Page 11 of The Snuggle Is Real

It’s honestly adorable.

MacKay and his fiancée, Faith, approach from the other side of the bonfire.

Faith is a gorgeous blonde and MacKay looks at her like he would hang the moon just to see her smile. I’ve seen hundreds of couples at this point in my career and I have a pretty good sense of who will go the distance and who will not be together in a few years. I feel confident Faith and MacKay will grow old on this land together.

I offer them my congratulations and thank them for including me in their wedding weekend.

“I've been waiting fifteen years for this moment," MacKay says.

“That is so not true,” Faith chides. “You thought I was just your best friend’s scrappy little kid sister fifteen years ago.”

“I didn’t mean the wedding,” he says. “Though I have been waiting a long time for you to say yes to marrying me. I meant seeing Malcolm coupled up.”

Malcolm makes a sound next to me that is half-grunt, half-groan. “Here we go,” he murmurs.

"We all have," Ian says. “We were definitely getting concerned he’d wind up that old bachelor who sits alone in bars at three in the afternoon.”

“Oh, come on!” Malcolm protests. “Now you’re just making shit up.”

"You and Emily do look perfect together, Malcolm," Lauren says, and she sounds so sincere I feel incredibly awkward.

When uncomfortable, lean on sarcasm. That’s my motto.

"Thank you. We're very happy. Malcolm is very romantic."

All three of his brothers burst out laughing.

"Romantic," Dylan wheezes. "Malcolm? Did he make you a spreadsheet of all the reasons you should date him?"

"It was a very beautiful spreadsheet," I say. "Color-coded. With conditional formatting."

"I did no such thing,” Malcolm complains.

He wouldn’t. I know that. He also can’t take a joke when it comes to his brothers. I know that too. They love each other, but I’ve been around them all long enough to know how competitive they are. They enjoy tormenting each other on a regular basis.

"He said I was his best investment," I tell them. "Low risk, high return."

Ian actually chokes on his cider.

"That's so fucking Malcolm," Dylan says, delighted.

Malcolm surprises me by not bothering to protest or deny it. Instead, he puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close to his chest. It takes my breath away because it feels so perfect. Like I fit there, warm against my favorite person.

He smells like bourbon and smoke and I want him to kiss me.

I tilt my head toward him, in clear offering.

I tell myself I'm doing it to sell the story.

The truth is, the only story I’m telling is to myself.

Because Malcolm doesn’t hesitate. He accepts the challenge and leans down and brushes his lips over mine. They’re warm, firm, commanding. The kiss is easy and sexy and unexpected.

It’s like we’ve kissed a thousand times before.

And I feel my toes curl and my knees start to knock. A tingle spreads out from my inner thighs and my nipples tighten beneath my thick sweater.

Pulling back, I sweep my gaze downward, and focus intently on the mug I set on the ground, very rattled and very aroused.