding dress. Or a wedding dress. And my heart”—I thump my chest two, then three times with my fist—“it’s like the thing woke up for the first time. I would have recited my vows right there in the dressing room.
Two hours later, Zoey and Ella get home and find us still sitting on the couch, a few empty bottles on the table, and the credits rolling for Pride and Prejudice. Gavin seems to be watching me for some sign that I got whatever he thought this would teach me. The biggest life lesson I’ve come away with is that I’m thankful for technology and indoor plumbing. I’m also glad I don’t have a lot of sisters.
I’m not sure where he’s getting his inside information from, but one of my besties definitely squealed. I can’t even be mad about it because I haven’t eaten like this in … well, EVER. One of these days he’s going to come home to find me passed out on his couch in a food coma and pregnant with a food baby.
Today’s note was a line from John Donne: “Come live with me, and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove of golden sands, and crystal brooks, with silken lines, and silver hooks.”
“Hey.” Smiling at me with the threat of an apex predator, he lifts an arm to each side of the doorway. He’s got on a shirt with the sleeves ripped off, exposing not only his arms, which flex as he moves, but the whole side of his torso. I didn’t even know you could have muscles there! But he does. Lots of them. “Good luck with that,” Abby mutters, ducking out the other door to the kitchen.
I cross my arms, doing my best to glare and keep any drool inside my mouth. “Don’t break any of my stuff.” “I’ll be very careful. Your stuff is important to me.”
How can the man make innocent words sound like a flirtatious promise? I need him to go so I can stick...
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And Thayden, still looking like some kind of mythical muscled creature, just grins and grins. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come boss me around?” What kind of response can I even make to that? None. That’s what. So, with my chin in the air, I brush past him, leading the way toward my room. And if I happened to take a quick sniff of that spicy, masculine scent when I did, well, so be it.
It’s like one of my Pinterest boards sprouted legs and hopped into this bedroom. I turn my gaze toward him, eyes narrowed. “How did you—” “I have my ways.” He shrugs, looking adorably chagrined.
Thayden has cleared off half the space in his bathroom cabinet for me, and I notice a few plush blue towels next to his charcoal-gray ones. Is there anything he didn’t think of? He’s so irritatingly thoughtful that I want to be mad about it.
The opening notes to “Walk Like an Egyptian” have just started playing, and I’m walking into the bathroom with my hands pulling up the hem of my T-shirt, when the door on Thayden’s side flies open. So much for the lock. I freeze, mouth open, and hands fisted in the fabric. My eyes narrow at the sweaty, shirtless man before me. Do not look at his bare chest. Do not!
Apollo leaps out of the tub only to leap back in. Water sloshes up into my eyes, and I make a very unladylike screech as his toenails drag over my arm. “Out!” Thayden roars, tugging me closer so that he’s yelling over my head rather than piercing my eardrum. My cheek slicks against his smooth pectorals, and to tell the truth, I’m not so mad about the whole situation after all. I’ll have to sneak Apollo a doggy treat later on.
“Does that make you the handsome prince?” “Nope. I’m one of the mice helping you magically get ready.” I study his face and the bubble beard, which is quickly dissipating. “A mouse, huh? I think I’d peg you as more of a … big bad wolf.”
I watch as he grabs a towel, rubbing it over that sculpted chest. I was just right there, and I didn’t even write my initials on it! In my mind, I see Delilah was here, written in looping cursive. Yep. I was there.
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you that Apollo loves”—he cups his hands around his mouth, whispering dramatically—“baths.” “Yeah, thanks for a heads-up on that. Side note: I’d like to put in a request for a working lock, please. To keep out all the dogs.” Thayden laughs. “And what about the mice?” “Them too.” “And the wolves?” That smile is just like a lasso, perfectly thrown, tightening around my poor heart and bringing me down to my knees.
If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, the way to a woman’s heart is through her Pinterest boards.
One grand (or small) gesture at a time.
Whoever invented Pinterest is a genius.
“After this afternoon's bathroom issue, we need to discuss our house rules.” I groan, then take a long swallow of wine. “Boo! Rules.” She glares. “Why is it no surprise that you don’t like rules?” “Actually, I do like them.” “You mean, you like them so you can break them.”
“I want to respect your privacy. The same way I respect you, Delilah.”
Keeping my expression deadly serious, I add, “If we have to leave the bathroom doors open when it’s not in use, that means I have a clear view of your bed when I’m lying in mine.” Her jaw drops, and I slide off my stool in time to miss her jab at my stomach. “Thayden Walker, you incorrigible knave!”
Laughing, I collect our plates and begin washing up at the sink. “Tell me more. You know I love when you talk literary to me.”
“Around me, in particular. I seem to draw it out of you. Especially the insults.” She sighs. “That you do.” “It’s refreshing, actually. I’m being insulted on a higher level.” She snorts. “Get back over here, you scallywag. I’ll do the dishes later.”
I gesture to her paper. “What else? I was serious about wanting to respect your boundaries. I’ve never lived with anyone before. You might have to train me.”
of it. Ducking to catch her eye again, I say, “What about a decaf peppermint mocha?” Her eyes brighten, then narrow again suspiciously. “How do you know everything I like? Are you a stalker? Did you hire a private investigator?”
If anything, it’s like a winter storm is constantly hovering around her heart. Gavin says to just keep going, slow and steady. I’m not planning to give up anytime soon, but I’d love to see a sign that she’s cracking. Even a little bit.
I’m like a starving dog, hanging out under her table for the smallest scrap. It’s a little embarrassing, honestly. But I’m still down here, head on my paws, waiting with those same doleful eyes Apollo gives me when I've grilled a T-bone.
Delilah takes a sip of her drink, her eyes rolling back in her head just a little. “Were you a barista before you were a big law-man?” “I think law-man usually refers to a sheriff in a western movie, and no, I was not a barista. I just happen to like coffee. And I don’t want to pay Starbucks for it.” “Hm,” she says, looking suspiciously at me. That’s right. Suspect away. I DID figure out all your favorite things so I could win you over. Yep.
A jealous alpha beast starts clawing its way out of my basement, and it’s all I can do to slam the doors on its gnarly, clawed fingers. Delilah having sleepovers? Nope. That is not anywhere my mind needs to go, now or ever. All I need is a list of names and I will be tearing off people’s limbs.
“Good. Now, don’t freak out. I’m going to help you fall asleep.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and begins crossing to my room. I point a finger at him. “Don’t you cross this threshold.” He pauses in the bathroom, just outside my door. “Why not?” “I've poured a protective layer of salt around my room to keep your kind out.” Thayden laughs as he confidently steps high over an imaginary line, and my pulse is now performing a complicated drum solo. Pausing just over the threshold, Thayden looks around dramatically, as though waiting to be turned into dust. “Guess I’m not the monster
...more
If I have my own patron saint of homemaking, it’s Bridget Jones. Because I am a flaming train wreck when it comes to anything at home. Quite literally in some ways, I think, watching the firemen move around the yard from my spot with Apollo on the sidewalk.
“No. I have insurance. I could be there in ten minutes—” “Don’t even think about it. You’ve got your big case.” A case he’s been moaning and groaning about for days. He’s probably less jealous and more looking for any excuse to get away from Duke. I can’t blame him. Meeting that despicable excuse for a man once was enough for me. “The case doesn’t matter. You matter.” I matter.
Too soon, Thayden sets me back on my feet, grinning smugly as I stumble a bit. I always thought shaky legs were an aftereffect of kissing only found in novels. Nope, it’s real-life stuff.
“I’ll make every meal for you if you want. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I don’t need to go to work. I’ll just stay here and be yours.”
She elbows me in the side. I grin, because that pointy elbow will get me a hug, hand hold, or cuddle on the couch.
“And I’m thinking you didn’t read the addendums. Cheap shots to the head or groin count extra.” Delilah groans. “You’re impossible.” “Impossibly charming. You said so yourself.”
I watch her study a row of bath mats. If I could, I would run this scanner over Delilah, locking every feature into my personal wish list. Her golden hair—scanned with a beep. Mine. The delicate line of her neck. Beep. Mine. I would crouch down and scan her delicate ankle, the one with the half-moon scar close to her heel. I want to hold the gun over the shell of her ear, which holds my attention for far longer than it should. So many women have pierced ears—why doesn’t Delilah? It sparks a rabid curiosity and also makes me want to take the lobe gently between my teeth.
I would scan things below the surface too. I want to capture the fierceness that seems woven into her very joints. I’d scan her sweetness, something I usually see her bestow on others, almost never on me. I’d let the little red light flash over her memories, one by one by one. I want them all. Mine, mine, mine
Delilah grumbles something darkly that sounds like—and probably is—a Shakespearean insult, maybe mixed with something deeply Southern. Fie and forsooth were both definitely in there and tarnation too.
“A one-time violation. Don’t make me add addendums of my own,” she says. “You wouldn’t like them.” “Maybe I would. Maybe I like everything that comes with you. The whole package.”
“She’s all that matters,” I tell her. “I want her to have it all.
I’m going to keep pushing her, keep pursuing her, and keep spoiling her until Delilah stops thinking that she doesn’t deserve every single thing I want to give her.
I try not to smile, but it doesn’t work. “I’m twenty-three. My job is taking care of your dog and marrying you for a year. So, um, yes. I’ve questioned my life choices a time or two.” His lips twitch,
My laughter chokes to a stop. “You didn’t steal and read your granny’s romances!” “Okay. I didn’t.” “Thayden!” “What? You should be glad. I mean, the things I know now—” He grins like he’s auditioning for the role of the sexy villain in a movie, wicked and irresistible.
“My mom hired someone to do the ceremony,” I explain. “He required at least one session with him beforehand. Which we cut a bit short.” “We also fired him.” Delilah turns to me. “Do you trust your mama to find a new one? I’m not so sure.” I pull out my phone and show her the screen, still open to the site where you can make yourself a reverend of whatever. “I could marry us myself once I put in my credit card number.” Delilah just stares at the phone. “Shut the front door.” “It’s already shut.” Zoey snorts at my lame joke, and Delilah didn’t seem to hear.
you might need to start a new search for the perfect woman. Oh, and by the way, there’s no such thing. You’re welcome. —Dr. Love
But he has told you, love-sick Delilah says. Remember when he kissed you? When he told you a bedtime story? When he mentioned it being real?
