by Tawna Fenske
“I’m James,” says the starched-shirt guy as he offers his hand. “And I apologize for the fact that my family is insane.”
Bree snorts. “You think she didn’t know that already?”
The big guy with the beard offers me a rough handshake before doing the same with Jade. “Mark,” he says by way of greeting before turning to Sean. “Is there a reason you dragged us all out here?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat and turns back to me. “I’ve been guarded about a lot of things.” He flicks a quick glance at his mother, then fixes his eyes back on mine. “Closed off and secretive instead of opening up the way I should. But right now, I want everyone to know that I’m crazy about you.”
“Oh.” The ground shifts a little under my feet, and something goes gooey in my center. “I’m crazy about you, too.”
“No, it’s more than that.” Sean shakes his head. “I love you, Amber. I know it’s too damn soon to say it, and Bree’s probably going to give me shit for jumping the gun here—”
“You’re good.” Bree elbows her brother. “Keep going.”
“So, I love you,” Sean repeats. He takes a deep breath, and my chest squeezes at the vulnerability in his expression. “I love the real you. All of you. And that’s the truth.”
Tears clog my throat again, and I blink them back as hard as I can. “I love you, too,” I say in a voice that’s too hoarse to be mine. “And it’s not too soon. I feel like we’ve known each other forever.”
Sean smiles like a guy who’s won the lottery as he pulls me into an embrace. Behind him, Mark rubs a hand over his beard.
“Shit,” he says. “That’s sweet.”
Bree slugs him in the arm. “Shut up.”
“What? I was being serious.”
James scowls at them both. “Will both of you be quiet?”
Sean draws back with his palms on each side of my face, and I swear it’s like we’re the only two people on this porch. In the world. “I love you,” he says again, looking deep in my eyes.
I don’t know why it doesn’t bother me having an audience, but Jade takes charge anyway. “Come on,” she says, looping an arm around Brandon’s waist. “Let’s go inside and give these guys some privacy.”
Brandon grins at Sean and slugs him in the shoulder as he walks past. “This is where you get to kiss her,” he says. “It’s the best part.”
Sean’s mother is the last to drift past, her expression tired but hopeful. Mostly hopeful. “I’m proud of you, honey,” she whispers to Sean.
She pats my forearm as she moves through the door. “You, too, sweetheart,” she says. “I admire a girl who takes care of her appearance.”
“I—”
But that’s the only word I manage before she parades through the door on the heels of the rest of Brandon’s family. I have no idea if her comment was sarcasm or serious, but I don’t care now. I don’t care about anything besides the fact that Sean is cupping my face and looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“You forgive me?” he says.
“Absolutely. As long as you forgive me.”
He smiles and reaches up to skim a thumb over linen strip I forgot was glued there. “I love you whether you’re dolled up in a fancy dress or covered in meatball guts. I love you in smelly bras or totally braless. I love you in perfect makeup, or with a weird piece of cloth stuck to your face with green goo. What the hell is this anyway?”
“Sugar wax,” I tell him, hoping it won’t be too tough for Jade to yank off my face later. “You know, this isn’t how I would have liked to meet your whole family.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not my whole family,” he says. “Not even close.”
“That’s—okay, a little scary. And strange. And exciting, maybe?”
Sean laughs and pulls me into his arms again. “Get ready for a lot more strange and scary and exciting.”
“I can’t wait.”
And that’s the God’s honest truth.
Epilogue
SEAN
“Shh! Quiet. You want someone to hear us?” Amber giggles, letting me know she’s not that serious about the need for silence.
Since I’m hoping to make her scream before the night is through, I’m not, either.
“Relax,” I tell her, pulling her down beside me on the thick wool blanket I’ve laid at the edge of the pond. “Bree is in Portland at some marketing convention, Brandon’s staying at your place with Jade, and my brothers know better than to snoop when I’m on a date.”
“A date, huh.” Amber smiles up at me, her face glowing in the moonlight as she reaches across me to grab the picnic basket. “I hope you know I expect you to feed me before I’ll put out.”
“I’ll feed you as often as you like,” I promise.
Forever and ever and ever, my subconscious adds.
My subconscious is probably jumping the gun a little, but it’s true. I definitely see myself with Amber until we’re old and gray. It’s too soon to be talking like that, but I get the sense we’re on the same page.
Amber pulls a bottle of Veuve Cliquot out of the basket and gives a hum of pleasure. “Oooh, fancy. What’s the occasion?”
“The occasion is the fulfillment of my favorite youthful fantasy.”
She gives me a coy look and pops the top off the bottle. “You’ll have to be more specific,” she says. “We’ve fulfilled a lot of fantasies lately.”
I laugh and pull two champagne glasses out of the basket. She fills the glasses three-quarters full, and I hand one to her as soon as she’s stashed the bottle back in the ice bucket.
Yes, I’m the dork who brings an antique marble chill bucket on a date that takes place on the bank of an irrigation pond.
“So which fantasy are we toasting?” she asks, even though I’m pretty sure she knows. The fact that we’re both sitting here dripping wet and wrapped in terrycloth robes would have clued her in.
“To skinny dipping,” I tell her, clinking my glass against hers. “Which was every bit as amazing as I always knew it would be, so thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” She smiles and takes a sip of champagne. “I always feel a little guilty about drinking this.”
“Because of my mom?”
She shrugs and swirls the bubbly liquid in the glass. “I know it was her favorite.”
“It used to be,” I admit. “But she’s found lots of other favorites now.”
Before my mother had even finished her thirty-day stint in rehab, she’d lined up a book deal for a guide to sexy mocktails and booze-free beverages. It’s scheduled to release the same week her new show debuts on the Food Network, spotlighting family recipes paired with specialty virgin beverages.
“The Virgin Chef,” Amber says, reading my mind. She gives a little grimace, then takes a sip of champagne to wash it down. “I guess the shock value sells.”
“That it does.”
“I’m just glad you got everything straightened out with the property ownership,” she says. “That the land is yours free and clear.”
“It’s a relief,” I agree. “And it’ll be nice having Chef Melody do guest chef appearances in the restaurant a few times a year.”
We sit in silence a moment, surrounded by the symphony of crickets and croaking frogs who may or may not have been checking out our junk in the pond ten minutes ago.
When Amber speaks, her voice is softer. “Thank you for showing me the cave,” she murmurs. “I can see why it meant so much to you.”
“A little like your family’s chapel.”
She smiles. “Exactly.”
Her fingers find mine on the blanket, and I sit there stroking her knuckles for a few seconds. “There’s something else I want to show you.”
“Pretty sure I’ve seen it all.” She sips her champagne and smirks. “I’ve been impressed so far.”
“Funny, but no.” I lift the champagne flute from her fingers and set it aside with mine. Then I get to my feet and lift her
up with me. “Come on. It’s just over here.”
I lead her along the marshy bank of the pond, stepping around a puddle that threatens to suck the flip-flops off our feet. “Where are we going?” Amber asks.
Fingering the flashlight in my robe pocket, I smile to myself. “You’ll see.”
I can see the tree up ahead, its leaves flickering in starlit breeze. As we draw closer, Amber makes a soft, “oh” sound.
“You found the tree,” she says, running her fingers over the faint initials carved in the bark. She turns with an expression halfway between quizzical and self-conscious. “You wanted me to see my name carved next to some old boyfriend?”
“Nope.” I train the beam of my flashlight on the tree next to it. It’s a quaking aspen, sturdy and gnarled with paper-white bark and delicate leaves fluttering above us. When the letters catch her eye, Amber gasps again. She lifts her hand, tracing her fingers over the letters. “‘AK + SB = 4ever.’” She turns and grins. “I love it.”
“I had a professional arborist do it so there’s no damage to the tree,” I say. “I know that’s not as romantic as me doing it myself with a pocketknife, but I wanted it done right.”
“That’s way more romantic,” she says, dropping her hand from the tree trunk and lacing her fingers through mine. “I love that you’re the most thoughtful guy on the planet.”
“I wanted it to last forever.”
She smiles, and I know she realizes I’m not just talking about the tree. “So do I.”
Yeah, I know it’s soon. But sometimes, you just know.
As I plant a kiss along her hairline, I see her glance at the other tree. The one with her youthful carvings. A flicker of embarrassment passes over her face, but I squeeze her hand to draw her attention back to me. “It’s part of your story,” I tell her. “Part of how you got to me. I’d never want to erase that.”
She gives me a small smile. “Like your tattoo?”
“Exactly.” I squeeze her hand. “Like keeping your flames going after the unity candle is lit.”
“I love that.” Amber smiles. “And I love you. So much.”
I pull her into my arms, thrilled by the feel of her warm, naked body under that robe. “I love you, too.”
My dream girl.
I think the words, but don’t say them aloud. It’s true I got the girl of my fantasies, but also true she’s so much more than that. The flesh and blood version of Amber is so much better than the one I imagined.
“So,” she murmurs against the side of my neck. “Tell me how it went in your fantasies.”
“What do you mean?”
She draws back from our embrace, and the smile she gives me sends a jolt of lust through me. “Well, I step out of the pond without a stich of clothing on,” she says. “And you’re up there on the balcony…”
“Ignoring the fact that my father is down here yelling at you for trespassing?”
“Ignoring that,” she says. “We’re rewriting our own version of the story here.”
And I’m so damn grateful for that I could burst. Amber smiles and stretches up to kiss the edge of my jaw. It’s a soft kiss and so light it’s almost chaste, but there’s nothing chaste about the surge that bolts through me. “So,” she whispers. “Tell me how it goes from there.”
I smile and draw her to me, leaning down to claim her mouth. I kiss her hard and deep and so passionately we have to lean back against the tree to keep from toppling.
When I draw back, we’re both breathless. I reach up and brush a damp tendril of hair off her face. “How about I show you instead?”
Amber grins and presses her body against mine, the front of her robe parting just enough to leave my mouth watering.
“Perfect,” she whispers. “That’s the best kind of story.”
Don’t miss out!
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Acknowledgments
Great big gobs of thank yous, hugs, and awkward butt pats to Fenske’s Frisky Posse for being the most amazing street team a girl could hope for. You ladies rock!
Endless thanks to Kait Nolan for showing me the self-pub world isn’t as scary as I thought it was. It’s still scary, so thank you for petting my hair and soothing me with wine.
I couldn’t do this without Linda Grimes, who never bats an eyelash at my last-minute pleas for critiques and advice. I love you almost as much as I love your books (so where’s the next one?!)
Meah Meow, I’m soooooo thankful for that day a year ago when you noticed my yelp for help and said, “I can be an author assistant!” You are amazing at it, and an equally awesome pet sitter, so thank you for both!
I’m hugely thankful to Susan Bischoff and Lauralynn Elliott of The Forge for all your hard work whipping this bad boy into shape. It finally has a title!
Thank you to all my Facebook pals for pitching in with your wedding fiasco stories. I’m especially grateful to thank Judah McAuley, Sharon Slick Reads, Sierra Newburn, Dawn Alexander, Kathy Owen, and Terri Lynn Coop.
Love and gratitude to my family, Aaron “Russ” Fenske and Carlie Fenske, and Dixie and David Fenske for always being there. Thanks also to Cedar and Violet for being pretty kickass step-kids. Don’t say kickass.
And thank you always to Craig for being my rock, and for always believing in me. And for naked stuff.
About the Author
When Tawna Fenske finished her English lit degree at 22, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award finalist, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred reviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, step-kids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, standup paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.
Also by Tawna Fenske
The Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedies Series
Studmuffin Santa
Chef Tastycakes
* * *
Standalone Romantic Comedies
At the Heart of It
This Time Around
Now That It’s You
Let it Breathe
About That Fling
Eat, Play, Lust (novella)
Frisky Business
Believe It or Not
Making Waves
* * *
The Front and Center Series
Marine for Hire
Fiancée for Hire
Best Man for Hire
Protector for Hire
* * *
The First Impressions Series
The Fix Up
The Hang Up
The Hook Up
* * *
The List Series
The List
The Test
The Last
* * *
Schultz Sisters Mysteries
Getting Dumped
The Great Panty Caper (Novella)
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