“Goodness, I sure hope so. This is a very low-key wedding, so if I manage to mess this up, then don’t expect me to plan any group event in the future, no matter how small.”
We all laugh. I respect Jack and Ella’s decision to keep it simple. If I get married, I would prefer to elope.
I wonder what Ian would want?
I close my eyes for a moment to recover from the wave of emotions flooding me at that thought—excitement, fear, joy. It’s all too much right now, standing in a wedding dress shop.
To distract myself, I ask, “Are you making the cake like you wanted to?”
“Oh, my god, yes! I meant to send you a picture. I’ve been practicing so much, Jack said after the wedding, he isn’t eating cake for a year. Which is just dumb.”
“I agree! That is dumb!” Olive announces as she joins the group, and another round of hugs is given.
Olive loves candy and sweets more than anyone I’ve ever met, so it makes sense that she would think that was dumb. My vice may be coffee and not sweets, but I tend to agree with Olive.
Another woman who looks a little familiar bursts through the door of the shop. I assume this is Nate’s other sister, Lori, since that’s who we’re waiting on.
“Sorry, I’m late, the stupid traffic.”
“You’re totally fine.” Ella smiles at the group. “Now that we’re all here, let’s go see my wedding dress!”
“Jack,you’re going to lose your mind,” Becky yells over the din of the bar. “Ella’s dress is absolutely stunning. She looks gorgeous.”
Jack brushes the back of his finger down Ella’s cheek as he stares into her eyes. “She would look good in anything. She could marry me in pajamas, and she would still be the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Ella’s cheeks blush, and she blows Jack a kiss with a grin.
I love watching them together. It makes my heart so happy that someone as wonderful as Ella has someone like Jack to remind her how special and loved she is. I glance around the bar, trying to find the man I wouldn’t be opposed to looking at me like that for as long as he’ll have me.
My stomach flips at that thought. Nerves and giddiness zip around my body.
Then I see Ian across the bar, and desire joins the party. He’s standing next to the bar, talking with an older man. As he gestures to something across the bar, my stare falls to his muscular arms pushing the limits of his short sleeves. His broad shoulders block my view of the man standing next to him when he turns to the side.
As I stand here taking him in, I think about the one thing I find most attractive about Ian. When someone looks at him, sweet and kind aren’t what come to mind. But when his deep voice calls me beautiful and he brings me coffee just because he wants to and not because I asked, I melt intoa puddle of lust, and what has developed into what I’m pretty sure is love.
I’m not sure when or how to tell him yet. Maybe I need to sit on it for a few more days, let it marinate in my brain a little more before I tell him how I really feel. And hope with every fiber of my being that he feels the same.
I continue to stare when movement near Ian catches my attention. My gaze narrows as something pink saunters into view. Pink cowboy hat. Pink tube top. Pink skirt. Pink cowboy boots. The sash across her chest has annoyance building inside me.
Freaking bachelorette parties.
The woman steps up to Ian and says something to him. Ian pivots slightly away from her but bends at the waist to get a bit closer, presumably to hear her.
He straightens and shakes his head, his expression turning even more serious than his usual default.
I’m out of my chair before my mind even recognizes what I’m doing. I take a step toward Ian as he takes a step away from the woman. Turning, he locks eyes with me. Amusement flits across his face as he says something else to the woman, his gaze never leaving mine.
My steps widen and my glare increases when her manicured fingers splay across his pec. Ian has yet to look in the woman’s direction. His cocky smirk grows as he watches me, knowing exactly why I’m storming toward him.
I have no idea how to handle this when I get there, because I just had to accept it if another woman hit on Reese or risk having his anger directed at me. But with Ian, I know I’m safe to stand up for our relationship.
All I can come up with by the time I reach them is the lamest question, “Can you get your hand off my boyfriend?”
The woman whips in my direction, her eyes slightlyunfocused. “Oh, yes! I’m so sorry! But, like, good for you. My bestie is getting married, and we were hoping he”—she hitches her thumb over her shoulder in Ian’s direction—“was one of those sexy dancers.”
I bite back a laugh when Ian’s smirk falls. “No, just a boring-ass bouncer.”
The woman glances behind her. “Your woman is hot. Be good to her. If you know what I mean.”
