His brow knits. He stays quiet though.
“I just mean,” I continue, trying to fix things, “that we are. That I want to be.”
And I don’t know if I’m helping anything at all.
His shoulders seem to tense, and he swallows, but then says, “Friends.”
But we don’t talk much the rest of the drive.
And I don’t know if that means we are or aren’t friends.
By the time we finally drive by the Welcome to Evergreen Falls sign, we haven’t even talked about why we’re here. Not the candy we’re picking up for my sister or the road trip the bride couldn’t make.
And why it’s one of the five things you should do before you say I do.
31
BITE ME
LAKE
If I’d thought surviving a penalty kill was hard, it’s got nothing on this road trip. Being in close quarters with a woman who smells like flowers and all your fantasies, and not being able to tell her you think about her all the time is more brutal than being undermanned on the ice.
But I last somehow, and when we pull into Evergreen Falls, I can breathe again. It’s late afternoon. We’ll check into the hotel soon, grab some grub, and then call it a night, and when that’s done we can check this off the bucket list.
Only three more items and a wedding to get through.
That’s all.
But as I come around to her side of the car and open the door, I remind myself that I said yes to her request to be her plus-one because I want to help her. When I offered to show her how a man treats a woman—with passion and honesty—I did it because she deserves it.
Not because I want to lay her down on the bed and kiss every inch of her skin. Worship her entire body. Make her toes curl and her fingers grab the sheets.
Though I really fucking do.
“Let’s get that candy,” I say. Hell, maybe some sugar on my tongue will distract me from my vastly inappropriate thoughts.
She gives me a smile—one that says she’s trying her best to be normal. “Thanks again, Lake, for doing this.”
Thispresumably being running errands for her sister. Going through the bucket list. Taking a road trip.
I blow out a breath and glance briefly down the street of the town that’s known for going all out for the Christmas holidays but also doesn’t seem to hold back on spring decor either. The streetlamps are decorated with flickering pastel lights, and the stores are dressed up with illustrations of flowers, birds, and butterflies in the windows.
It’s all so festive, and I hate it on principle.
Oh shut up, you grump. Remy probably loves it. Bet she’d enjoy a bouquet of flowers or some chocolates just to celebrate that spring is almost here. And you’d enjoy giving them to her.
Great, now my brain is calling me out on my hypocrisy.
We go inside The Candy Cottage. The smell of sugar smacks me in the face.
Remy’s eyes pop as she looks around. And she’s, yup, the kid in a candy shop, and this is a new bit of intel about her. I file it away in my Remy list, along with the succulents, the spreadsheets, the notebooks, the strappy shoes she wears, the off-the-shoulder sweaters she likes, and the watches of mine she admires. I file it beneath the therapy she goes to in order to work on her need to feel in control, even though I think she’s fucking amazing as is, but I admire the hell out of the fact that she wants to improve.
What kind of candy does she like best? I try to read her as she drinks in the shelves of nostalgic candy like Lemonhead and PEZ, then the glass jars stuffed with all kinds of gummy bears, gummy worms, gummy monkeys, Swedish Fish,raspberry treats, and gummy soda bottles, all with signs that sayVegan AF.
I snap my gaze to the register. “Are they normally not vegan?”
A woman behind the pink and white counter with curly black hair and warm dark skin says, “Actually a lot of candy has gelatin, which is made from beef.”
