Page 35 of Sweet Surrender

And if I had to guess, she might already be feeling the effects of the alcohol. Lightweight.

“No. Just making sure my soon-to-be wife can stand.”

“Pour the shot, Gizmo.” She slides her glass in front of me, her eyes holding and challenging mine until I do just that. “I can handle a lot more than you think.”

Let’s hope so.

I nod and do as she asks. No doubt I can drink her under the table, but we’re not going to get to that point today no matter how much I want to.

“What are we toasting to this time?” I ask. She starts to say something and then throws her head back and laughs. “What?” My elbows are on the counter but my glass is being held up, waiting for her.

“Fuck you, Paul,” she says with a devilish smirk that lights up her eyes.

“Yeah. Fuck you, Paul. You don’t have a clue what you’re missing.” I wink, tap my glass against hers, and then down the shot.

I welcome the burn. It slides nicely over whatever emotions that look of—surprise, compassion, gratitude—she just gave me conjured up.

“I’m supposed to be a good influence on you.” She slides the empty shot glass across the counter so it clinks against the tequila bottle. “Guess I already failed before we even started.”

“I live in the failure zone so we’re all good.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, head angled to the side and those perfect fucking lips parted.

“A lot. A little. Nothing that should be talked about today of all days. We’ll leave my faults for you to discover during our short and disastrous marriage.”

The words come out but the inadequacies of my life blare in my own mind. The shortcomings I’m reminded of daily. My dad. My mom. My band . . . who I’ve let down repeatedly.

“Failure makes you who you are,” she murmurs, her smile falling. “Or at least that’s what my mom says, and we’re not talking about her since I’m about to shock the hell out of her with this one.”

“That was a lot of what ifs you had,” I murmur as I pour myself one more shot and down it without asking her if she wants one. “And don’t worry, I’ll charm the pants off your mom so she’ll overlook your vow to not touch a man for a year.”

“You will, will you?”

“I will. I’m that good.”

She laughs as I move around the counter so that I’m near her—there’s this inherent need that makes me want to be. It must be the shots or the small insight I gave her about me when I never give it to anyone, but the urge to kiss her, to show her how beautiful she is when she’s clearly nervous, is stronger than I’d like to admit.

“What else were you nervous about?” I lean my ass against the counter beside her. “How is your life going to change?”

“A lot.” She laughs nervously.

“Perhaps. I’ll insulate you as much as possible. You may have signed up to do this, but not to manage the crazy that comes along with it.”

“Okay.” She bites her bottom lip again.

“If it ever gets to be too much, you need to tell me. To clue me in. The crazy is enough to break someone, and the last thing I need or want is you broken by it, okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

She says the words but has no clue what it’s like with the spotlight and the world’s attention on her. Nor do I want her to.

“Your other what if, about people not believing this, us, because you swore off Paul. People change their minds. Apparently love comes when you’re least looking for it—according to whoever said that. Who knew that when I came in to buy some cookies from you I’d become totally smitten with you? Do you know the agony I felt over those few weeks when you were Paul’s and all I wanted was for you to be mine?” I flash a grin, rather proud of myself for this scenario. “The day I walked back in the bakery to find you crying over the asshole cheating on you was the best day of my life.”

She rolls her eyes. “No one’s going to believe that. And no one is smitten after one meeting.”

I laugh and reach back for the bag behind me. “They will and this is proof that I can see something and become smitten with it.”

“I don’t follow.”