Page 85 of Untruly With You

“I think, at this point, she would settle for you saying you love her by writing it on a Post-it note.”

Before I can say anything else, there’s a knock at the door. Cassidy slides in, eyes already narrowed at me. Her wedding dress’ shape is the only thing simple about it. Tiny flower embellishments cover the fabric, making Cassidy look like a living garden in white. She pinned half of her long red hairback, and the rest cascades down, nearly to her waist, in big curls. Her makeup, though more dramatic than usual, is sheer enough across her cheeks and nose to show her freckles.

“Hey, Cass. You look nice,” I tell her, choosing my descriptor carefully so I don’t inject any awkward tension into the conversation.

“Thanks.” She waves a dismissive hand, her eyes still slits. She points an accusatory finger at me. “You haven’t told Laine how you feel?”

I snap my head to Frankie. “You told her?”

“Oh please,” Cassidy says, rolling her eyes. “Frankie didn’t need to tell me you love Laine. Everyone knows it.” She points a manicured finger at me. “ButI’lltell Laine the truth if you don’t hurry and do it yourself.”

A knock at the door silences us again. This time, it’s Laine who enters.

For a minute, I forget that Frankie and Cassidy are in the room too.

Laine’s short hair needs minimal styling. It draws attention to her features, allowing them to shine, especially her deep eyes and the long, full lashes that frame them. There’s a hint of blush on her cheeks and a sheer brush of red across her full lips. Her pink dress hugs along her soft curves.

I take an involuntary step closer to her. “You look…perfect.”

Laine’s eyes flick to Cassidy and Frankie, cheeks reddening. “I was just coming to see if you needed help with your tie—you know, with the shoulder and everything. But it looks like you have enough help.”

Frankie and Cassidy practically trip over each other as they sprint to the door.

“We were just leaving,” Frankie says.

Just before Cassidy closes the door behind her, she peeksher head back in, glaring me down. “Remember, if you don’t, I will.”

The door closes, but I can still hear Frankie and Cassidy on the other side of the door, eavesdropping.

“What was that about?” Laine asks, fidgeting nervously.

I hope my smile looks nonchalant. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want some help?” She gestures at my shirt, still unbuttoned, and blushes again. “It’s almost time for the ceremony.”

"Yeah, I could use a hand," I admit, grateful for the excuse to have her close.

Laine steps forward, fastening the buttons along my torso with a light touch. As she works, I catch her gaze, and there's something unspoken in the air. The atmosphere is charged with the emotions we've been dancing around for days. Laine's eyes, as rich as black coffee, meet mine. My breath catches.

“I like the scruff,” she says, breaking the silence with a teasing smile. I’ve had a close-trimmed beard for years, but I’ve never let it grow past that until now. “Leaning into the cowboy aesthetic, are we?” Her comment, though not really a joke, draws a chuckle from me, and it's a relief to let out some of the tension that has been building.

“I can’t trim it until the cuts heal.”

“Let’s hope they never heal, then,” she says, one corner of her mouth flitting up.

With my shirt buttoned, Laine moves to the tie. She threads it around the collar of my shirt, sure to avoid touching around my collarbone. The sweep of her fingers along my neck is enough to send a shiver through me.

Once the tie is in place, Laine grabs my jacket from the bed. I wince as she guides my arm through. She waits for my face to return to normal and finishes the job with even morecaution, hands tracing around me as she adjusts everything in place. The sling is next, and she studies my expression while helping me get it on, watching for any signs of discomfort.

She steps back just enough to look me up and down. “There. Handsome as ever,” she declares, eyes sparkling.

“Even with the bruises?”

“Oh,definitely,” Laine says, voice thick with sarcasm. “You looksobadass, which is obviously the goal at a wedding. And finally, the finishing touch.” Laine pins the boutonniere, a delicate arrangement of lavender, cut fresh from the field, onto my lapel.

Mere inches apart, we lock eyes again. Just like last night, Laine’s gaze searches for something in mine. Even after the boutonniere is secure, she doesn't move away. Instead, she lingers, her hands still hovering over my chest. We stand in silence, just looking at each other. I almost say it, right here and now. I even open my mouth, but I’m silenced by Laine tiptoeing up toward me. Like the tide to the shore, I’m drawn to her, catching in a gentle kiss.

The kiss is somehow tenderandurgent. Laine curls her fingers against my chest before gravitating to my hair, knotting her hands in my curls. I wrap my good arm around her back, holding her to me. A small gasp escapes her lips, passing between our mouths, and that little sound has my heart racing. Without thinking, I grab her fervently with both hands.

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