Page 93 of Her Goal
Did he hear my question right before the ride reversed directions?
“I did say we could get married here, didn’t I?” Though I’m not sure that’s lawful.
He asks, “Should I be getting my hopes up?”
I laugh because obviously, we’re not getting married at a carnival. “This isn’t like Las Vegas, where we can just roll up to a stall that offers a quick and painless marriage package.”
Hudson points at a makeshift building built out of rough-sawn lumber. “But we could get dressed like an old-timey couple on their wedding day.”
Taking my hand, he drags me toward the booth calledSawtooth Portraits and More.
A woman in a frilly frock and a ringlet wig greets us with a parasol. Keeping in character, she says, “My name is Bonnie. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What can I do you for? We have whiskey, rooms upstairs, and all the trouble you can get into.” She winks and giggles.
Hudson replies, “I’m not sure that’s what we’re looking for.”
She playfully slaps him on the shoulder and glancing at me, says, “Well, sure you are, darlin’. Looks like you and your bride want to do some role-play.” She leads us deeper into the room with a folding screen in the back.
We exchange a long, searching look. Before we can convince each other to back out, Bonnie shoves a gown into my hands.
“Honey, you’re a tall glass of water, but I think you’ll fit into this just fine.” Then to Hudson, she adds, “You’re even taller and too good-looking not to have a beard. Or maybe an eyepatch.”
He says, “I was thinking more of an old prospector in the Wild West, not a pirate.”
“Definitely not a swashbuckler,” I say, referring to the Miami team and Crew.
Hudson chuckles as she shuffles us behind a screen with hardly enough room for both of us. It’s awkward for a minute, as if neither one of us has ever been in a changing area before. I certainly haven’t, at least not with a boy—no, a man. Chuck and I supposedly took baths together when we were babies because we were closest in age, but I’ve blocked that from my memory.
Hudson says, “I’ll just turn around.”
“Right. I’ll just get into this dress somehow.” It’s ivory satin with lots of lace and poofs and tassels. The skirt contains a hoop, laces run up the sides, and the sleeve ruffles make me glad humanity as a whole no longer uses candles for illumination, otherwise, I’d probably catch on fire.
I take off my sweater and hold it around myself for privacy and then realize I need to unzip my boots. It’s an awkward sixty seconds of trying to discreetly undress while knowing that there is a large and very attractive man behind me doing the same. It’s not as if I’ve never had to use changing rooms or locker rooms, but I was always surrounded by girls and we were all trying to get into teeny tiny figure skating costumes. This is different. Hudson’s evergreen scent filters my way and a draft lets in cool air, underscoring the warmth he radiates and making me want to nestle closer to him. If I were stranded in the Arctic, I would want to be with him.
Wait a minute …
What does that mean?Want to be with him. Do I want it to be with him?
Before I can let myself answer that question, I realize I have a problem. I cannot twist my arm to zip up the back of the dress. I hold it together and wonder how women in the olden days ever did things like this. Maybe they had a sister or maid to help them. All I have is Hudson.
Put another way, I have Hudson.
Do I?
Do I want to?
The little bounce in my belly suggests the answer.
28
LEAH
From behind me,in a terrible imitation of a Western accent, Hudson says, “Well, little lady, I think we’re about to go get our wedding photos taken.”
Playing along, I say, “I would be happy to oblige, but I’m afraid I can’t zip up my frock.”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s inches away. If I leaned back, I could rest my head by the crook of his neck.
His voice is rougher than before when he says, “I think I can help with that.”
