Page 35 of Wedding or Not

But he doesn’t pull it away.

And I’m glad.

I love the feel of it—protective, intimate.

Something inside me always wants to feel his hand right there.

Realizing I got distracted, I find my place in the conversation again. “What don’t you know?”

“It wasn’t really that bad. The staged drama.” He’s peering at my face. “Did you hate it?”

“No,” I admit. “I didn’t hate it at all.”

There’s that little smile on the corners of his mouth again and the warm glint in his eyes. “Good.”

I flush, as much from excitement as from self-consciousness. My heart is hammering wildly.

I can’t believe this is happening.

I don’t remember anyone ever looking at me that way before. Not just with admiration. But with affection and understanding and familiarity and awed disbelief, as if he’s as baffled by it happening as I am.

We both fall into soft, sheepish laughter as we walk a couple of blocks to the parking garage where we left the car.

When I lose my step on a curb—not a real stumble, just a slight misstep—he reaches over to take my hand, and he keeps holding it as we walk up to the third level and then down the row of cars to Wes’s familiar SUV.

He’s holding my hand.

He’s holding my hand.

Not because of The Plan.

Just because.

I’m so thrilled at how connected I feel to him and so filled with wild hopes about what might happen now that I can barely catch my breath. Neither one of us speaks as we walk to the passenger side of his car and he opens the door for me.

Before I climb in, I pause to look up at his face.

He’s gazing down at me with that same warm excitement but something else rising in his expression too. Something hotter than warm.

My breath hitches. My hands are shaking, so I reach to hold on to the lapels of his jacket.

“Ella,” he murmurs, thick and low.

“Y-yes?”

“Am I—” His voice breaks, so he clears his throat. “Am I imagining this?”

“Imagining what?”

“That you’re… not disliking me anymore.” He gently brushes some of my hair back from my face.

“I’m not disliking you.”

“And it’s not… it’s not part of The Plan?”

“I think The Plan is over.”

He takes a slightly shaky breath. There’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, visible in the artificial light of the garage. “So can I…?”