Page 134 of Wild Then Wed
It takes me half a second longer than it should. But when I say it—when I hear myself say it—something inside me settles. “I do.”
And then he smiles again. Small. Crooked. Private.
The pastor clasps his hands together and says something about how beautiful the ceremony has been, how meaningful and heartfelt and rare it is to witness a love like this. I feel every cell in my body cringe at the wordlove.
Then, with a smile that feels far too knowing for my current mental state, he says, “By the power vested in me by the state of Montana, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Wife.
I’m somebody’s wife.
He turns to Sawyer. “You may now kiss your beautiful bride.”
Sawyer’s eyes flick to mine, and I swear my stomach drops straight through the floor.
Oh god.
Right. That part. The part where our mouths are supposed to touch in front of everyone we know. How did I forget about this part?
My brain goes into immediate triage mode. We’ve never kissed. Not once. We’ve been fake engaged and fake smiling and somehowthisis the part that slipped through the cracks?
We probably should’ve practiced. Just once. Just so I’d know how it was going to go. What if I tilt my head the wrong way? What if I miscalculate the pressure? What if I…forget how to kiss entirely?
God, when was the last time I even kissed someone?
Would it have been weird to ask him to practice beforehand? Just a dry run? It could’ve been very professional, in my opinion. Not weird at all.
Before I can finish the five other thoughts trying to form in my head, Sawyer steps toward me.
My breath stalls. He’s close now, closer than I’ve ever let him get, and suddenly I can see the edge of nervousness in the way his jaw tightens. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
He’s nervous, too.
He doesn’t want to kiss me.
Of course he doesn’t. This isn’t real.
I think about stepping back. About saying something, anything, just to buy myself a second. But nothing comes out. My body’s stuck somewhere between panic and anticipation and my brain is offering me absolutely zero help.
He leans in, and before I can spiral any further—his lips are on mine.
They’re soft at first, barely there, like he’s trying not to startle me. But then I feel the shift, the quiet exhale against my mouth. The subtle change in pressure. The way his lips part slightly, like he’s testing the edges of this thing between us.
And suddenly it’s not careful anymore.
His hand slides from the side of my neck to cradle the back of my head, his fingers threading gently into my hair. His other hand stays planted at my waist, firm and warm, pulling me just a fraction closer. It’s not possessive. It’s not for show. It’s grounding, like he’s decided to be all in for this one moment.
I tilt my head slightly, and he meets the shift without missing a beat. His fingers flex gently at my waist. He brushes his bottom lip slowly over mine before catching it again, and my body answers before I can think.
My lips part. A breath. A heartbeat. And then I’m kissing him back.
One hand fists into the lapel of his jacket. The other curls around the back of his shoulder. I don’t even remember moving them there. I’m not thinking. I’m just feeling—his lips, warm and coaxing, the quiet way he hums when I shift just slightly, the way his thumb traces the edge of my jaw in slow, maddening circles.
He tastes like mint toothpaste. Sharp at first, then soft. The kind that lingers at the back of your tongue, clean and cool. It blends with the cologne, with the heat of him, and now I can’t tell which part is knocking the breath out of me.
There’s noise—somewhere. Clapping. A low murmur from the crowd. It barely registers. The room has dropped away, and all I can feel is the way he’s kissing me.
Not cautiously. Not like it’s pretend.
