Page 88 of Ripped & Shipped
“It really was special.”
Ella Mae’s smile hits me in the middle of the chest like a defibrillator. Her happiness over Mom seems to magnify the whole experience.
I’m beyond questioning this. I’ve gone three days without seeing Ella Mae. Right now, we’re together, and I’m soaking up the effect she has on me.
She must sense it because she tips her head to the side just a little and studies me.
Then she says, “You look pretty happy yourself, Big Boy.”
“Yeah. I guess I am. How are you?”
“I’m great.”
She turns into the living room. I haven’t taken my eyes off her since I got here. She’s wearing jeans with some intentional rips in them and a crisp white T-shirt that says the words,Ooh La Laon it. And she’s barefoot again, those hot pink toenails on display.
“Hi, to you too,” Meg says.
I look up from staring at Ella Mae’s feet. Next to my yoga fart, this may be the second most embarrassing moment of my life. I was definitely checking out her feet. And they both know it. It was that post with all those sandals and shoes. It got me thinking about her feet. I’m sure not admitting that to them.Uh, yeah. I’ve been stalking Ella Mae’s posts. I especially like the summer shoe selection reel.Nope. I’m taking that info to my grave.
“Hey, Meg. How are you doing?” I ask, trying to move past the whole staring at feet thing.
“Great. I’m officially your photographer today.”
I look at Ella Mae for any clue as to what we’re doing.
Ella Mae explains, “Some shots can be taken with the tripod, but action shots are better with an actual photographer behind the lens. Today, we’re doing action shots.”
She’s taken this whole Instagram couple thing to the next level. I’d expect nothing less. Come to think of it, her followers would expect this.
“Okay. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
Ella Mae cocks a brow at me and makes a face. “You’re just going to do whatever I say today? Did you hit your head?”
“No. I’m just feeling extra agreeable, so maybe take advantage of that while it lasts.”
Truth is, I probably would do anything she asks today, and that’s nothing she needs to know. I already feel like I’m playing poker with a bunch of mismatched cards and no hope of the dealer cutting me a break.
“Let’s get this party started!” Ella Mae says, waving her hands over her head and shimmying her hips as she walks out of the living room and into the kitchen. Meg and I follow her out the back door.
Once we’re in the back yard, she’s got all sorts of poses in mind. She’s even pulled up photos from a site called Pinterest of other couples doing romantic things together.
If you had told me even three weeks ago that I’d be in Ella Mae’s back yard, giving her a piggyback ride while Meg tried to capture the best angle of the two of us, well, I’d have shaken my head and sent you to see a specialist for help. But here I am, Ella Mae’s legs wrapped through my arms and around my waist, her arms around my neck, and her laughter vibrating across my back.
“You make me feel like I don’t weigh anything!” she says from up there.
“You don’t,” I assure her.
“Awww, Soldier. That’s the sweetest.”
She leans down and rests her head on top of mine. I wish I could freeze time to keep her there.
Meg shouts, “Oh my gosh! That was the best shot yet! Ella Mae, you are going to love that one.”
We lay on the grass with our legs going in opposite directions and our heads touching. Then we slowly walk toward the front of the house, holding hands while Meg shoots us from behind.
It should be nothing, holding Ella Mae’s hand, but it’s something I don’t usually do with women. For some reason, hand holding feels like a commitment. I could hold Ella Mae’s hand all day. It’s so small in mine, and soft, and warm.
“You’ve got beefy bear paws for hands,” she says, looking up at me.
