I let out a breath, laughing low. “Was it when I licked yourpussy under the desk? Or when I bent you over and ruined your upload schedule?”
She gave me a look, flushed and fond and just a little exasperated. “It was somewhere in there.”
I kissed her again, but she held back, her brow furrowed.
“You know it was never about that, right?” she said.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“About the sex,” she said. “Like…it started that way, maybe, but you’re…you’re good. That’s why I decided to stay, week after week. Not because of the sex.”
I cupped her cheek, brushing my thumb along the curve of it. “And there it is,” I said. “Why I love you.”
Her lips curled in a smirk. “Oh my God…you lovemebecause of the sex? And here I thought it was my winning personality.”
“It’s the personality I was talkin’ about,” I grinned. “Just…never stop bein’ you, okay?”
She bit her lip. “Ditto.”
She leaned into me then, soft and certain, her head tucking against my chest like it belonged there. I wrapped my arms around her and just held her, both of us still half-dressed, her hair messy from where I’d tugged it, my jeans barely buttoned, her laptop still humming on the desk and waiting for us to get back to work.
But we didn’t move.
Didn’t need to.
Because this—this was the work. This was the whole damn point.
“You sure this isn’t just an excuse to get Shane to come back for the wedding?” I asked.
She huffed a laugh into my chest. “I don’t think Shane’s getting away from Willow Grove that easily. Apparently he and Ash have been texting ever since he left…and they’re planning a meetup anyway.”
“So you’re just playing matchmaker.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me. “I don’t have to. Like I said…Willow Grove will take care of it for me.”
I laughed, low and warm, and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Well, then maybe Willow Grove wants me to put you in a dress and say ‘I do.’”
She narrowed her eyes, but her smile was unmistakable. “You think I’m gonna wear a dress?”
“God, I hope not,” I muttered, already picturing her in something wicked and dark—black lace or mossy green velvet, something she could wear barefoot, something she could hike her leg around my waist in and whisper dirty things right after the cake was cut.
She must’ve seen the shift in my expression, because she rolled her eyes. “You’re picturing it, aren’t you?”
“Resistin’ the urge to haul you off to bed right now.”
Noelle laughed and buried her face in my chest. “You’re filthy.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” she whispered, and just like that, the teasing edge melted into something softer. “I really do.”
We stood there a long moment, arms around each other in the quiet hum of her little shop. Outside, the wind stirred the chimes she’d hung from the eaves.
Somewhere in the background, her laptop dinged with a notification. But the world had narrowed again—just us, just this, just the way her hand traced idle circles on the small of my back like she was already designing our vows.
“So,” I said, voice quieter now, “what if we did it at the next Gloaming Festival?”
She blinked. “That’s like…three weeks away.”
