Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
There’s no missing the assumption in that question. ‘I can’t speak for every wedding planner, but mine won’t look anything like the ones I plan,” I confess, the words easing out on a breath. “It won’t be rushed or crowded. It’ll be intimate. Calm. A day meant to be savored.”
Each syllable drifts into the quiet, carrying me toward a vision I’ve held for years.
“I’ll wake up surrounded by my closest friends, the room buzzing with laughter and excitement. We’ll sip mimosas while curling irons hum and polish dries on our toes. The ceremony will be at golden hour, right as the sun dips behind the mountains. I’ll walk barefoot down a twinkling aisle to the edge of the lake. Dinner under the stars, soft music across the water…a slow, barefoot dance on the dock.”
The picture settles around me, so vivid it almost feels real, the kind of dream that clings to the edges of my heart.
“What about the groom?” Linc asks, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.
I lift my head, shooting him a look. “What about him? I thought this was my dream we were talking about.”
That earns a laugh, deep and rich, the sound wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Touché.”
I lie back down, a quiet smile touching my lips.
The truth is, that part has always been hazy. I’ve never been able to picture the face of my groom or the cut of his suit. What I see instead is the way he’ll look at me, like I’m the only person there. Like I’m his world, and nothing—not time or distance—could ever change it.
Linc speaks again, his tone laced with insufferable smugness. “Gotta say, Goldilocks, you’ve thought a lot about this day for someone who doesn’t believe in the fairytale.”
That look on his face is even more maddening under the wash of moonlight.
“You trying to piss me off, Masters?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Just calling it like I see it.”
I huff, but the truth is, I hate how easily he can read me, how he always manages to see everything I try to hide.
Looking away, I push upright and sift through the scatter of dandelions beside me. My fingers pause on the largest of the bunch, its white crown still intact, soft and delicate against my touch.
For a moment I just hold it, the delicate seeds glowing pale beneath the moonlight. Then, lifting the stem to my lips, I close my eyes and let my breath slip free.
The wish escapes, one I’ve carried for years, buried deep beneath my ribs.
When I open my eyes again, Linc is watching me. Quiet. Intent. As if the rest of the world has fallen away, and I’m the only person left.
“What did you wish for?” he asks, the question edged with quiet curiosity.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
He grunts, unconvinced, but lets me keep my secret.
Picking up another stem, I hold it out between us. “Your turn. Make a wish.”
I expect him to scoff at the request. Instead, he leans in and gently blows, his breath dancing across my fingertips.
The seeds scatter into the night, drifting away like tiny sparks set free.
“What did you wish for?” I ask, trying to be coy, but it comes out breathless.
His gaze never leaves mine as he answers. “Another date.”
The words land in my chest, sinking into the most fragile part of me.
He lifts his hand, knuckles grazing my cheek with aching gentleness. “I want more, Harlow. More nights like this. More moments that aren’t blurred by the past. I want to see where this goes.”
Hope and fear war inside of me. “What if it doesn’t work out?”
His expression never wavers, steady and unflinching. “Then we go back to what we’ve always done. Pretend to hate each other, even if it’s the furthest thing from the truth.”
Because that’s what this has always been. A pretense. It's never been about hate. He’s infuriated me, challenged me, made me want to scream and kiss him in the same breath…but I’ve never hated Linc Masters. Not even for a second.
“Okay,” I breathe, leaning into his touch.
His eyes search mine, as if he needs to hear it again. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
A slow, sinful smirk spreads across his face. “Give me that mouth, Goldilocks. I’ve waited long enough.”
He doesn’t give me the chance to argue—doesn’t even let me breathe—just claims what we both can no longer deny.
I fall into the kiss, moaning as my arms loop around his neck.
His hands grip hard, dragging me forward until I’m straddling his lap. The canoe rocks beneath us but neither of us care. The only thing that exists right now is the hard length of him pressing between my thighs, and the skirt bunched high around my waist.
“Goddamn, I missed this,” he rasps against my mouth, voice shredded.
“Same. So much.”
Some nights, the ache of wanting him was so much I didn’t know how I ever survived without it.