I know he didn’t want to do this today, and I know why.
And yet, he did.
It’s why it was so easy to open up to him at the diner and tell him all about the fake flowers and how they were the final straw. Telling him this made me realize I was never supposed to marry Spencer. It wasn’t about the money or the cheapness of a man who could easily buy a small town with the money sitting in his bank account. It was about never being prioritized or considered. It’s quite possible I fell out of love with Spencer months ago, shortly after he convinced me to quit my job so I could save money planning the wedding myself rather than hiring a professional. That decision left me unemployed, stressed to the max, and trapped.
Until Raelyn came to my rescue and booked me on a flight to Alaska.
Now, I’m not sure I want to leave.
“Done,” Thatcher announces, handing his sealed Valentine with my name on it to the volunteer.
“Me too.”
“What’s next?” he asks.
“The theater. It’s the last stop left before we get our key,” I say, forcing a smile. Truthfully, I’m not ready for this to be over. I know I get to go home with Thatcher when we complete the crawl, but I’m afraid the magic will shatter when the cuffs come off. When we’re no longer required to be stuck together.
“You ready to win this?” Thatcher asks, flashing me a half smile that makes my nipples tingle. I’m half tempted to say fuck it, let’s ditch the challenge now. I bet we could find all kinds of enjoyable activities to do while handcuffed together in any number of places out of the public eye.
“You kids are in the lead,” the volunteer says. “If you hurry, you just might win the whole thing.”
I don’t know how this older gentleman knows how each couple is doing, but I suspect it has something to do with the walkie talkie resting on the windowsill.
Thatcher and I look at each other. For a single heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me. But the moment passes when another couple rushes inside the post office. With hands linked, we run down the street to the local theater.
CHAPTER 8
Thatcher
It’s possible the confession I scribbled into a silly little highland cow themed Valentine’s Day card is a big mistake, but I had to do it. I had to go for broke. If Blaire Sutton leaves Alaska, it won’t be without knowing how I feel about her. Until we ended up handcuffed together, I was in denial myself for years.
But I’m more certain of my feelings now than I’ve ever been: I’m in love with her.
“Welcome!” Willow Steele, the theater manager, greets us. “There are props set up to the left and right of the stage, and a few options for scenes set up on the stage itself.” She explains that we need to take three separate photos before she’ll sign off. “And in between each one, you must each ask each other a question. But make them good, because according to your card, this is your last stop.”
“By the end of this, I’m going to know you better than I know myself,” Blaire says, chuckling.
Hand in hand, we weave through a row of theater seats toward one of the two prop stations. We start immediately sorting through feathery boas, silly hats, and sparkly masks.
“What do you think? Does this snakeskin scarf bring out my eyes?” Blaire sends me a flirty look that makes my dick half hard in an instant. She drags her fingers down the side of her neck, reminding me of the strawberry juice I wanted to lick up with my tongue earlier.
My throat goes dry, and I struggle to find words.
I can easily imagine my future filled with silly, playful days such as this one. Maybe less handcuffs and more freedom to move around as we please. But definitely days filled with these flirty looks, earth-shattering kisses, and her unguarded laughter. It makes sense now, why it’s never worked out with anyone else.
It was always Blaire Sutton.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.
“It’s not your turn to ask a question,” I fire back, deciding it’s best if I keep the truth to myself right now. If I told her what I was really thinking, it might scare her. If she’s going to lose that beautiful smile at my doing, it’ll only be replaced with an open-mouthed moan as I show her pleasure like she’s never known.
“Then ask me a question,” she insists.
Another couple rushes into the theater, and Willow directs them to similar box of props on the other edge of the stage. They’re likely our competition, as they’ve shown up to every stop minutes after we do. They’re traveling the same route. And yet, I just can’t bring myself to care about winning.
“How mad would you be if you didn’t win your remote cabin vacation?”
“That depends on the reason,” she says, draping a lime green feather boa over my neck and yanking me closer. My gaze drops to her lips, and all I can fucking think about is kissing her again. It’s only been hours since that first kiss, but it feels like I’ve been depraved for weeks.
