“I am legally about to bind myself to the monster.”
“Romantic.”
He reached across the seat, slid one hand behind my neck, and pulled me close.
“You want my honest answer?”
“Always.”
His thumb brushed under my jaw.
“I would marry you in a chapel. At city hall. On a football field. In a grocery store. In my kitchen. In the snow. At midnight. At noon. Doesn’t matter.” His voice went softer. “I just want the part where you choose me.”
My heart did the same stupid thing it always did around him.
Opened.
All the way.
“I choose you,” I whispered.
His smile was small now.
“Good.”
He kissed me once, soft and slow enough to make me forget there was a driver four feet away pretending not to exist.
The driver cleared his throat from the front. “Chapel’s ready.”
Drew pulled back, eyes dark and bright.
“Ready, Mrs. Almost-Travers-Montgomery?”
I lifted my chin.
“Mrs. Calloway-Travers. No Montgomery.”
His grin flashed.
“Hot.”
“And you’re Mr. Calloway-Travers if you’re brave.”
He opened the door and stepped out, then held his hand back for me.
“Baby,” he said, “I wore a black suit with purple lining to marry a Texas menace in a haunted Elvis chapel. I fear nothing.”
I took his hand.
Neon washed over us.
Somewhere inside, vampire Elvis started singing.
Drew looked at me like I was every miracle and every bad idea he had ever wanted.
And then we walked in.
The chapel was worse inside.
