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“My memory,” he said. “Tell me about the proposal. I—”
I shook my head. I wouldn’t be telling him about the proposal. No matter how many restaurants we went to.
“Do you remember kissing me for the first time?” I asked him.
“Yeah, it was early in the night, right?” he asked, face scrunched up like he was pulling the memory out of his brain. “Outside the place we were meeting for dinner.”
“I got out of the cab and you looked at me like you’d swallowed your tongue.”
“It was your legs. They went on for miles.”
“And you came up to me and said—”
“Excuse me. I have to do this,” he said.
“And you swept me into your arms and you kissed me and then, like we were in a movie or something, you dipped me. It was the smoothest thing any man had ever done to me.”
“Well, that’s good to know, because I’ve never done it before.”
“What?” I cried. “Bullshit. You were so slick.”
“Las Vegas magic. I probably couldn’t repeat it if I tried.”
“Ethan. Come on.”
And then, right there in the deli that wasn’t actually a deli, while I was wearing the ugliest shoes I’d ever worn in my life and not one but two coats, Ethan said, “Excuse me. I have to do this.”
He wrapped me in his deceptively strong arms, smiled down at me with his eyes and everything, and dipped me, very slowly. And like I had a year ago, outside that steakhouse, one leg curled up and my heart fell into my belly and I thought…it’s impossible. This can’t be love.
Bea, behind the counter, applauded and the moment was cracked right open. He coughed awkwardly and I made a stupid laughing sound, and he put me back on my feet and stepped away.
Thank god.
I couldn’t think when he touched me.
“I think Sweet Bliss will have to wait,” I said. “I need to get back to the inn.”
“Are you sure? We—”
“I’m sure.”
Our eyes met and I didn’t hide how scared I was. There was no point.
“Okay,” he murmured. “We’ll head back to the inn.”
15
Lexie
The next two days went fast. The inn was completely full with a stacked waiting list. More people came to the front desk looking for Christmas trees or sleds for the hill or skates for the pond.
Or Matt.
A couple of young guys clearly came in after hearing there was a new pretty girl at the front desk. A boy with pimples asked me out for a hot chocolate. It was exceedingly brave of him, and I let him down easy.
Kristen and Jasmine joined me for a midmorning coffee and it was exactly the same vibe as rehearsals with the girls, without the sweat and blisters.
“No,” Kristen said, her eyes twinkling above the rim of her Boss Lady mug. “I’m telling you, he talks to the trees.”
“Paul?” I asked. The farm manager was a nice guy. A little quiet. Which made his talking to the trees even funnier.
“Yes. Paul.”
“Well, don’t get me started on Matt and all his hockey superstitions,” Jasmine said.
“In high school, he had a lucky pair of underwear. If you can believe it,” Kristen said, spilling all kinds of tea on her brother. I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking about Ethan.
“Oh, I can believe it,” Jasmine said.
“Lexie, I love that sweater,” Kristen said. “Is it designer?”
“Balenciaga,” I said.
“Shut up,” Kristen said. “That’s, like, a seven-thousand-dollar sweater.”
And it was basically just strands and strands of thin black silk tied together. I wore a strapless black body stocking underneath it. It was a little much for the inn, but it was the last of what I had. I’d spent part of the morning ordering some clothes to be delivered tomorrow.
“I got it at a resale shop just off the strip. People sell all kinds of shit in Vegas.”
“Has Ethan seen you in it?” Jasmine asked.
“Yes, Lexie, tell us about Ethan.” Kristen chimed in.
“Nope.”
“Come on! You’re married to him!” Jasmine said. “And Dixie told me you were practically making out at her shop.” She tilted her head. “Or like…dancing. She was a little unclear.”
“Were you make-out dancing with my brother in a juice shop? Because I would love that more than I love my Jimmy Choos. That man has never cut loose in his whole life.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I said. “All he does with me is cut loose.”
Kristen smiled. “I don’t want to sound weird, but my mom would have loved that.”
The front desk bell rang and I got out of that office as fast as I could.
My pageant club shifted from inspiration to rehearsal and I, much to everyone’s dismay, had to tell all of them they couldn’t sing Mariah Carey. I mean, bless their hearts, but there wasn’t a singer in the whole bunch. Except, actually, Chelsea. Which was funny considering what her mom had said. She did a beautiful rendition of “Silent Night.” Simple and sweet. Totally age appropriate.
