Page 25 of Won't Back Down
“No, they’re perfect.”
“Okay then, let’s begin.”
We pocketed our respective rings, then Sawyer took both my hands in his. As I faced him, I felt a burble of hysterical laughter catch in my chest. This was absolutely insane.
He must’ve seen the rising overwhelm because he squeezed my hands, gently stroking his thumbs over the pulse points in my wrists. I focused on that soft brush of his skin against mine, over and over, through the simple, traditional vows I barely registered repeating. That touch was almost drugging, giving the proceedings a dreamlike quality as we slid rings onto each other’s fingers and finished saying the words that would bind us together.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
That dreamlike state popped like a bubble, and suddenly time was moving normally again, with no insulation from the vague hint of panic.
We hadn’t discussed this. Maybe he hadn’t thought it was necessary to talk about because it was a wedding. Of course this was part of it. But somehow I hadn’t remembered and?—
He bent and pressed his lips to mine, and my mind went utterly blank. There was nothing salacious in the kiss. It was respectful, almost chaste. But that brush of his lips against mine rocked me to my marrow. I’d thought of having his mouth on mine a million times since he saved me from drowning, and now here it was. Our first kiss.
I swayed toward him, instinctively rising to meet him as all the denied desires I’d bottled for years fizzed up and boiled over. His hand slid beneath my hair to cup my nape, his fingers settling over the little tattoo he didn’t even know I had, and the touch set me on fire. It felt possessive and comforting, and I wanted to feel it everywhere.
Then the kiss was over.
Sawyer pulled back, leaving me wanting and aching in places I had no business expecting him to soothe, considering this marriage was essentially a favor.
But as I numbly turned toward Delilah’s demand for more pictures, a little voice echoed in my head.
But he’s your very real husband.
CHAPTER 12
SAWYER
With the ease and familiarity of a lifetime around boats, I eased the Boston Whaler back into its slip and cut the engine. Mama Flo had already looped the stern line around a piling as I leapt to the dock to tie off the bow. We were officially back on Hatterwick.
Everybody gathered their stuff, as if something momentous hadn’t just happened. I handed Mama Flo and Mimi safely to the dock, then reached to take Willa’s hand. She was more than capable of making the transition herself, but I couldn’t stop myself from stepping close and wrapping an arm around her waist, plucking her from the boat and hauling her safely into me until her feet touched the worn wood planks.
We stared at each other for a long moment, because we’d done the thing we set out to do and now… now was the after we hadn’t talked about.
The wind had snatched a lock of her hair from her braid, plastering it across her cheek. I tucked it behind her ear. “Now what?”
She stood close enough that I felt her chest rise and fall with a sigh. “Well, at the very least, I need to go tell Bree, because obviously I’m not taking you back to the cottage tonight. That would be weird.”
Because it’s our wedding night.
And, shit, now I was trying desperately not to think about that, because, of course, it wasn’t going to be that kind of wedding night. My dick wasn’t getting the memo because this was my wife. She still wore the pretty white dress. Color flushed her cheeks, and her hair was windblown and a little wild. I preferred it this way. Not so hemmed in by perfection. I liked that for Willa, who’d been jailed by rules around appearance and propriety for so much of her life.
“That would be a great place to start spreading the news,” Mimi agreed. “Why don’t y’all go on by the Brewhouse on the way back?”
“May as well. At least it won’t be very busy this time of day.” That would certainly be easier on her than any kind of formalized Surprise! We Eloped! reception Mimi might dream up.
“Okay. I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine, even if it’s not even four o’clock.”
“I feel like we can make that happen.”
We piled our stuff into Willa’s Jeep and made the short drive up to OBX Brewhouse. Mimi and Mama Flo followed in their own car. The sprawling two-story structure was clad in weathered gray shingles, with a wraparound porch dotted with rocking chairs and benches for patrons to wait until their table was ready or enjoy a glass of beer made on-site. The microbrewery had been added during the rebuild, after an arsonist had burned the place nearly to the ground during my last summer on the island before joining the Navy. Awning windows were propped open on three sides, taking advantage of the sea breezes and the view of Pamlico Sound a couple of blocks away. It looked as if it had always been here, exactly like this. Bree had worked hard to ensure the rebuild stayed true to the character of the tavern her grandfather had run his whole life, even as she’d added a new addition to house the stainless-steel kettles and other equipment for the microbrewery that had become a tourist draw in its own right.
As predicted, the parking lot was only partly full when we arrived. Before we got out of the Jeep, Willa shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head and looked at me. “We have to behave like married people.”
Where was she going with this? “That’s the point of this little exercise, right? To let people know we’re married?”
“I mean, yes. I just… We can’t go in there as friends.”