"All right," I murmured, gesturing to the waiter for our check. "Are we doing this or what?"
He lifted his beer bottle, shooting me a narrowed glance across the table. "What's the rush, Russo? Are you trying to hustle me off the market?"
"Man, you're already off the market," I said with a laugh. "Don't try to deny it."
He shook his head, sipped. "Too right," he said, mostly to himself. He glanced at his phone. "A little more than three months until you walk down the aisle. Not taking any chances between now and then, are you?"
I stared at him, a stiff smile pulling at my lips. I trusted Magnolia. Through and through. I trusted Ben—about as far as I could throw him. Our shared history aside, I knew he didn't want Magnolia. I knew he belonged to another woman. I knew this, and I knew he wasn't pulling any shit at our wedding. However, no one was talking me out of caution.
Goddammit, I was getting married.
Fifteen months ago, I swore I'd never love again.
Nine months ago, I broke that vow.
Six months ago, I put a ring on Magnolia's finger.
Three months from now, I was making a new vow. One I intended to keep the rest of my days.
I couldn't fucking wait to marry her on the beach in New Bedford.
"Yeah, let's do this," Ben said, interrupting my thoughts. "I can't deal with the ambiguity anymore. I gotta lock Killer down."
I winced. "Do you have to call her that?"
He shrugged. "It works for her."
I could grant him that much but it didn't make Grace Kilmeade's nickname any more palatable and I worked with guys who went by Booch, Mad Dog, and Mole Sauce. "Whatever, dude," I said. "What's the plan? You said you have a hookup. Is this legal or should I text my attorney in advance?"
"You're such an asshole," he muttered. He rubbed his hands on his thighs as if he was working out some nervous energy. I smirked. Even though I'd been there and done that, I smirked. "What if she says no? That's a possibility, isn't it? I'm sure Gigi said no to you at least four or five times."
I dropped some cash on the table and stood, pulling on my coat. "In on the first shot."
That was always the way with Magnolia. She was the first woman I'd approached on the dating app, the first woman I'd shared my brokenhearted story with, the first woman I loved all the way through and back again, the first I'd asked to marry me, the first I knew better than I knew myself.
Ben led the way through the tavern, stopping outside on the sidewalk. "She's young," he said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "Haven't you seen the stories about her generation? None of them want to get married."
Magnolia and I had joined in on too many group dates with Ben and Grace over the past few months for me to doubt that she bested him on the maturity scale. "Millennials don't like home ownership, American cheese, or movie theaters either." I gestured toward him. "If we're to believe any of that applies to Grace, we should probably skip this activity altogether because they don't care for diamonds either."
"You're not helping," he replied.
"All right." I shrugged against the howling wind. "She's not that young. Have you talked about getting married? The future, where things are going, all of that?"
He pierced me with a sharp glare. "Yes, Dr. Phil, we have."
Seriously. Salt to the marrow with this one.
"Then what are you worried about?" I asked. "You've got five, maybe six years on her. Right?"
"Closer to nine," he replied.
I hadn't expected that but kept the surprise off my face. "So what? She's clearly made up for it in maturity. Has her age complicated things yet?"
"No," he grumbled.
"Then why is it a problem now?" I asked. "Despite the fact she enjoys your company, I'd say she's wise beyond her years."
"Truth," he murmured, rubbing his hands together. This late March cold snap was dreadful. "I don't want to do this only to get shot down." He hit me with a pointed glare. "I'm not interested in repeating that experience."
