Page 89 of Karma's Kiss

My cheeks turn cherry red with all the possibilities, but I’m still not convinced. “How?”

His eyes darken; he knows he already has me wrapped around his finger. “I’ll wash all the dirty bottles sitting in the sinkandI’ll fold the laundry.”

“Pfft.Sweeten the pot.”

He laughs. “Okay, a back rub and—” He pauses and looks over my shoulder to make sure no one’s paying us any attention. When his eyes lock with mine again, I shiver. “I’ll do that thing you love. With my hands and my—”

I fling my hand over his mouth before he can continue. I won’t be able to concentrate in this game if he starts talking dirty to me in this dugout.

“Yes.Yes!I’ll play catcher!”

I remove my hand, and his triumphant smile only makes himthatmuch more handsome.

This man.I swear…

He steps back and whistles to the team. “What are you guys sitting around for?Let’s go!”

Later that evening, we’re at home enjoying our triumphant win over Cedar Valley for the second year in a row. The house is quiet—for now. Sleep when the baby sleeps, that’s what everyone tells you, but no one actually follows that advice. I can’t go to sleep at six PM, not when Sawyer is continuing to fulfill all those promises from earlier. The only thing left to do is wash the baby bottles, and he’s doing it now while white bean chicken chili simmers on the stove. He makes the meal for me every Saturday night; it’s our tradition. If I went in there and offered to help, he’d tell me to march my butt right back to the couch.

I love evenings like this, when it’s just our little family at home. It’s not picture perfect, mind you. There are dirty burp cloths strewn about, dried milk crusting on my oversized t-shirt, and some miscellaneous baking show is playing on the TV, but I’m not paying any attention to it. I’m too busy trying to uploada batch of baby pictures to Facebook. It’s tough whittling them down to only a few when really, I have at least a hundred I’d like to spam out to my friends list.

Before I get carried away though, something on my feed distracts me. A wedding photo, and not just any wedding photo.

It’s Matthew and Emma!

I bring my phone closer to my face and almost bruise my finger with how fast I click on the post to enlarge the image.Ohwow.Matthew certainly took my advice. From the looks of it, he and Emma ran off and got hitched in Vegas. In the picture, an Elvis impersonator with thick sideburns stands off to the side affecting the King’s signature smirk and finger-point pose. Matthew’s wearing a bright blue tuxedowith rufflesand Emma’s in a wedding dress so short I think I see butt cheek. They’re wrapped around each other tightly, face to face, and they look blissfully happy.

I’m stunned. It’s hard to believe there was no fancy wedding, no cocktail hour followed by dancing in the Shanghai ballroom, no all-white bouquet courtesy of Fiona and her team.

His parents must be livid.

I laugh and call out to Sawyer, “You won’tbelievewhat I just saw on Facebook!” then I consider commenting or liking the post, but I hear little Anvil crying through the baby monitor.

Just kidding.

There is no Anvil. Much to Marge and Queenie’s dismay, we named our son Tucker, and he’s an adorable three-month-old with curly brown hair, dimples like his dad, and ideally the IQ of Einstein, but we’ll accept any lesser-known physicist as well. As of yesterday, he started rolling over on his own. I’m shocked he’s progressing with gross motor skillsat all, let alone on schedule, because the boy never touches the ground. When I bring him into the Wildflower Weddings office—which I do a few times a week—Marge and Queenie come to blows over holding him.

“You’re hoggin’ him again, Marge!”

“I just got him.Back off!”

Of course the only reason I’m able to bring Tucker into the office at all is because finally—shockingly—Wildflower Weddings is no longer housed in a chaotic dumpster fire. The office is clean, dare I even sayorganized, and it’s all thanks to my man Tucker. When I told Queenie I didn’t feel safe bringing a newborn into the office with the current state of things, it finally lit a fire in her.

“Oh ho, no ma’am. You’re not keepin’ my grandbaby from me! Someone throw away that stack of boxes! Andwhy the helldo we still have toy airplanes hanging from the ceiling? One fell on my head yesterday!”

While I was still recovering at home, reveling in Tucker’s newborn days, Queenie enlisted David, Lindsey, Marge, Cassie, and Sawyer, and the six of them spent an entire weekend clearing the place out, ripping out old decor, replacing the stained carpet, and making it absolutely, one hundred percent babyproof.

Now when future brides walk into our office, they’re greeted by four neatly arranged desks, a fully stocked coffee station near the front couch, and a black and white portrait gallery of past clients. There’s a special designated spot just for Tucker and Cassie’s youngest replete with a playpen and more toys than any two kids could ever need, and most importantly of all, the front door now reads Wildflower Weddings.

While we still occasionally hit bumps in the road—Queenie will forget to send a batch of invoices or Marge will rudely hang up on someone just trying to book a consultation—I’m happy to be here working with our ragtag team. I get to do what I love, and I have all the flexibility and built-in childcare I could ask for. Eventually, I have plans to expand the business, especially concerning our online presence. (Marge volunteered to be oursocial media manager recently. Her first Instagram post was a picture of her foot she didn’t realize she’d uploaded. It got three likes and a comment from a user named @Dman809932 requesting her OnlyFans username.)

But for now, I like things exactly as they are. We have all the time in the world to expand. In the meantime, we have more brides on the schedule than ever, and this one lady in particular is a real piece of work:me.

I no longer want the Waldorf at sunset, and I have no plans to follow in Matthew’s footsteps and run off to Vegas. Sawyer and I agree we want a relaxed ceremony in late spring at the vineyard surrounded by family and friends. His grandfather will officiate, Tucker will be the ring bearer, and at the reception Queenie will give a rousing toast that brings everyone to tears. Kendra and Marge will share matron of honor duties, and though Kendra thinks a tasteful weekend in Aspen could be fun for the bachelorette party, Marge has commandeered planning privileges. Apparently, we’re going to Cabo in a few months.

I can imagine it now: Kendra, Lindsey, Queenie, Cassie, Marge, and me three sheets to the wind lounging under a canopy of palm trees, trying to decide if we want to rally and make it to dinner or just order room service back at the villa. Over a long weekend, we’ll get a little sunburned, laugh our asses off, cry FaceTiming Tucker and Sawyer, and undoubtedly at some point, Marge will wind up finding her panties in her purseagain, having no recollection of how they got there.

Honestly, I can’t wait.

---