Page 23 of That Thing You Brew
Cheerleaders. Mom was still finding the little bean fillers from the epic explosion that ended the bag’s rough life.
“Come on, kid. Be smart. Fake it.”
“I don’t fake anything.” He angled his head down and spoke softly but quickly, as if he was in a rush to get it all out before he changed his mind. “Penny, I would only consider doing this if there was a chance to make it real someday, if we were playing for keeps. I think the world of you. We’re friends, right? Could we be more? Do you think—do you think we could get to know each other and grow to love each other? Over time?”
What?
Did Ithink?
No.
Iknew.
Because what I felt for him didn’t feel like a fangirl crush. Did he have feelings for me, too? Why would he want to try to make this real if he didn’t?
I was definitely dead. Because in my world, my veryrealawkward difficult world, this would never happen.
“Y-yes. E-easy p-peasy.”
Xavier laughed, a fully belly laugh. The tension in his jaw relaxed, and he pulled me into his chest in one of his hugs-to-remember.
Yep. I was dead. As. A doornail.
He’d felt solid enough this morning through his hoodie, but through the thin fabric of his polo?
Sculpted. Solid.
Like one of those literary vampires, made of the finest, polished marble.
And safe.
Slow down, Penny.
What? No! Marry this man! He’s perfect on the outside AND the inside!
You have a point. No argument there.
My inner angel and inner devil were in agreement.
This was new.
Xavier tucked my head under his chin. His arms were still around me, like a protective cocoon. His voice rumbled in my ear, strong and firm. “This is an incredibly selfless thing to do, Penny. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
I reluctantly dislodged my head. “I l-like castles,” I whispered, with a shrug.
He chuckled. “It’s achateau.”
I shrugged again and smiled up at him. “K-keep s-secret?”
He nodded. “I think that’s wise, for now. We can keep it a secret until we’re ready to tell the world. There will be a lot of publicity. Maybe wait until after the season ends? The sports media will have a field day. No one gets married this time of year, especially not a player on a playoff-bound team. It could be bad luck.”
“Good th-thing I’m l-lucky,” I quipped.
Xavier straightened. “What do we need to do, J.R.? And when?”
The lawyer grunted. I couldn’t see him with half my face pressed into Xavier’s muscley pec, but the noise sounded positive.
“Sign this doc first.” He handed Xavier a pen.
