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We danced through three more songs, her head on my chest and Jasper providing the perfect soundtrack on his guitar.
I held her as close as I could, memorizing every moment with her. I wanted to ask her for more. More than a year, more than convenience. A chance for something real and lasting. I wanted to tell Dylan and shout it from the rooftops. I wanted to be with her. For as long as she would have me.
And under the stars, to the soft sounds of Jasper’s guitar, the timing was perfect.
But then I dipped my chin and studied her beautiful face, her closed eyes and wide smile, soaking up the love and kindness of this place.
And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin her perfect night. Because Hazel, the kid who’d never had a birthday party, deserved to absorb every moment of this without me complicating it. And as much as I wanted to ask, I was afraid of the answer. So I squeezed her just a little tighter and rested my cheek against the crown of her head.
“Thank you,” she said into my shirt as the song ended. “For marrying me.”
I tipped her chin up and kissed her softly. “It is my absolute pleasure to be your husband.”
Chapter33
Hazel
Iwoke up with the best kind of hangover.
An orgasm and happiness hangover.
I had gorged on fun last night, dancing and celebrating with half the town, and then Remy had taken me home, climbed under the skirt of my party dress, and kept me up way too late.
I had overindulged on friendship and support.
And it felt amazing.
Sitting up, I stretched, blinded by the light streaming in through the massive windows.
Remy was gone, probably in the kitchen making a protein shake or out training already. We were three weeks from nationals, and he’d ramped up his training schedule over the last few days.
In the evenings, we had taken to analyzing YouTube videos of other competitors and past champions, looking for special techniques or tweaks he could use for a leg up.
Having never been into sports, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the process. But because I was a data person, analyzing times and angles and swing speed came naturally. Those were all data points ripe for my brain to wrestle with.
I got up and threw on a sports bra and a pair of shorts, already feeling the July humidity creeping in. After filling a glass of water, I headed to the living room, where we had our training schedules planned out on whiteboards.
I ran a finger down the list, searching for today’s schedule. Remy was set to chop wood, so he was probably practicing up at Henri’s house. Needing to get a short jog in—because my time with my husband had helped me realize that I didn’t mind running so much—before I sat in front of my computer for the day, I figured I could go surprise him there.
I grabbed a hair tie and a water bottle and headed out into the sunshine in search of my lumberjack.
My heart was pounding as I hoofed it up the hill to Henri’s house. My trail running route was only two miles, but it kicked my ass every time.
As I crested the hill, a low whistle echoed against the trees. And there was Remy, legs planted wide, maul resting on his shoulder, with his shirt off, watching me plod up the hill.
“Looking good,” he hollered.
“You’re not the only athlete in the family.” Panting, I slowed to a walk, then tipped my water bottle and guzzled half its contents. “It’s getting a tiny bit easier every time.”
He ambled over and kissed the top of my sweaty head. “That’s my girl.” Slapping my ass, he waggled his brows. “And you look really cute in those shorts.”
I rolled my eyes and found a stump to sit on while hydrating.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” I said, waving at the massive log he had on a metal stand. It was one of his weakest events, the standing block chop. It involved a piece of white pine, and the objective was to drive the top off the wood block as quickly as possible, striking it with the axe on both sides. It was a test of accuracy and power and required short, strong strokes mixed with deadly accuracy to weaken the wood in precisely the right spot.
I pulled my phone from the side pocket of my leggings and scrolled to the timer app. When I was ready, I gave him a nod, and he got into position.
“Go,” I called, watching him swing with precision. I was supposed to be watching his form, but fuck, each swing caused his muscles to ripple and contract, showcasing the sheer power of his body and making my clit ache.
