This guy sounds like he tortures people in his basement for a living… “What an enigma…” I murmur.
Damion exhales a laugh. “You know, I think I replied like that once. He very casually shook his head, placed a hand on my shoulder, and said, ‘No,I’mnot. You’re thinking of Emmett.’”
“Emmett? Who’s Emmett?”
“Precisely.”
Pressing my lips together, I hedge, “Does your friend need mental health assistance?”
“All the good ones usually do.”
That I don’t think I can argue with, either.
So I don’t even try to.
Chapter 27
?
My wife likes Christmas and essays. How unbearably cute.
Damion
“It could have gone worse,” I say as I help Mirabelle pack up the leftover food we couldn’t pawn off on Forrest.
Face scrunched, she glares at me. “It wentterribly.”
“We knew they’d love or hate each other.”
“Fawn laughed the second Forrest opened his mouth, and she did not stop laughing every time he spoke afterward. At one point, she fell out of her chair and was on the floor, dying.”
Extremely interesting character, that Fawn. “Any feasible reason as to why she behaved the way she did?” I ask.
Mirabelle sighs and shakes her head. “Not a clue. It’s not exactly like she got enough air all evening to elaborate, assuming she even would. Clearly, she likes keeping thedramatic ironyalive.” Losing all her scrunch, Mirabelle smiles up at me, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Damion?”
My heart thumps. “Yes, precious?”
“When are we going to decorate for Christmas?”
“Christmas?”
She nods. “You can put upChristmaslights. I’ve never lived in a house of my own with Christmas lights before. Fawn hates Christmas, and I’m worried I’d fall off a ladder, butyou—” Her shining eyes flick up and down across me. “—youwouldn’t even need a ladder!” She reaches up. “You can just put them up, like this.Boop.”
I genuinely don’t know about that, but I also am unsure how my heart is intending to recover from the sheer cuteness I just witnessed.
Boop.
She saidboop.
The natural cuteness paired with the deep browns and pale creams of her outfit today make her a vision of flawless perfection. She always is, of course, but after an evening watching her host our Thanksgiving with an elegance I’ve never seen anyone else muster, it’s hard to think of anything other than the potential that we really could have a June wedding.
Surely nine months of dating is long enough.
It’s long enough to bring life into the world.
My biggest concern is whether or not it’ll be long enough for Mirabelle’s inevitable maid of honor to stop laughing any time my inevitable best man opens his mouth.
“Damion,” Mirabelle urges, brows tilted. “Focus, please.Christmas.”
