Page 122 of Ripped & Shipped
Leave a comment with what you did for the 4th this year. And if it wasn’t your fave, don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of those. Puh-len-ty. But one day, you just might meet a soldier, or whoever you meet, and have your own private fireworks show. I’m believing it for you.
He’s so #rippedandshipped
Yes, we’re #ChellaMaeBae
He’s #myguy #hesthebest #stilllovingthebeard #kissmenow #ticklemyfacewiththosewhiskers #mysoldier #bigboy
#fireworkswhewbaby #cowsontheloose #smalltownholiday #celebratethe4th #foundingfathers #lawnmowerparade
Comments:
942 Comments
@lifes_a_beach123:Awww ?? So happy for you and your hottie! We went to the beach for the evening. Picnic dinner with the kids. They probably ate more sand than food, but they went to bed happy.
@Fab-U-lous_EllaMae:That’s just the best! Fun memories!
@midwestcutiepie:Local parade and fireworks here. Nothing fancy. Love those pics of you and Mr. Shoulders!
@fashion_beauty_lifey:Wore the ultimate red-white-blue outfit #trending #holidayfashion #showyourspirit … Love you two … and you’re using my hashtags! That’s a total win for me! Happy 4th gurrrl!
@ImSOBeefy:Spent the holiday wishing we were together. These pics are just wrong. I love your smile and those pigtails. It should be me holding you, Ella Mae.
CHAPTER41
Ella Mae
“... blah blah blah … ImSOBeefy?”Meg asks me at breakfast the morning after Chris rocked my world with his declaration.
We’re standing at the island in our pjs. I still haven’t told Meg about the latest with Chris. She got home late. Well, I got home late too, but she was still out with Joe when I got here.
“Hmmm?” I ask.
I only half heard what she said.
Okay, yes. I’m in a complete haze of puffy pink sweetness where every thought circles back to Chris kissing me, or the words he softly whispered in my ears, or how it felt leaning back on him and watching the fireworks together.
“I said, did you see the comment from ImSOBeefy on your Fourth of July post? And I have to say, those photos of you and Chris make me almost jealous. You two should get an Academy Award for faking.”
“We’re not.”
“Obviously. I mean, I think that goes to Tom Hanks or someone. I was kidding.”
“No, I don’t mean we’re not getting an award. I mean, we’re not faking.”
Meg’s eyes snap up to mine and she stops filling her coffee cup mid-pour.
“You’re not faking, as in, he told you he likes you and you told him you can’t stop thinking about those arm muscles, and that chest, and those thighs?”
“Enough on the muscles. He’s mine,” I practically growl.
My reaction nearly throws Meg into a fit of laughter.
“Okay. Okay. But is that what you’re telling me? You called off faking so you can actually date one another.”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”
My voice has this airiness to it—dreamy, floaty, happiness. Gah. I’m so happy it’s scary. Things like this don’t happen to me. And if they do, they don’t last.
