I can’t subdue my smile as Mirabelle ignores him to pull me out the front door.
The crisp evening air hits me, and I obediently follow the woman I love across the pavement, toward her car in the guest parking lot. Something about her steps isn’t entirely steady, and I find myself hoping that the driver’s seat goes back farther than the passenger seat, because I think I will absolutely be drivingus home. She seems to understand that fact since she opens her passenger side door and drops her brownie dish in the seat before whirling on me.
“What was—” Her eyes lock on my face, and her words stumble.
I tilt my head. “What was?”
Her gaze flicks from my eyes, to my mouth, then a tiny whimper escapes her. Her fingers in the fabric of my shirt constrict before loosening and freeing me. “You’re smiling.Again.”
Lifting my hand, I swipe my palm over my smile. “Yes?” I take a step toward her. “And?”
Fragile air shakes her chest as she teeters, leaning against the side of her car for stability.
Here she is, in the moonlight, blushing, once again. Forme.
I amblessed.
Doing her best to collect herself, she says, “What was that, in there?”
I hum. Then I dare to reach for her soft skin. Touching her cheek, I take a moment to relish in the way her body responds as I coast my thumb over her cheekbone. “Jeffry felt threatened.”
Her lashes flutter. “Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing. I’m simply another male presence in your vicinity.”
Confusion muddles her brows.
I state, “Jeffry likes you.”
Disgust riots across her face.
It isbeautiful.
“So do Quinnon, and Nate.”
She shudders, shoulders bunching. “How do you—”
“It’s obvious.”
“Oh.”
I let my index finger run the length of her jaw, to her chin, and push her face up so she must focus on me. “You’re a bit oblivious to these sorts of things, I think.”
“Am I?”
I peer at her pressed to her car, blushing, perched on my finger. “Yes.”
Her lashes lower with her eyes. “Jeffry, Quinnon, and Nate…” she muses, then she sags. “I don’t like any of them like that.”
“You sound…very disappointed.”
“I am.”
I bristle. “Why?”
Half-drunk and clearly tired, she murmurs, “I want to get married.”
My brows shoot up.
