Page 120 of The Rules We Broke
“You’ll see.”
His curiosity flickered behind his eyes, but he settled into the seat, relaxed. “I’m all yours.”
“I like the sound of that.”
As we cruised toward Birmingham, the green-and-white sign for the airport loomed up ahead. Brady sat up straighter.
“Please tell me we’re going to Vegas,” he said, excitement creeping into his voice.
I laughed, glancing his way. “This is better than Vegas.”
He leaned in, hopeful. “Okay . . . Atlantic City?”
“Brady,” I said, amused, “do you really want to get married in one of those places?”
He reached over and touched my cheek, gentle as ever. “I just want to get married. I don’t care where.”
“Well, I do. And believe me—my auntdefinitelydoes. I want to get married in our church.”
He looked at me, half confused, half still dreaming of us hopping on a plane to elope. “What’s better than getting marriedtoday?”
“Okay,” I admitted, “maybe it’s notbetter.But I promise, you’ll love it. Okay?”
He gave a hesitant smile. “Okay.” But I could tell he was still trying to puzzle me out.
Now I worried that I’d dashed his hopes.
The sparkle in his eye had dulled somewhere between Birmingham and the parking lot, and when we pulled into the crowded outdoor mall, disappointment settled on his face like a cracked foundation.
“Darlin’,” he asked carefully, “did you mean to come here? I thought you finished your Christmas shopping.”
“I thought I had,” I said with a smile. “Turns out I neglected one person on my list—and I need your help.”
He looked confused. Disappointed. Maybe even a little betrayed.
I let him be that way for a moment. Then I got out of the car and leaned back in. “Aren’t you coming?”
He gave me the kind of look reserved for someone who’d truly lost their minds, but he climbed out anyway.
At the passenger side, I grabbed his hand. “Come on.”
He followed, reluctant and grumbling under his breath, as we weaved through the packed sidewalks teeming with last-minute shoppers. Saturday before Christmas might be a terrible day to shop—but this would be worth it.
When we reached our destination, he frowned. “Pottery Barn? Really, Ellie?”
“Believe me,” I said, tugging him along, “this is significantly better than Vegas.”
He shook his head, clearly wondering how I’d gone from romantic mystery to sofa displays. But I was undeterred.
A cheerful associate named Logan greeted us at the entrance. “How can I help you today?”
“Could you please direct us to your bedroom furniture?” I asked.
Brady blinked.
Logan smiled and led us toward the back of the store.
“Let me know if you have any questions,” he said, before disappearing into the crowd.
