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I may not know them well, but even I can tell the ceremony is uniquely theirs, with the romance and love shining brightly between Chance and Samantha for all to see. I tear up a little, and the woman next to me hands me a tissue. “Thanks,” I whisper.
Though he’s doing his job as groomsman, Cole’s attention has drifted to me time after time. I feel his eyes now and see that he’s frowning, watching me closely and concerned about my crying. I smile back to reassure him that I’m fine, just a happily blubbering mess over the sparkle of someone else’s love.
Evan pronounces them husband and wife, but before he can invite them to celebrate with a kiss, Chance is already sweeping Samantha into his arms and kissing her. It’s no chaste, polite, public kiss either, but rather a bold declaration of their passion and love, and I smile and dab at my eyes again.
They finish off by walking down the aisle hand in hand, with matching brilliant smiles on their faces. The wedding party is next, Cole escorting the bridesmaid with pitch black hair and eyeliner. He’s completely polite, but there’s a tiny part of me who doesn’t like her hand on Cole, even if it’s simply resting on his forearm, both of them making the minimum necessary contact for the role.
I’m such a weirdo! I’m not a jealous woman, especially when there’s zero reason to be, but I also want to shout ‘mine!’ like a toddler. Which is silly.
As he passes by my aisle, he looks my way and I force a smile to my lips.
Don’t be weird, Janey! Don’t go stage-five clinger over something that’s perfectly innocent.
The rest of recessional walks down the aisle and through the doors into the building. As Grace goes in, we hear her loud sigh and exasperation as she says, “See, Dad? I told you I could do it! I ate that! Like no crumbs, dead-ass.”
Giggles and chuckles erupt at her prideful adorableness, even with the language, and then slowly, we rise to go inside too, following the wedding coordinator’s invitation to proceed to the reception area.
I don’t make it that far because halfway down the hall, a door opens and Cole snatches my hand, pulling me into an empty room. “Whoa!” I squeal in surprise as he shuts the door behind me.
Pinned against the door with Cole caging me in, a hand on either side of my head, I look up at him. His eyes are dark, his jaw tense, and his nostrils flaring slightly with his jagged breathing. “You okay?” he demands, his voice husky.
“Yeah,” I answer in confusion, not sure what’s brought on this level of intensity.
He runs a thumb over my cheek and places a gentle kiss there, just below my eye. Then he does the same to the other side. “You were crying.”
“Happy tears,” I explain. “You can tell how much Chance and Samantha love each other.”
His brow furrows. “You looked mad when we were walking out.”
“No, I smiled at you. You look handsome,” I argue. Both are true statements, but he’s not wrong. I was... mad-ish. Angry-adjacent. Irritated by proxy.
“You smiled with your mouth, but not your eyes,” he counters. “Don’t hide from me. What’s wrong?”
That’s a harder confession to make because it’s a lot more dangerous. “I didn’t like... I mean, not that I have any right... but—” I stammer, not sure how to explain that I had a momentary fit of jealousy for no good reason.
“Tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”
He would. I could probably say anything, and Cole would do his best to repair or change whatever’s upset me without making me feel stupid.
Or needy, my heart shouts.
“She was touching you,” I confess quietly, embarrassed at my own overreaction.
I watch a smile bloom across his lips in slow motion, reaching his blue eyes and making them sparkle. “You’re jealous?”
He sounds incredulous. Like he has no idea how sexy he is, how amazing he is, and how much I want him. He’s teaching me what a relationship should be like, and like a greedy girl, I want more of it. I’ve never had anything that was mine. My whole life, I’ve had to share, had to make do with less, and was given scraps—of time, attention, and love.
But not with Cole. I want him, all of him, all the time, all mine.
Okay, my weirdo flag is starting to rise higher on the flagpole. But I can’t help it. Cole’s different from anyone I’ve ever known.
My face falls as his smile grows. He’s laughing at me, and I feel stupid after all.
“Janey,” he murmurs, forcing my chin up until I meet his eyes. And I see something other than pity or humor there. I see heat and hunger. I see fire and passion. I see... something I’m too scared to label because it’s only been a few weeks, but I feel it too. “If you knew the things I’d do to keep you, you wouldn’t worry about anyone else. You’d worry aboutme.”
Okay, that should probably be worrisome. But it’s not. At all.
He likes that I didn’t want that woman touching him. He likes that I’m a jealous, greedy girl for him. Are we both weirdos? For each other?
