Page 98 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

“Wife,” Will says, holding my eyes.

My heart rate doubles as he stares at me, heat in his eyes. “This is the kind of scenario where she’d team up with you? This first part is where she’d maybe…help.”

Will nods, his hand settling over mine where it rests on his thigh. “Yeah, it is.”

Marriage used to be my dream. So much so, I ran headlong toward it with my ex when he proposed after only a few whirlwind months together. Now I think about it differently. I think about itas a place where I might one day find myself on the path of a loving journey, not the destination I’m desperate to rush toward.

Still, the wordwifecoming from Will’s deep, quiet voice makes something stir inside me, an excitement, a quiet, curiousmaybe somedaywhisper through my thoughts.

I turn my hand so our palms touch, curl my fingers around his big, callused hand. “Will…”

“Yes, Jules.” He peers down at me, his gaze warm and intense.

“Maybe today, I could do that? If…you wanted?”

His cheeks heat. “Be my wife?”

I narrow my eyes at him playfully. “Be yourteammate.”

“You did throw out the possibility of role-playing,” he says.

“I did.” I search his eyes. “But not that one. I don’t want to play a part with you anymore, at least, not a romantic one.”

Will nods. “I don’t want that, either. I think I made it pretty clear last night, but if not…no more practice? Now it can just be…us?”

I smile so wide it makes my cheeks ache. The joy that spills through me feels too big to contain. “Just us.”

His thumb sweeps across the back of my hand as he stares at me. He’s quiet for a moment, before he says, “Do you…do you think one day, you’ll want to be…married?”

My stomach knots, and my heart clangs against my ribs. “Someday, I think so. If it’s right, if the person I love”—that word’s weight ripples through the space between us, shimmering with promise—“if they wanted it, too.”

Will nods, a faint smile lifting his mouth. “Good to know.”

The owner Will nodded toward when we came in, Mari, who’s been down at the far end of the bar, seems to have appeared out of nowhere, flicking coasters onto the bar and clunking down two waters. We pull apart just enough to turn and face her.

“Hi,” she says flatly. Her short, dark hair is mussed, her tattooed skin shiny with sweat. She looks fried and stressed.

I’ve lived in the city and spent enough time in bars to recognize a frazzled, worn-out bartender. I flash her a warm smile. “Hi.”

“How are ya?” Will says politely.

“Oh, I’m shit,” she says.

Will falters. “Uh.” He clears his throat. “Sorry to…hear it.”

Mari grunts in response.

“Long day?” I ask.

She gives me a quick, weary glance, dragging a couple of empties off the bar top nearby and dunking them into the soapy water on her side of the bar. “And it’s going to get even longer. My musicians canceled. Got food poisoning, the assholes.”

I grimace sympathetically. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate,” Mari says, “is an understatement. These weren’t just any run-of-the-mill performers that I can try to get last-minute replacements for—they sing and play Scottish folk songs, and I have a whole goddamn horde of the Scottish Society members about to show up here, expecting a whole afternoon of traditional music that I promised them.AndI just ran out of their preferred whiskey. Fucking shipping notification said it would be here three days ago.” She wipes the sweat off her forehead, glaring down at the soapy bubbles. “I’m screwed.”

“What kind of Scottish folk songs are we talking about?” I ask.

Will gives me aWhat are you up to?look.

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