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“Well…how many people were invited to their wedding?” I retort. “Because whatever that number is, I’m pretty sure that’s your answer.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“Nope.”
Hesitantly, Ryan turns us around just enough to take a look for himself.
“Holy shit,” he mutters.
“Oh my goodness, Sally! I can’t wait for our kids to give us grandbabies!” my mom exclaims, and both Ryan and I look at each other with wide, amused eyes.
“Our nutty parents and their weird comments are going to make us a freak show for the rest of our lives, aren’t they?” I question and he chuckles.
“Pretty much.”
“You know what, though?”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Me either, sweetheart.” Ryan’s responding smile is so big it’s infectious, but before I can make a move to kiss him again, Sal interrupts us on a shout.
“So, uh, do you mind coming back in now so Stell and I can finish getting married?” he questions. “I mean, I’m thrilled you two have found each other, but it’s my goddamn wedding day, so…”
Ryan laughs. “Give us just a minute, Dad, and we’ll be in!”
That appears to appease Sal and Stella and the rest of the wedding crew. From over Ryan’s shoulder, I see them begin to file back into the clubhouse.
“So, I guess we need to take a rain check on the make-up sex we should be having right now?” I ask him, and he smirks like the devil, squeezing my ass.
“Oh, Carly, I’m pretty sure we’re not going to be able to stay long at the reception because we have hours and hours to spend making up for lost time.”
“Hours and hours?” I repeat, my jaw falling open.
“Uh-huh.”
“And are we talking good-girl sex or bad-girl sex?”
“Neither,” he responds without hesitation.
I almost pout, but then, he drops a glorious bomb on me.
“We’re going to have we’re-in-love sex, which, and you don’t know this yet, but baby, it’s going to make any prior sex, any prior orgasm, look like fucking child’s play.”
Oh, sweet mother of mercy, I love this man.
I really, really, really fucking love him.
Like, marry him, have his babies, the whole shebang.
Ryan Miller may be my brand-new stepbrother, but he’s also my guy.
My number one.
The man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.
And I don’t hesitate to tell him just that.
“I’m going to marry you someday.”
He searches my eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m holding you to that,” he says, smiling at me with his heart in his eyes.
“Good. Because, Ryan Miller, it’s happening. And this is one promise I will never go back on.”
Easiest promise I’ve ever made in my life.
Because me and this guy? We’re forever.
Over a year later…
Vail, CO, March 12th, Saturday
Ryan
I wrap a few more of Carly’s favorite books in newspaper, carefully stack them in the nearly full box, and secure it shut with packing tape. With a black Sharpie, I write the word Books on the side and slide the box over toward the other five I’ve managed to finish this afternoon.
One quick glance at the clock on the microwave reveals my time is almost up, and I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, damn near guzzling half of it down in three large gulps.
My phone chimes from the back pocket of my jeans, and my heart jumps into a rapid rhythm, anticipating the one thing I’ve been thinking about all damn day.
But when I check the screen, that eagerness disappears almost immediately.
Dad: Did you do it yet?????
I roll my eyes on an exasperated chuckle.
Me: Just like I told you two hours ago, it’s not happening until sunset.
Dad: Well, goddamn, me and Stell are sitting over here on pins and needles.
Me: Yeah, and you’re going to have to wait a little bit longer.
Dad: You sure you don’t want to FaceTime us while you’re doing it? Wouldn’t that be nice to have both of us there for the big moment?
Me: I’m certain that’s exactly what I DON’T want to do.
Dad: You know, you could always wait about two months until me and Stella come visit you both in New York. Then we could be there in person. Personally, I think that’s a damn good plan.
Me: It’s happening tonight. Without FaceTime. End of story.
Dad: Buzzkill.
I roll my eyes and type out one final text. Anything he sends me after this will be pointedly ignored.
Me: Go take your wife to the clubhouse for bingo or something and leave me alone.
And what does he send back? The middle finger emoji. Not even kidding.
Typical Sal Miller.
I snort at his response but have no issues with getting back to business.
In about a month, ski season will come to a close, and Carly and I will leave our Vail townhouse and head to New York to live there until next October. Eventually, we’ll have everything we need at each home, but for right now, we have to pack. Plus, there are some things Carly insists don’t have duplicates—like her worn copies of her favorite novels and a throw blanket that her dad loved.
