Kiss the Bride

by Jody Wallace

  “I’d have felt really uncomfortable,” he admitted.

  “Exactly.” She squeezed her forehead. “You’ve been happy for things to continue as always. Like normal, you said. Well, now you know, so go ahead. Be uncomfortable. Be mad. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters to me,” he said. “I don’t understand why you could never talk to me about any of this.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” Three more steps and she’d be able to shove him down the stairs, but murderous rages were never wise. She should try name-calling. “Can’t you see that? You are the slowest, dumbest—”

  “Slow isn’t dumb. Slow is careful.” That baffled expression crossed his face again, and after a moment, he observed, “You dated lots of guys while you’ve supposedly been in love with me.”

  She pointed at him with a finger crooked like a scimitar. “I will kill you with my brain. You weren’t celibate, either.”

  “I didn’t date as much as you did.”

  “Oh. My God. Are you saying I’m slutty?” she yelled, throwing up her hands. “I like dating, I like romance, and I really like sex. I wasn’t getting any of that from you.”

  His chin jutted out. “Well, I’m not the kind of person who has casual sex.”

  “I know what kind of person you are.” It was why she loved him, and why she currently would like to see him beneath her feet as she trampled him like grapes.

  Heck rubbed his chin, his fingers scraping the stubble. “I don’t think you’re slutty. I don’t know what I’m saying. I had this planned out, but then you started talking, and I got mad again, thinking about you agreeing to marry him.”

  Once again, he turned his back on her and headed for his truck.

  He was a dead man.

  Caroline leaped down the stairs, landed in the gravel, and hardly even winced when it bit into her soles.

  He beat her to the vehicle, yanking open his door. She jerked him away from it before he could slide into the cab.

  “You apologize to me right now.” She stabbed him in the chest with her finger, and he held up both hands. “This is not the olden days. Adults can have sex for any reason they feel like having it. I refuse to be judged by a big, dumb, sexist pig.”

  His ass hit the open door, and it slammed shut. “I’m not judging.”

  “Sure you’re not.” She had nothing to be ashamed of, but Heck’s opinion of her mattered more than anyone else’s. She whacked him again for good measure.

  He grabbed her fist before she could poke him a third time. “That hurts, Caroline.”

  “I’m surprised you can feel anything, you lump.” She kicked him in the shin, which stubbed her toe more than his leg. “Ouch. Crap. I can’t believe you keep walking away in the middle of our conversation. I’ve never seen anything so disrespectful.”

  “I’m not walking away. I need something out of the truck.”

  “A likely story,” she raged. “I tell you I love you, so you call me slutty and run like a coward. What kind of friend are you?”

  “How about you tell me something?” Heck suggested, getting in her face. This close, he smelled like the icing on his tuxedo jacket, sugary and cloying. “Are you going to keep dating other guys?”

  “Yes, I am,” she spat. “As soon as possible.”

  “Then I need to lay down some rules.” He straightened, his posture bumping her back a step. “No more maid of honor for me. The only wedding I’ll ever be in with you is when we’re the ones getting married. You and me, not you and some dickwad I hate.”

  Caroline stared at him incredulously. “That’s a shitty, mean thing to say. I know you don’t feel that way about me. You’re never going to ask.”

  Heck took her shoulders, his grip firm. “That’s where you’re dead wrong. Because I am going to ask.”

  Her stomach bottomed out. “Like hell you are.”

  “I’m asking right now. Do you want to marry me or not?”

  “Not,” she responded instantly, her temper answering for her.

  Heck glared at her. Then he caught her face between his hands and pulled her against him. “Try again.”

  Caroline swallowed. “You’re being cruel.”

  “Put your hand in my right pants pocket.”

  “Now you’re being a pervert.”

  He lowered his head until their lips were inches apart. “Do it. Now.”

  Tentatively, she felt her way around his midsection, down his ribs, until she found his waistband. His hip. She slid her hand into his pocket, noticing he had an erection, because how could she miss a penis that big?

  Then her fingers touched something tiny, circular, and hard. Metallic hard. Jewelry hard. “What’s this?”

  “It’s for you.”

  She pulled a diamond ring out of his pocket, one she recognized as his grandmother’s. A beautiful solitaire in a swirled gold setting. She held it up like a question.

  “Caroline Ann Oakenfield,” he murmured, his lips ghosting across hers as he spoke. “I am crazy about you. I didn’t realize it until recently, but I am, and that’s how it is. I think you’re wonderful. I like your parents. I like your body and your hair and the way you taste. I like fighting with you and I like agreeing with you. I gave up on dating because I didn’t need other women. I mean, I missed the sex, but damn, Caro, last night was… Damn.”

  Last night had been a dream come true. This was the other dream, the bigger dream, and Caroline scarcely trusted her ears. “What are you saying?”

  “What I’m saying is, I love you, too. I want to marry you and change baby diapers with you. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  She trembled with shock, nearly dropping the diamond.

  “You want to see if that fits?”

  She slid it onto her bare finger. It was loose; the Heckleys were big-boned. She closed her fingers to keep it safe.

  “You should know, if you so much as look at another guy after today,” Heck added conversationally, “I’m going to beat his ass like I did Stevie Guyer’s.”

  She rested against him the way she’d always wished she could, draping herself across his strength and his steadiness. “Stevie still won’t talk to me.”

  “I know.”

  The satisfaction in Heck’s voice shivered all the way to her knees, weakening them like pudding, so she saved herself by wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “I want an answer, Caroline.” He dropped one hand to her hip, dragging her body flush against his. “Are we getting married? Say yes.”

  She raised herself on her tiptoes, hoping their lips would switch over to kissing, but Heck kept his mouth just out of reach.

  “I guess so,” she agreed with a long-suffering sigh.

  “Oh, and I got you flowers,” he said, jerking his head toward the cab. “I told you I needed something out of the truck. It was late when I left the police station, but I know a guy. I wanted to do this right.”

  She didn’t care how it had happened. It was right. At last, it was right. “I love you.”

  It was the last sentence spoken between them for several minutes. At least until Caroline’s cell phone buzzed for the eighth time, and she gave up and checked it.

  It was Jhi. She’d texted, If I’m not the maid of honor this time, cupcake, we’re through.

  At last, Jhi Yuan got what she wanted, and so did Caroline Ann Oakenfield and Herman Edward Heckley III. And everyone in Tallwood lived happily ever after. In a manner of speaking.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks go to the KGs—Keyren Gerlach and Kerri-Leigh Grady, who tag-teamed me to success. Also to Carrie for the environmental tidbits and being the maid of honor at my wedding; to Cathy for not asking me, “WTF, seriously?” more than twice; to Natalie for the enthusiasm and optimism I’m often sadly lacking; to my family for getting out of my cranky space when I was editing; to the previous books set in the Tallwood universe for being a fertile story-ground; to Meankitty for insisting on some cat references; and to al
l the completely true stories my female friends have shared about their sexual escapades.

  About the Author

  Jody Wallace grew up in the South in a very rural area. She went to school a long time because there was always more to learn and ended up with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. In addition to author of romance, her resume includes college English instructor, technical documents editor, market analyst, web designer, and general all around pain in the butt. She currently lives in Tennessee with her family: one husband, two kids, and two cats, including Meankitty. One of her many alter egos is “The Grammar Wench”, which should give you an indication of her character. She is a terrible packrat and likes to amass vintage clothing, books, crocheting supplies, antique kitchenware, gnomes, and other items that threaten to force her family out of the house. She also likes cats. A lot.