“It’s too soon,” I’d protested. “We’ve only been dating for sixmonths.”
“Ah.” Charlie had nodded, keeping his hand steady on the steering wheel. “And what is the appropriate length of time for love to blossom?”
“A year,” I’d suggested. “Maybe two?”
“Two years?” He’d frowned, but there was a playfulness about his lips. “And if I just so happen to find myself head over heels before then, what should I do? Keep my big mouth shut?”
“Preferably,” I’d said, realizing that I’d done just the opposite. I sounded ridiculous. I should have been happy that this sharp, witty, sexy man loved me. He loved me! And I loved him! Why wouldn’t I be happy? Thrilled? Ecstatic? Once again, I was being my own worst enemy.
“I love you, Dakota Green, and if you’d like me to set my calendar to tell you that in another six months, I can pretend you didn’t just let your true feelings slip.” There was traffic up ahead, so Charlie had slowed to a near stop, allowing him to reach over and wrap his hand around mine. “But just know: I don’t plan to go anywhere between now and then, so I can wait.”
Except for the tears I’d shed over Momma’s diagnosis and eventual death, I’d never been a crier. Like, once every six months, I would have a good seven-minute sob and then carry on, but the gentleness in Charlie’s voice—and the willingness to stick it out with me even if I was too pent up to tell him on purpose that I loved him—had brought tears.
I’d taken my hand from under his and wrapped it around his neck, leaning into his shoulder. I couldn’t make eye contact quite yet, but this time I said it for real. “I love you, Charlie Strong.”
He’d kissed my forehead and smiled so peacefully that, even though we had another sixty miles to Aubergine, I already felt like I was home.
Now in the refurbished Carriage House, Charlie handed me a glass of champagne as if he’d been waiting just for me.
“I’ll need two,” I said, grabbing another from the makeshift bar as I lifted my chin in the direction of Lacy. Savilla had come to her side and was handing her a steaming mug of something. Good. Ifanyone could be a conversational distraction for Lacy, it was Savilla.
Charlie wrapped a hand around my waist. He wasn’t always one for public displays of affection, but he was off duty this entire weekend—or at least as much as one could be when serving as sheriff for a county comprising three small towns.
I was grateful to feel the solidness of his hand on me.
“You look ravishing, Ms. Green,” he said, as his eyes fixed on mine.
I tilted my head and let my gaze linger on his. “Thanks, Sheriff. I was hoping one man in particular might notice.”
He leaned into my ear and whispered, “That dress seems rather tight though. If you’d like me to help you out of it later, I’m at your service.”
Tingles ran down my neck, and my lower belly pulsed with an anticipation that I could do nothing about for at least the next twenty-four hours. Unless I found a way to slip away after Lacy fell asleep tonight. But no, I couldn’t leave her alone after tonight had gone so awry.
I inhaled deeply and tried to fix my mind on the evening ahead. I was the maid of honor. I had responsibilities, and Lacy came first. I gently nudged Charlie away, lifting my glass and clinking it against his as I said softly, “To a few minutes alone together. Later, much later.”
“To sooner rather than later,” he said, as I reluctantly pulled away from him.
“Are you excited about the wild night ahead?” I teased, knowing that “wild” wasn’t exactly in the sheriff’s vocabulary.
“You know me,” Charlie said easily. “I’ve planned for the jet to get us to Vegas and back in the next twenty-four hours.”
I laughed at the idea of Charlie, Anton, Joe Larson, and Will Hurt living out their own version ofThe Hangover, much less Charlie stepping foot in Vegas. That city wasn’t made with my man in mind.
Regardless, Charlie and I had both found it strangethat Anton had asked him to be the best man, and thus plan the bachelor party. For whatever reason, Anton hadn’t seemed to want to pull in friends from earlier years, but after that sampling of his Texas hometown, I thought I might now understand why.
“Cigars, brandy, and pool, as we discussed. Oh—and I ended up hiring that professional dealer for a few rounds of poker.”
I feigned shock at the suggestion that Charlie would do anything so scandalous. “Gambling? Isn’t that…illegal?”
“It isn’t illegal to play in a residence as long as that residence isn’t typically used for poker.”
“Did you look that up to double check?”
Charlie raised a glass to me, indicating that I already knew the answer and should celebrate his meticulous planning rather than make fun. “Speaking of which, have you seen the groom?” he asked, looking over my head toward the door.
“A few minutes ago. He was in the garden with his mother, discussing”—I wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence—“discussing the weekend.”
Charlie could tell by my intonation that both the location—outside in the cold darkness—and the “discussion”, had not necessarily been pleasant.
