“I love it,” I say. “All of it. The painting, the house. It’s all amazing.” For a split second, I almost tell her I don’t want to pretend anymore. That this—all of this—is exactly what I want, and I don’t want an expiration date. We did things out of order, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have a life together.
But then she breathes out a relieved sigh. “I’m really glad. I wanted you to love it. You’re doing such a big thing for me—you deserve to love it.”
Her words call our agreement to mind, and my confession dies on my tongue. Thinking I deserve it isn’t a bad motivation—it’s the situation we’re in whether I like it or not. But it’s not the same thing as doing things for each other because we want to.
Which means every action, every word we say to each other, has a question mark hovering over it.
I must be a glutton for punishment because I hold onto her anyway. Long enough that we definitely shift past friendly hug territory.
And then Sarah’s stomach rumbles.
She sucks in a gasp, shifting back as she moves her hands to her belly. “Oh my gosh. That was embarrassing.”
I chuckle. “Are you hungry?”
“Honestly, I don’t even remember the last thing I ate. I didn’t eat anything at the reception. Did you?”
“Not much. I didn’t even have any cake.”
“Anna packaged that up for us, at least. You want some?”
Across the house, the doorbell rings. “I do,” I say. “But I think we should eat Thai food first.” It was Holly who suggestedI order us some food to eat after the reception. He said when he and Claire got married, they had to stop for burgers on their way to the airport because they’d both forgotten to eat.
“Shut up,” Sarah says. “You ordered Thai food?”
“I figured we’d be hungry. Wanna change and meet me in the living room?”
“Carter Williamson, you are the best human I know,” she says. She reaches down and slips off her shoes, picking them up with one hand, then gathering the skirt of her dress with the other before hurrying toward her room.
Ten minutes later, we’re together in the living room, both changed into sweats, drinking the very expensive wine Emerson gave us as a wedding gift and eating Pad Thai and Pad Krapow. It took a little bit of sleuthing and stealing Emerson’s number from Sarah’s phone, but between him and Anna, I’ve accumulated a pretty solid list of Sarah’s favorites.
Thai. Margherita pizza. Glazed donuts with chocolate frosting. Blueberry scones. Lady Grey tea. I logged each thing in my brain, tiny puzzle pieces that make up who Sarah is and what makes her happy.
Gordie has followed us into the living room and is curled up on Sarah’s lap—the traitor.
“Should we watch something?” I ask, reaching for the remote.
“Yes. Definitely. But nothing scary or traumatizing. I need happy feel-good TV.”
“So we should watchTed Lasso?”
“Thai food andTed Lassoand vanilla bean wedding cake with raspberry frosting and Gordie in my lap?” She scoops up a bite of Pad Thai with her chopsticks. “Are you trying to give me a perfect evening?”
I turn on the TV and find the show. “It’s not quite a honeymoon, but hopefully it’ll still feel like a nice night.”
Three episodes later, we’ve polished off the Thai, eaten way too much wedding cake, and opened a second bottle of wine. I’ve got a mandatory skate in the morning that’s probably gonna be painful, but if there’s ever a night to justify celebrating, it’s your wedding night.
Coach Kimzey made it clear I’m still expected to be there, but I don’t think he’ll do anything but rib me when I’m dragging. Which I definitely will be.
Next to me, Sarah lets out a little groan as her head falls onto my shoulder. “Mmm. I definitely drank too much wine.” As the night progressed, we ended up moving closer and closer, finally settling directly beside each other in the name of sharing a blanket. It’s the most incredible kind of torture to have her so close—a masterclass in self-restraint.
The credits roll onTed Lasso, and I reach over and use the remote to turn off the TV so another episode doesn’t start.
“I’m a little tipsy, I think,” Sarah whispers. “And very sleepy.”
I shift, lifting an arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed, then.”
She burrows into my chest, wrapping her arms around my midsection. “Can I just sleep here? You smell so good.”
