Then he disappears down the hall.
I lean against the closed door, my heart racing, my lips still tingling where his beard scraped them raw. Thankfully, the wood is cool against my overheated back. Through the open window, I hear waves and wind chimes and, faintly, music from the resort bar. The jasmine smell has followed me inside, or maybe it’s just in my hair, clinging.
What the hell did I just agree to?
My phone buzzes.
Esme: I SAW THAT. You’re GLOWING. Tell me EVERYTHING while we get ready tomorrow.
Me: Love you, Es.
Esme: Love you back, Claire.
I silence it and toss it on the bed. Only a best friend would be thinking of others the night before her wedding.
What did I agree to?
Tomorrow night. Three dates. Hunter Ashe in my life for real.
I should be terrified.
But Instead? I’m counting down the hours.
Chapter 7
Hunter
Claire walks down the aisle last, her sage green dress hugging every curve.
Her auburn hair is pinned up with pieces falling loose, the sunlight catching the pieces falling around her face, and she’s holding flowers like she’s been doing this her whole life.
I forget how to breathe.
The ceremony’s on the beach, the late afternoon sun sinking low to our left. Salt hangs thick in the air, mixing with gardenia boutonniere pinned to my suit.
The water’s calm today, just a whisper of waves behind the altar. Rows of rattan chairs perch onto the packed sand, rows of them facing the ocean. The sun’s already cooling off, casting its golden hue on everything… the sand, the chairs, and even Franklin’s face as he waits.
My boy’s already crying at the altar, and I smile at him, happy as hell he met a woman who fits him so perfectly she was probably created just for him.
My heart skips a beat as I remember myself doing the same thing when I married Jenna. I still in my heart believe she wascreated for me the same as I was her. And I will never forget the call from the hospital about my wife and the aneurysm that took her from me. We were trying to start a family, but it wasn’t in the cards.
Now I understand that love isn’t finite and that we have room in our hearts for more without disrespecting those we already love. And I can’t look away from Claire.
She glances up and catches me staring. Pink crawls up her neck, that blush I want to taste again. Her grip tightens on the bouquet, tropical florals mixed with magnolia blossoms, and her breath hitches.
I grin.
She narrows her eyes but her mouth curves, just enough to let me know she’s loving this. My hands flex at my sides, sweat sliding down my spine under this damn jacket, and I want to touch her so fucking bad that the ten feet between us feels like a mile. The breeze picks up, catches her dress, and molds it to her body for half a second before it settles.
The ceremony starts, and my friends do their readings, recite their vows… all of it. I’m supposed to pay attention. Instead I’m watching Doc across the aisle, ten feet away and completely untouchable.
She keeps trying not to look at me, but she fails.
And I catch her every time.
Every time Franklin says “I do,” her eyes flick to mine. When the minister talks about love being patient, I think about how fucking impatient I’ve been. How tonight I’m done waiting.
The dress shifts when she moves. I track the line of her throat, bare shoulder, skin meeting fabric at her collarbone.
