“Exactly the kind of thing my mom would do,” Carter says. “Nothing malicious. Just…”
“Misdirected excitement?” I say, and he nods.
“Yes. Perfect description. Or misdirected concern.”
I feel my shoulders drop the slightest bit. I hate to think of his mom being concerned. But there’s no way around it. She would be if she knew the truth.
Fortunately, Anna returns, phone in hand, sparing us from continuing our conversation. I pick up my wine glass and drain the rest of it, and Carter does the same. When he puts down his glass, he holds out his hand. “Ready to do this?”
I slip my fingers into his. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Actually, don’t move,” Anna says. “You look good standing right there. Carter, can you put your arm around her?”
He looks down and meets my gaze. “If this ever gets weird or uncomfortable, just tell me, all right?”
I nod. “Right. Same,” I say, then he slips his arm around my waist and tugs me into his side.
He smells good—like citrus and sandalwood, but the scent is light, not like he’s wearing cologne. I never love it when a man’s cologne lingers even after he walks away.
But this isn’t that. It’s subtle. Like I’m only going to notice he smells good if I get as close as I am right now.
There’s something sexy about that. Like the scent is only meant for me.
Or. You know. Some other woman who isn’tpretendingto be in a relationship with Carter.
“Perfect,” Anna says, looking up from her phone. “Now we only need to do it about fifteen more times.”
My sister-in-law is a very good director, but Carter is the reason the whole photoshoot isn’t horribly awkward. Mostly because the entire time we’re taking pictures, with Anna directing us this way and that, he keeps up a running narrative of what our “date” is when each photo is taken.
“This is the night we played miniature golf for the first time,” he says when Anna makes us put our coats on and pose on the front porch. “I won, by the way. Completely smoked you.”
When we’re standing by the stairs and he wraps his arms around me from behind, he leans close, his breath tickling the skin on my neck, and whispers, “This is the night we went to see a movie. Sadly, I stopped and bought myself a couple of chili dogs on the way and got sick, so you ended up watching most of the movie by yourself.”
I stifle a laugh. “Did you just give yourself indigestion on one of our dates?”
“It made you smile, didn’t it?”
“The smile isperfect,” Anna says. “Whatever you’re saying to her, Carter, keep saying it.”
He absolutelydoeskeep saying it. He talks about the time we spent his day off at the Atlanta Zoo. The night he discovered I have an obsession with nineties boyband music, which is weirdly specific and also—unbelievably—entirely true.
When Anna asks us to sit on the couch and snuggle up together under a blanket, he creates a ridiculous story about riding the Ferris wheel at the state fair and getting trapped at the top of the ride for so long that he had to pee in an empty water bottle to keep from wetting his pants.
“Carter, we can’t have a pee story in our dating history. Not after the chili dogs.”
Carter grins. “Just keeping it real. If we’re getting married, there has to be at least one bathroom story.”
“I appreciate you making all the embarrassing ones about you,” I say.
I have to be grateful for Carter’s strategy, because it absolutely works. In every single photo we take, my smile is completely genuine.
Somehow, with Carter’s narration, the whole thing feels fun and a little silly instead of big and scary, which is what I expected going in. But more than that, I’m learning that Carter’s presence just puts me at ease. Even though I fully expect it to, it never feels awkward to touch him, to let him wrap his arms around me or hold me close.
“What about a kiss on the cheek?” Anna says.
I look up at Carter, not wanting to push past any of his boundaries. As comfortable as he’s seemed all night, I don’t think he’ll have a problem. “Is that okay with you?” I ask, and he nods.
“For sure.”
