Page 61 of A Cowboy's Twinkling Lights Lasso
She holds up her jeans. “I mean, I’m not dressed yet.”
I scoop her up in two steps and have my way with her on the dresser. We’ve christened almost every surface of this suite. Then I let her go. And even knowing we’re meeting up for supper, I ache inside.
I drag my feet to the bathroom for a quick shower. I would’ve instead showered with her. I don’t want to take my eyes off her for a second.
My phone buzzed shortly after I’m dressed and ready to head out. I swipe open my phone and read Flora’s text message.
Emergency. Meet me at the Enchanted Ballroom.
Great. Last-minute photo shit is going to steal my last night with her. Why couldn’t Mayor Thomas deal with it? Or the Quylt sisters? Anyone else.
I trudge to the Enchanted Ballroom in a mood. My eyes have to adjust when I step into the dimly lit ballroom.
Then I freeze.
Everywhere I look, memories stare back at me. A floating gallery of oversized photos hangs from the ceiling draped in twinkle lights. They feature pictures from my teenage years, places I recognize around town, and even photos from the weekend—pictures of Flora and me.
Then, like I’ve materialized her, Flora emerges from the suspended photos, a sweet and seductive smile on her face. She’s wearing a version of a Santa’s suit that boils my blood. Frilly, ruffled red dress short enough. If she bends over, I’ll get a view of her entire ass. Sweetheart neckline sparkling in tiny sequins. Knee-high stockings and red glittery boots.
“What’s all this?”
“This”—she lifts her arms, and that dress hikes up high enough for me to get a good view of her thighs—“is our story.”
I force my gaze to her eyes. “Our story?”
She nods. “Yes. Those sweet ladies you teamed up with have quite a collection from our past.”
“They do?”
“You didn’t know?”
I shake my head.
“Apparently, my mama knew. She knew about us and saved bits and pieces from our adventures together.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Yes. Would you like to see it?”
“I reckon I would.”
She slips her hand in mine, and we walk through the maze of pictures until she straightens a black-and-white photo of us at the local park. “Do you remember this movie night?”
“Do I remember snuggling in a blanket with you? No. Not at all,” I tease, wrapping my arms around the waist. My fingers itch to slide the zipper down her back, but my curiosity wins. “Who took this?”
“Who do you think?”
“The Quylt sisters,” we say simultaneously, and laughter erupts from us.
“I thought we were being discreet,” I drawl. “Hiding by the bushes, away from everyone.”
“It appears not discreet enough.”
“Apparently.”
She outlines the photo taken from quite a distance. “Remember all the snacks we had.”
I chuckle. “We went a little overboard with the popcorn and candy.”
