He got up and scooched in front of everyone else in the row to get to me.
“Ye did good, Blake.”
Whatever.
“Where’s my binder?” I asked.
“Sorry?”
“My binder,” I repeated. “The one I gave to you to arrange the flowers.”
“Dinnae see a single flower in this place.”
“The grass then,” I amended.
“Who knew grass could be so pretty,” he murmured, glancing at one of the arrangements that sat at the end of the row.
I slapped a hand on his chest to get his attention, his head tipped right down to stare at it, then it came back up so he could look at me when I demanded, “The binder, Dair.”
“I chucked it.”
My insides froze solid.
So it sounded choked when I pushed out, “You…chucked it?”
He looked from side to side. “Aye, lass. Day’s done.”
Was he mad?
Argh!
No, he was just a man.
Only a man would think that after the ceremony was finished, a wedding was finished.
Fucking men!
I curled my fingers into the lapel of his jacket and got so close, my breasts were brushing my arm, and I tilted up on the toes of my gold, Giuseppe Zanotti, high-heeled orchid mules.
“The…day…is…not…even close to done,” I sniped.
“Heard the man say the husband-and-wife thing, babe.”
“We have…we have…” I spluttered and then pulled myself together. “We have photos to get through. Hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. Another fucking buffet. Toasts. Dances. Cake cutting. I’ve written down how much I’m going to tip everyone at the end of the night.” I got even closer, so my chest was pressed to his and my voice might have risen two octaves (or three) when I asked, “How am I going to know what to tip everybody?”
“Calm down, darling,” he whispered, his brogue sliding over me like velvet, something I didn’t have time to feel right then (or ever). “I’ll find it. We’ll sort it. No worries.”
“I’ve been working on that binder for a year,” I informed him.
He put his hand to my waist and gave me a reassuring squeeze. “Blake, we’ll find it.”
“It has every little thing laid out for the day in fifteen-minute increments.”
He stood there staring down at me like he’d never seen me before.
This necessitated me grabbing him by the neck on either side and saying frantically, “Dair, I need that binder.”
He kept staring at me, and when I was about to scream, he turned his head, put his teeth to his lip, and let out a shrill whistle.
