He beckoned me up again.
I shook my head, my whole body saying no.
He sighed. “No one.” He paced away, giving me space.
The second his back was to me, I darted around the nearest aisle. Then I broke into a run, and I didn’t stop until I reached the makeup section.
Right next to the TrueTone mascara—a terrible brand, by the way—I bent over, hands on my knees, dragging in air.
Someone on my right whispered, “Hey, I think that’s Juliette Serrant. Why is she buying TrueTone? That brand is so mid. Actually, it’s straight-up trash.”
Two teenage girls stared. I bolted again. With my hands up, guarding my face from passersby, I darted in and out of shoppers, trying to find somewhere to be alone. From the cereal aisle to sporting goods to the seasonal section. People, people, people every-freaking-where.
I loved my long, red hair. But in moments like this, it wasn’t a feature—it was a beacon. A very enthusiastic one, alerting anyone paying any attention to my presence. No matter where I turned, someone seemed to recognize me. For fifteen minutes, I kept moving, too recognizable to stop.
You know where you can be alone at Target? The cleaning aisle. Not a single soul in sight. Apparently, the entire city of Vegas was too busy blowing their life savings at one of the various casinos to actually clean their houses. Because it was there between the Swiffer mops and lemon-scented Lysol that I found solitude. I slumped onto the floor, sweat gathering in my cleavage.
“There you are.”
My head whipped around. Griffin.
I hopped to my feet and tucked my hair behind my ears, as if that helped anything.
He walked toward me, his shoulders dropping, pushing our cart. He’d broken out in a sweat too, right along his hairline. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I’d acted like a crazy person. No question. The shame washed over me, and I hugged myself.
He studied my face, expression unreadable. Then his mouth curved into a gentle smile. “Being married to you is going to be something else, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “I swear. It was like a game of Where’s Waldo. I was walking around calling your name, and people knew exactly who you were and which direction to point me.”
It took a moment for my brain to process…
He wasn’t mad? Like… at all? Actually, he seemed super relieved—like he’d been worried that I was running away, or trying to leave him, or something.
You mean like you did this morning?
I hated myself for that. Leaving was the opposite of what I wanted. Why would I want to run from a man who was so in love with me that he’d chase me all over this store, pushing a cart full ofmythings—complete with a bright pink suitcase covered in bows, indecent bikinis, and downright scandalous lingerie—and not even get mad about it?
I shook my head. Why would he even do that?
Because he cares about you. Just… you. Not what you can do for him.
At that realization, my heart burst open with all the love I’d been stomping down. Back at Starbucks, I told myself I was going to stay. But I’d been so worried about the ‘hows’ that I’d still held back just in case.
He looked at me the way I’d always wanted to be looked at—and though I couldn’t say it out loud, I recited our vows in my mind. From that moment on, I was Griffin Dupree’s wife. Whatever came next, I wasn’t going anywhere. I don’t know why it took a stupid game of cat-and-mouse in the middle of Target for me to realize he was the real thing—this lovewas the real thing—but so be it.
“I love you so much,” I said in a breathy gush. Then I dropped my head to his shoulder. “Just… get me out of here.”
“I love you too.” He wrapped his arms around me, his chest shaking with laughter. “Jules. There are ways to deal with fame that don’t involve the world’s longest game of hide-and-seek. Usually, my Uncle Ford just signs a couple of autographs, takes a few selfies, and then waves and walks away.”
It should’ve been funny. But I couldn’t laugh. The entire time I zigzagged through the store, I pictured Cecil waiting around every corner.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my breath still uneven. “I just… I wasn’t ready to meet your family.”
Griffin rubbed circles over my back. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“Did you tell your mom?”
He rested his chin on the top of my head, his biceps a cocoon of safety. “Did I tell my mom that I eloped—thus killing her dreams of the big wedding she’s had planned for me since birth—with a woman I just met whoconvenientlypulled a Houdini as the call came through?” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “No. I thought it might be better to wait.”
