Page 120 of Sing Me Home
Felt like I was going to vomit, but I shrugged coolly. “Are you kidding?” I made my brows bounce. “This is what I’ve been waiting for since I was thirteen.”
“Thirteen, huh? Got that head in the gutter early.”
“It’s called puberty. It just happens. Especially when your crush is running around in a bikini, teasing you at every turn.”
“Strategic flirting. That’s what that was.”
“Sure,” I said with a grin. “You keep telling yourself that.”
She clicked her tongue. “Hey. It worked. I got my guy.”
I stared into her eyes. “And I got my girl.”
“Yes, you did,” she murmured, reaching for my hand. “And you’re about to getallof me.”
“Yes!” I thrust my fists to the sky, making her laugh some more. But I was actually nervous about how I was going to undo all the buttons on the back of her dress. There were over a hundred. Of course, I didn’t need to undo all of them, just enough to slide that baby off. But still.
We made our way to the beginning of the sparkler corridor, hand in hand, giving each other amused sideways glances along the way.
“Hold on,” Aunt Tally put a hand out to stop us. Correction: my mother-in-law, Tally. That was going to take a minute. “We’re having some technical difficulties.”
The light, airy orchestral music Bowen had going screeched to a stop. Literally. It sounded like someone scratching the needle of a record player across vinyl. Then the Black-Eyed Peas blared loud enough that Charlie jumped as “I Gotta Feeling” filled the speakers. Everyone knew what that meant—tonight was going to be a good night.
Laughter erupted from the group.
“Oh, wait,” Bowen said. “Sorry, that’s not right.”
Next, “Body Like a Backroad” by Sam Hunt erupted.
“Wow.” My jaw jutted and Charlie belly-laughed.
Theo, Griffin, James, and Liam were rolling.
“Just wait, fellas,” I called. “He’s coming for you next.”
“Oh, he will not be DJing our wedding,” James chuckled, an arm around Sage’s shoulder.
“Almost there,” Bowen said into the mic.
So of course, Marvin Gaye started serenading us with “Let’s Get It On.”
“Bowen!” Aunt Lemon shouted, fighting a laugh. “Let them get on with their night.”
He held his hands up. “Just setting the mood.” He patted down protests from at least five people whining about how their sparklers were about to burn out. “All right. All right. This is the jam right here. The big send off.” He paused and everything went quiet. “You guys ready?”
“We’ve been ready!” I yelled.
“Since he was thirteen!” Liam shouted.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bowen boomed. “The new Mr. and Mrs—headed off to test thesuspensionon that camper of theirs.”
When Tim McGraw and Faith Hill started singing, “Let’s Make Love,” Charlie’d had enough.
Still holding my hand, she flung our arms in the air and shouted, “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. We love you all. Good night!” Then she dragged me forward so fast, I tripped over my feet to catch up.
We jogged through the golden tunnel, as guests shouted their well-wishes. Thankfully, the onlookers ended halfway down the hill. But we kept going, jogging faster. Somewhere along the way, Charlie’s shoes had come off.
I don’t know how, but she just spottedit. Her eyes got huge and she glanced over at me, bounding down the hill. “What is this?”
