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“It’ll be perfect, Sage.” He reaches out blindly and squeezes my knee.
I freeze at the contact, and he does, too.
“Sorry, that was out of line.” His hand returns to the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly that the veins on the top of his hand bulge. Even that’s sexy.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
Daisy: You’re cool like a cucumber.
Sage: Why do people even say that?
Daisy: I don’t know. Because they use them on their eyes to bring down swelling?
Sage: The bags.
Daisy: Yea, that. Bags, swelling, same thing. It all makes you look like a puffy mess who’s been crying for hours. Cucumbers cool the skin. Makes sense. I’m going to have to google the origin of that expression.
Sage: This is such a ridiculous conversation. Thank you for making me laugh.
Daisy: Anytime, sweets. Send pics
Sage: Aye, aye captain
Daisy: Leave that obedient attitude for your boo.
Sage: Not funny
Daisy: Not trying to be. Now pay attention to him and stop texting me.
Sage: Says the girl who wrote to ME.
Daisy: Love ya, S. Have fun!
I shake my head, grateful for my best friend.
“Ready or not, here we go.” Tristan parks in the church parking lot.
I nod, breathing evenly. “Let’s do this.” I clap my hands.
“Stay put. I’ll open your door.”
He rounds the car and opens it, extending his hand. I hold it, taking advantage of any opportunity that I get to feel like I’m more than a deal to him.
Instead of releasing my hand, he keeps a hold of it as we walk to the church. Different people greet him, and he introduces me to everyone. Some seem familiar from the coffee shop.
What he never does is release my hand. And it feels so right. How can something so simple and mundane create a swirl of emotions that are dizzying? I feel like a queen next to Tristan. The line between us is becoming harder to nail down.
I’m toeing the blurry sections, wondering how dangerous it would be to cross to the other side.
After a touching ceremony and making the rounds as Tristan introduced me to more people, we left the church with most of the other guests. Hope looks beautiful in a lace gown. The way Toby looked at her and cried as she walked down the aisle made me tear up too.
I want that one day. I want a man who’s so happy to marry me that he doesn’t care if a hundred people see him cry.
“We’ll check in at the inn and then drive to the venue,” Tristan says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sounds good.”
Throughout the ceremony, his arm or leg would brush against mine while we were seated. They were small touches that I know were accidental but made me hyper-aware of his presence and my feelings toward him.
