Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Me? I’m going with it, grooving to the next song, “Do the Lasso,” working my ass up and down as instructed by the lyrics, but when I move back, I accidentally step on the toes of the person behind me. I cry out in surprise, but strong hands land on my hips to steady me before I can fall.
“I got you,” a deep voice says in my ear, and I shiver. Of course . . . it’s Wyatt. And I swear it just got hotter in this tent.
Suddenly, we’re not following the repetitive moves of the dance like everyone around us. We’re moving together, swaying with him at my back, his breath hot on my neck and hands firm on my hips, feeling my movements.
I want to turn around, slap him stupid, and walk off. He’s been ignoring me, probably the smartest move for us both, but now he’s drawing attention to us again. But Rachel’s words echo in my mind—does he deserve a chance? Maybe more importantly, do I?
So I continue swaying with Wyatt, ignoring the onlookers, pretending we are in a bubble of our own making, and enjoying every moment of him.
Suddenly, the DJ announces that it’s time to go outside for a very special send-off for the bride and groom. Damn, the time! “Midnight madness! The fireworks!”
“What?”
“Remember, the mini cupcakes?” I ask. “Cara set up a whole-ass fireworks show with snacks, ending with the happy couple’s big send-off. Midnight madness.”
Wyatt looks around for a quick moment, seeing where Cara is directing people. He takes my hand, pulling me toward the opposite side of the tent. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” I ask in surprise. And though he doesn’t answer, I let him lead me away. He snags a few cupcakes from a passing waiter and then we’re free, into the cool darkness of the night.
Chapter 14
WYATT
We make our way around the side of the house, through the side entrance that I know nobody’s using. I lead her up the back steps and into my mother’s atrium, and then out onto the rooftop deck. Finally, Hazel finds her voice. “What are we doing? We’re going to miss everything.”
“Watching the fireworks. We’ll have a great view from here.” I don’t look at the dark sky above us, not caring about perfectly controlled fiery chemical reactions. No, that’s not the fire I want to see. I want to see Hazel let her guard back down, quit playing polite with the other wedding guests. I want her, the real Hazel—unfiltered and relaxed.
I want to be myself too. Not the returning prodigal son, not a Ford, but just . . . Wyatt.
I throw the lock on the door and lead Hazel over to the big chaise lounge my father gave my mother for her birthday years ago. “Come on,” I encourage her, setting the cupcakes down on a small side table to shrug off my jacket. “Get comfortable.”
She gives me a long look but comes closer. She bends down, reaching for her high-heeled shoe, and I step in to help her with the strappy latch and slip the shoes off. I guide her onto the lounge, getting us arranged beneath a blanket, where Hazel curls into me.
“To Avery and Winston,” I tell Hazel, offering her one of the mini cupcakes. “May their marriage be as sweet as these cakes, and not blow up like the fireworks.”
“Hear, hear,” Hazel says, tapping her cupcake to mine. “That was better than your reception toast. Seriously, you suck at best-man toasts.”
I laugh softly, admitting, “Yeah . . . yeah, I should have practiced it a bit more. All those eyes staring at me made me nervous.” It’s only because of the moonlight that I see her look of doubt. But it’s the truth. “And when I tried to picture people in their underwear, that was a mental image I did not need.” I shake my head, and fake a shiver.
When Hazel laughs, I feel like a fucking god.
We take a bite of our cupcakes, and I moan at the flavor. I know I helped . . . but damn, the Sullivan family is better than the Keebler Elves when it comes to putting magic into baking.
“I don’t know who made these, but this might be the best cupcake I’ve ever had,” I comment, and Hazel’s smile tells me which Sullivan it was.
“Yeah, I hear the chef is a total hard-ass. Or maybe it’s that her assistants drive her crazy.” She arches a brow, implying that I’m the one who made her crazy that night at the bakery.
I laugh, and appreciate that we’re back to some banter. I never thought I’d miss her teasing me, but I have. “Maybe.”
As we finish our cupcakes, a whistling sound fills the air. A moment later, the first firework explodes overhead, a big pink starburst that fills the sky. A second later, two more starbursts explode, white ones that make the whole thing look almost like a Mickey Mouse outline.