Page 49 of Pucking Forbidden

“Come here,” Rylee greets, her green eyes crinkling with genuine warmth as she opens her free arm.

I laugh, stepping forward and letting her pull me into a quick, one-armed hug that smells faintly of lavender and baby lotion. She gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning to lead me into the living room where the rest of the women are already gathered.

Stacey, Sutton, and Skyler are all cozied up on the couch, and Grace is sitting in a matching recliner, her feet tucked up under her. Rylee glides over to a plush, oversized rocking chair in the corner and sits down with Ciara. The baby is fast asleep, a tuft of dark peach-fuzz hair sticking up as she rests against Rylee’s chest.

“Hi!” Skyler exclaims.

“Hey, Hads!” Stacey grins.

“You’re here!” Sutton declares with excitement.

Stacey’s son, Henry, toddles past us, and I watch him with a small smile.

“He’s crawling now?” I ask.

“Yeah, soon he’ll be walking, running, and terrorizing Millie,” Stacey chuckles, shaking her head.

“Where is Millie?” I ask, looking around for the little girl.

“Oh, she’s at a skating lesson,” Stacey explains. “Owen’s picking her up when he’s done at practice.”

“Anyway, back to what I was saying before Hadley got here,” Grace says, pointing between Stacey and Skyler. “When are you guys going to stop dragging your feet? You’ve both been engaged forever now and still have no plans.”

“Owen and I have a set plan,” Stacey insists, defending her corner of the couch. She gestures broadly with her hands, nearly spilling a few drops of her Pinot Noir from her glass as she speaks.

Across from her, Rylee doesn't even look up from where she’s carefully twirling a strand of Ciara’s peach-fuzz hair around her finger. “No, you have ideas.”

“Same difference,” Stacey says, cutting a quick, conspiratorial glance over to Skyler, who is sitting next to her and nodding along in silent support. Stacey takes a deliberate sip of her wine, trying to look unbothered.

“Not even close,” Sutton snorts. She’s tucked deep into the corner of the sectional, one leg curled beneath her as she reaches for the charcuterie board on the coffee table. She deftly navigates past a scattered pile of baby blocks to grab a grape.

Skyler smiles awkwardly, sliding her phone out of her pocket to sneak a quick peek at the screen before sliding it right back into her lap, but she doesn’t say anything, which as far as I know, is very unlike her.

I laugh, watching them go back and forth like a tennis match.

“I just want to wait until the end of the hockey season,” Stacey explains. “Owen won’t be so busy, and it’ll give me time to lose the baby weight.”

“Oh, stop, you look incredible,” Sutton says, waving a hand dismissively as she looks up from her grapes, her sharp eyes full of affectionate exasperation.

Stacey lets out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, her hazel eyes softening as she glances down at Henry, who is now happily banging a plastic cup against the floor. “Thanks, but adjusting to being a mom of two after he was born mid-last season was hard enough. Survival mode was real for a while there. That's why Owen and I finally just looked at each other and agreed to push everything off until this upcoming summer. I need a breather before we start planning a wedding.”

Grace turns to Skyler. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Skyler keeps her gaze down, as if refusing to meet Grace’s eyes.

“You and my brother going to actually tie the knot or avoid the subject forever?” Grace’s question is blunt, delivered with the exact kind of no-nonsense edge you only use with a sibling…or the best friend who is marrying him.

Skyler rolls her eyes. “You know Carson and I are highly efficient procrastinators, thank you very much. We’re going to do it… eventually. Sometime before the next millennium, swear.”

“‘Eventually’ doesn’t clear out the thirty different venue emails I forwarded you that are currently rotting in your inbox,” Grace shoots back, leaning forward, her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t spend three hours vetting rustic-chic mountain pavilions just for you to ghost me.”

“I deeply appreciate your unpaid labor as our unofficial wedding planner,” Skyler retorts smoothly, raising her wine glass in a sarcastic little toast. “But until your brother learns to answer a text about floral arrangements in under forty-eight hours, those emails are staying in digital purgatory.”

Rylee chuckles and shakes her head. “Vegas is sounding better by the day, huh?”

“Oh my God, do it!” I exclaim, excited at the thought of a Vegas elopement. It sounds weirdly romantic.

Skyler purses her lips, looking thoughtful. “Honestly…I don’t hate the thought.”