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“Let me? Please. That was raw, untapped talent you witnessed back there.”
He steals a single beat of my heart with that boyish smile when we stop outside of Bella Trattoria.
I point to the remnants of pie that are stuck to his beard. “You missed a spot.”
“Do you mind?”
After handing me the rag, he bends so I can reach, and I dutifully brush away the stray streaks of dried sugar from his chin. I sweep under his eye next, enamored with the rings of yellow surrounding his pupil before moving to his cheek, where a muscle jumps beneath my touch.
Rowan’s classically handsome—old Hollywood-esque, with proud, strong features—and the longer I study him, the more I wonder how no other woman has snagged him for herself.
In another life, I’d marry this man in a New York minute and show him off to the world.
“What have I done to annoy you this time?” he asks jokingly.
Confused, I blink up at him.
“You’re frowning.”
“Nothing.” I drop my hand, unwilling to admit that I was secretly admiring him. “I was just thinking we should send Pickles a ‘Get Well Soon’ card.”
Unamused, he crosses his arms.
“And I thought it was nice of you to do that for Eleanor and her friends.”
His shoulders relax a touch. “You’re upset with me for being nice?”
“The opposite, actually.”
Behind him, a group of younger girls pour out of the boutique next door. When they spot Rowan, they giggle obnoxiously, and my jaw sets as they walk off, whispering to each other.
Slowly, I look from one corner of the quad to the next, finding dozens of people pausing to stare, pointing at Rowan, then glaring at me.
My neck blazes as my pulse kicks into overdrive.
Word travels fast in Magnolia Creek, and I can’t help wondering if they’re asking the same question I’ve asked myself since accepting his proposal.
Why would a man like him choose me?
“We should head inside,” I mumble as Rowan glances over his shoulder. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”
When I move for the door, he steps in front of me, blocking out everything except for the gray, eye-level button on his shirt.
“Look at me,” he commands, but I stubbornly refuse, staring at that button like it holds the key to helping me disappear. “I don’t?—”
“Like to ask twice,” I finish for him, jerking my face up. “I know.”
“Put whatever’s going on up here to rest.” His tone is sharp, but the hand cupping my right temple is devastatingly tender. “I’m not ashamed of you.” He has no idea what I’m hiding beneath that touch, but he damn near breaks me when he murmurs, “You’re mine until the papers state otherwise. Let them stare.”
It’s dangerous how good this feels. To not be alone with my insecurities for once in my life, to be revered as if I’m something special.
At my nod, Rowan places a hand on my back and opens the door to my favorite Italian spot.
The bell jingles above our heads, and a rush of warm air, filled with the comforting scent of garlic bread and savory sauces, instantly melts my anxieties away.
“Ahh!” Gia squeals the second her eyes land on us.
The restaurant owner, and my mother’s old friend, drapes a pasta sauce-stained rag over her shoulder and rushes to hug me. “It’s been too long since your last visit, and now I hear you’re getting married! You’ve got some explaining to do, young lady.”
