Page 137 of The Wedding Menu

“Okay. And what do I say if we need to talk?”

Once my shorts are buttoned up, I sigh. “I don’t know. You… you just say what you need to say.”

“Fine. So can we discuss—”

“Where are you?” I ask as I grab my T-shirt.

“I… I’m somewhere safe. Seriously, Amelie, we—”

“Somewhere safe? Safe from what?”

“From you?” He laughs. “You keep jumping on me every time I try to talk to you, and I’d be thrilled if I wasn’t pretty sure you’re trying to avoid this conversation. And you keep doing that thing with your voice and, holy fuck, you have me in a choke hold every time.”

On my way to the restroom, I stop. “Which thing with my voice?”

“That thing. You know. ‘Ineedyou.’?”

“What? I use emphasis?”

“No, not emphasis.” There are birds chirping in the background, so he must be outside. “Your voice gets all raspy and low. And you bite your bottom lip. I just want to pull it free and then push my thumb in there and feel you suck—you’re doing it again!”

“I’m not even speaking, Ian,” I say as I enter the bathroom. “Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

“Patio. But no sex, Amelie. Not for… ten to fifteen minutes. Twenty, maybe. Until we’ve talked.”

“I’ll even give you half an hour.”

“All right. I’ll get you a coffee.”

“See you soon.”

“Hi,” I say as I step onto the patio.

Ian, sitting with his back to me, turns around, sunglasses on and a wide smile on his lips as he takes me in. “Good morning, beautiful.”

I move closer, lean forward, then stop. Studying his face, I narrow my eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. No. Wait—” He puts his hand behind my head and pulls me closer, then stops before my lips are on his and cocks an eyebrow. “No tongue. I don’t trust you.”

As I giggle, he presses his lips to mine, his tongue swiping past and finding my own. The hypocrite. His fingertips rub my scalp as my arms loop around his neck, and with a low moan he pulls me onto his lap.

“You’re doing it again,” he whispers as he rests his forehead on mine. Quick breaths burst out of his lips, his shaft hardening under my ass.

He must realize I’m doing nothing at all.

“Sorry,” I say as I gently kiss his cheek, then stand. I grab the cup on the table, then take a long sip as I sit down. “Did you have breakfast already?” I ask when I notice only one plate of food.

“Yeah. I met my dad.”

Oh, shit. I nod with fake enthusiasm, then tone it down when I end up nodding like a bubblehead doll. “Great. Great. How—how is he?” Which is to say, did he finally grow horns?

“He also isn’t giving me the full story.” Ian’s arms are crossed over his chest, and with a reassuring smile, he asks, “Will you?”

“Ian, I promise, there’s nothing to say,” I repeat for the millionthtime since yesterday. No matter how much I insist, he won’t believe me. Turns out that him knowing me so well is a real inconvenience.

“Really?”

“Really.”

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