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I can’t help laughing at her words. “That’s not a good thing.”
She shrugs. “I know.”
I gaze into her gorgeous brown eyes, letting the thought of her and Henry marinate for a moment. “What are you doing with a guy like him?” My gut says he just doesn’t seem right for her.
She steps back, appearing off balance. “What do you mean? I love him.”
I step closer, my heart slamming against my ribcage. “Do you really?” If she tells me she loves him, and I believe her, I’ll step away and never question her again.
“Of course, I do. I’m getting married to him. And you’re going to be the best man.” She pokes a finger in my chest, her eyes wide. “You can’t ask me questions like that.” She rushes back inside.
Fuck. Why did I cross the line and question her about Henry? I want to go after her and apologize, but I know I can’t do that with everyone at the table. I need to get her alone, for like five minutes so I can apologize.
Guess I’ll be eating cake tomorrow.
* * *
Who is the person that decided to have cake at a wedding? I want to personally shake that man or woman’s hand. Because cake tasting is fucking incredible.
What’s not incredible is the awkwardness that’s settled between Kiki and myself as we sample different kinds of cake. She hasn’t looked me in the eyes since we got here over twenty minutes ago.
Last night, the rest of dinner I stayed silent, only answering questions when asked. I tried not to rock the boat, as they’d call it. I didn’t need Henry and Kiki to know the inner workings of my broken family tree.
Or worse yet, the inner thoughts I’ve been having about Kiki.
But, that all ends today. I’m here for the cake, nothing else.
Swear.
The sales lady drones on and on about the different kinds of cake we’re eating, and I kind of wish she’d just go away so I could start my apology.
“And this last one is red velvet, which most don’t do for a spring wedding. That’s when the two of you are getting married, right? Spring?” The older lady clasps her plump hands together over her heart as she stares at the two of us.
“We’re not getting married,” Kiki rushes out. “He’s the best man.”
“Yeah, I’m just helping out.”
The woman’s head snaps back, like she just made the biggest faux pas in history. “I’m so sorry. But,” she smiles at me, “lucky you, right?”
I hold up my fork with the velvet cake on the end of it. “Yep, lucky me.”
When she finally walks away, I turn to Kiki. “Listen, I wanted to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have questioned you about Henry.”
Kiki sets her fork down. “It’s ok. Maybe it is all too soon. I don’t know.”
I swipe a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. “No, you love him. Don’t let me make you think you don’t. I was wrong.”
So totally fucking wrong.
“But, do I love him?”
God, I want to kiss her again. Is it so wrong that I want to? My heart pounds in frustration at the thought that I can not kiss her. Although, I can’t remove my hand from her hair. “You do.”
“Do I?” Her eyes search mine, as if I’m going to give her the correct answer.
I’m not. I don’t even remember what we’re talking about. All I can remember is this is so utterly wrong. “Kiki…” I pause, because I should fucking stand up and walk right out of this heavenly little cake shop, but come on, you know I can’t do that.
This girl holds some sort of spell over me, making me unable to move. I’m completely frozen.
“What?” she whispers back. Her voice sounds like sex. Like she wants it more than I do, which is physically impossible.
Keep it together, Ellis. Keep your fucking shit together. “Yes, you love him.” That was by far one of the hardest things I’ve ever said to anyone.
She nods her head, and I drop my hand. “Right, of course.” But she doesn’t look so confident from my words. Hell, even I’m not sure if she loves the guy.
“How long have you two been together?” I ask her, right before taking a bite of the red velvet.
“A little over a month.”
I nearly choke on the cake.
I was not expecting that. I figured at least six months.
Although, if I met a girl like Kiki, I’d put a ring on her finger before anyone else could too.
I glance at her diamond, and her eyes follow my path. “I can’t stop thinking about poop when I stare at it,” she says. I laugh. “I feel like I’ve washed it so many times. Did I tell you the goat that swallowed it even looked like Henry?”
I laugh again. “He looked like Henry?”
