Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
He put on a suit. For me. And he’s holding a bouquet so gorgeous, I’m already a little choked up even before he crosses the space to greet me.
“Afternoon, chère,” he says, in that soft, husky rumble that does illegal things to my pulse. “Happy wedding day.” He holds out the bouquet, a cacophony of peonies in pink and peach, delicate roses, daisies, and sprigs of green that smell fantastic.
I cradle it like a newborn baby as I coo, “Oh, it’s perfect. I love it so much. It’s just majestic and beautiful and amazing.” I glance up, wincing as I realize how ill-prepared I am to live up to these standards. “I’m sorry. Your boutonniere is pathetic in comparison.”
“Stop it,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t even need one. But a bride has to have flowers, and I knew you’d be busy this morning getting ready for the move, so…”
“I was busy, but a groom deserves flowers, too. Even if they are a little…unconventional.” I reach into my purse, pulling out the boutonniere I whipped up with Mimi’s craft supplies. It’s not anywhere close to professional quality—my daughter has all the artistic talent in our family—but it was made with care and appreciation.
“For you, sir.” I hold it up between us, stomach flipping as a touched grin stretches across his face.
“Wow, you made it?” he asks, the awe in his voice making me rush to assure him, “I did, but it’s not good. I promise. Mimi’s tissue flowers are way better. If I’d been thinking, I would have asked her to make me some last night.”
He shakes his head. “No way. I like that you made it. Makes it even more special. How do I put it on? I haven’t worn one of these things since senior prom in high school.”
“You just pin it, like this.” Propping my bouquet in the crook of my arm, I step in to slide the straight pin I attached to the flowers through his lapel. As usual, he smells amazing—soap and a hint of cedar and sea air, with a bottom note of Grammercy, an intoxicating smell more addictive than anything I’ve smelled before.
Being this close to him isn’t any less exciting in broad daylight. If anything, he’s even more attractive, all dressed up and freshly showered and waiting here, just for me.
For Mimi, I try to remind myself, but it’s hard not to feel like the center of the universe when he’s staring down at me like this. Like my middling crafting skills have touched his heart, and he’d like to touch me in response.
Clearing my throat, I pat the tissue flowers into place and step back. “There. Now you’re fancy.”
He grins. “Not as fancy as you.” His gaze tracks down my frame, making me tingle as it drags back up. “You look good in a little sailor girl dress.”
“Thank you,” I say, very glad I kept digging until I found my figure-skimming navy dress with the white piping around the arms and waist. It has a vintage 1940s vibe I love and…apparently, Grammercy does, too. “Should we head down to the licensing department?” I glance up at the clock on the marble wall in the big, open lobby. “We’ve only got about thirty minutes before our appointment with the justice of the peace, right?”
“Yeah, but we’ll have plenty of time for the license. They aren’t busy. I checked when I got here.” He nods over his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Dawn. She’s not a hockey fan, but she’s really excited about us getting married.”
I exhale a soft laugh as I follow him toward a set of marble stairs curving around to the lower floor. “Oh yeah? So, you’ve been flirting with the women in the licensing department, is that what you’re saying?”
He flashes me another one of those Grammercy grins, the ones that hit me like a sexy jolt of electrical current every time. “I’ve been known to grease the wheels of bureaucracy with a wink and a smile. Is that so wrong?”
I shake my head, returning his grin. “Nope. Not in my book. Not even a little bit. I’ll have to take you with me next time I hit the DMV.”
He laughs. “Done. Though I can’t imagine you have much trouble charming your way to the front of the line. I’d let you cut in front of me, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks,” I say, with a slightly flustered laugh.
Is he flirting with me? Probably not. But even if he is, that doesn’t mean it means anything. Louisiana boys are notorious flirts. It’s something in the water that creates men who love spicy gumbo, duck hunting, and flirting with any woman who will stand still long enough.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Downstairs, we do indeed acquire our license in record time. Dawn is a sixty-something Cajun woman with an accent so thick I can barely understand her, but she and Grammercy slip into Creole with ease. Ten minutes later, we’re back upstairs with our license, waiting on the firm seats outside the judge’s chambers while the couple in front of us says their vows behind the closed door.