Page 20 of Baby for My Best Friend's Brother

She crawls in first, flopping onto her back with a sigh of relief.

I toe off my boots, shrug off my flannel, and climb in beside her, still wearing my jeans and undershirt. I prop myself on one elbow and look down at her.

She’s staring at the ceiling, lashes fanned, mouth soft.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispers. “I didn’t think I’d want company tonight, but…”

“But?”

She turns toward me slowly. Her palm finds my chest. “But I like how you make me feel. Like I can breathe a little easier.”

That’s all it takes. I lean in and kiss her. Soft at first. Her lips part beneath mine, and she pulls me closer.

We kiss like we’ve been waiting for this moment all night. Like the quiet and the moonlight and the leftovers of wine have created a bubble just for us.

Her fingers thread into my hair. My hand finds the curve of her hip. Our bodies align naturally, like we were made for this exact kind of slow burn.

I press kisses along her jaw, down her throat. She arches into me, breath hitching.

“You drive me crazy,” I murmur against her skin.

“Good.”

We kiss until the heat simmers low, until our hands grow still and our breathing syncs.

She sighs and presses her forehead to mine. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Same.”

We fall asleep like that. Tangled. Warm. Unwilling to let go.

SEVEN

SOPHIE

The bridal suite smells like roses and champagne. There’s underlying current of of nerves around us.

Winter sits tall in the makeup chair, her shoulders pulled back like she’s trying to channel calm. Her stylist carefully pins the last few strands of her soft updo, while the rest of us flutter around the room with lipstick tubes, steamers, and tiny bottles of Prosecco.

It’s chaos—but the perfectly wonderful, happy, beautiful kind.

“You good?” I ask, crouching beside Winter and gently squeezing her hand.

She meets my eyes in the mirror, her expression both radiant and overwhelmed. “I think so. Maybe? I don’t know. My stomach is doing weird somersaults.”

“That’s love,” I tease.

“That’s indigestion. I knew I shouldn’t have had that breakfast burrito,” she groans.

“You’re glowing.” I laugh and press a quick kiss to her temple. “Slate is going to cry the moment he sees you.”

“He better,” she mutters, but her lips curve into a grin.

Before I can answer, there’s a soft knock at the door.

A beat later, the door cracks open and Cliff steps inside—and the room goes still.

Or maybe that’s just me.

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