But I can’t take my eyes off her.
“I hoped you’d like it.”
“I love it.” Her breathing is shallow, like she’s so captivated, she can’t keep it in. “It’s perfect. Let’s get married here.”
She sounds so sincere. She looks so enchanted. Soenchanting.“I will if you will.”
Her head rests on my shoulder, and then she stays there and sighs, looking at the diamond and the faded chalk lines and worn bases, the wildflowers pushing up through the fence, and the fireflies blinking a slow song only we can hear.
“So, should we talk about living arrangements?” I ask, because I want to prolong the moment as long as I can. “It has to be in Mullet Ridge.”
“How about your place?” she asks.
I almost laugh at the thought of Kayla Carville living inmyplace. “It’s a one bedroom, one bath apartment. Probably smaller than your bedroom in your old place.”
“It sounds perfect,” she says, her head still on my shoulder.
“Kayla—“
“Unless you don’t want me in your space,” she says, pulling back to look at me with concern on her brow.
“I promise that’s not it,” I say with a chuckle. “You can stay as long as you want.”
She smiles. “In that case, we should get some pictures. You know, for social media. The town council.”
I swallow, but nod. “You’re right.”
She pulls out her phone and flips it to selfie mode. She holds up her left hand and drops her mouth open, making sure we’re both in the picture. But I’m not just going to stand here likesome bozo. I press my torso against her back and drape my arms around her, holding her close and grinning. She snaps a few pictures, and then she spins around in my arms so she’s facing me, our chests pressed together. She holds the phone out again, and we both smile. And then she pauses. I can see the wheels spinning in her brain as she blinks in the mirror image the phone screen shows. “We should probably have a … kissing picture, right?”
My word.
Is this woman trying to kill me?
“You’re probably right,” I say. “And we need to decide how we’ll manage those little public displays of affection people expect.”
“I was never a fan of PDA with Aldridge,” she says.
“That might be tricky, ‘cause I’m the opposite.”
“You were a fan of PDA with Aldridge?”
My shoulders shake with laughter. Man, this girl is funny. “I was always big on PDA with Serena, I mean. The town knows that about me. But I’ll follow your lead. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Her brow wrinkles, and suddenly, I’m reminded of how it always felt to be so affectionate with Serena just to have her turn around and flirt with other men. The pain, the embarrassment of not being enough for her, the shame that even when I was trying my best, she had no real interest in me. It always felt like a part of me was wrong. Like I was a participation trophy when she was going for gold.
“You know, maybe we should stop bringing up our exes,” she says.
“I love that idea,” I say. But something about the way she said it makes me wonder—is she upset thinking about me with Serena?
Or do I just hope she is?
“So where does that leave us?” I ask. “With the PDA-debate?”
“Right.” She frowns and puts her finger through the loop on her phone case so that it dangles. “Maybe we should practice. See what we’re both comfortable with.”
“Yes,” I blurt.
She smiles as she puts her arms back around my shoulders. A beat later, I put mine around her back.
