Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“I should—” I press my hands against his warm chest.
“You should listen to me.” In a move he’s perfected in such a short time, he crooks a finger under my chin and lifts it, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Weddings are a big deal. They’re romantic and force people to consider what their own happiness could look like.”
And this is where he tells me that’s just too much for him to consider where I’m concerned.
“I didn’t want you to freak out by being here. We just met, and things between us are… intense to say the least. But have no doubt that I want you here.”
He presses a soft kiss to my lips.
“I want all of those things in your head.”
Oh shit.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m moving too fast. I didn’t want you here thinking of someone else because it’s too soon to consider the possibility of things between us.”
Who else would I even consider such happiness with? But he has a point. It is too soon, no matter how many times a day, thoughts of him infiltrate my mind.
“I’m glad—”
“Wren Douglas Nelson!” He stills as if frozen ice filled his veins. “Are you avoiding me?”
Wren turns, his fingers falling from my face, and we watch as a grey-haired woman in a striking champagne-colored dress approaches.
“Nana,” he grunts, a look of pure love mixed with the slightest hint of aggravation filling his features. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“So, you’re just purposely trying to hide this beautiful woman from me?” She swats him away when he leans down to kiss her cheek before shoving herself between the two of us. “I’m Nana.”
I get a smile ready, but it’s knocked away by force when she wraps her arms around me in a bear hug too tight for a woman of her age.
“N-nice to meet you,” I manage on a squeak.
“Nana, stop.” Wren wedges his hands between us until the elderly woman takes a step back. “You’re going to crush her.”
“Look at you,” she grunts, her hands cupping both sides of my face. “Now I can see why he’s been hiding you. Such beauty needs to be protected.”
“Nana,” Wren groans, his hands covering his eyes. His cheeks turn pink, and I swear this man blushing is my new favorite thing.
“Don’t Nana me, young man. You said you weren’t dating anyone.”
Ouch.
“And then I find you with a date to this beautiful wedding.”
See? Wedding dates are a big deal. At least I thought they were, but then again, Wren is a computer nerd and may not be aware of the significance of an invite. The guilt of pressuring him into asking me here rears its ugly head once again.
“It’s new,” Wren informs her as she takes a step back, her eyes never leaving mine. “Please don’t run her off.”
The pleading in his tone makes my heart sing.
“Run her off?” She swats at his chest like he’s an annoying fly. “Will you come to Sunday brunch?”
I meet Wren’s eyes, and the look marring his face earlier that made me want to run away is no longer around. A smile plays on his lips, and he must sense my eyes there because he rolls them between his teeth. Her invite feels like a test, and he’s not giving me a single hint as to how I’m supposed to respond.
I go all-in. “I’d love to come to Sunday brunch.”
She squeals in delight, clapping her frail hands together. Wren’s smile breaks free, and I’m fairly certain I made the right choice.
“Mrs. Nelson.”
Her eyes go wild as she looks past me. “Absolutely not!”
She turns on her heel and scurries away. I watch in awe as the woman, who can’t be a day younger than eighty, moves faster than most fifty-year-olds.
“She fucking hates me.”
I look over to Finnegan who has refreshed his drink. He’s watching Nana scurry past the gift table and disappear behind a door on the other side of the room.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Wren assures him. “She just thinks you’re a warlock.”
“A warlock?” I ask, my smile wide.
“His hair.” Wren waves a dismissive hand in front of his friend.
“Ah. I see. The curse of the ginger.”
Finnegan huffs before walking away muttering about batty old women and discrimination over something he can’t control.
The night continues, and I somehow manage to let the happiness around me seep in, blocking out most of the doubt that is always threatening to creep in. I dance with Wren, who I discover isn’t perfect after all considering my need for steel-toe boots and Tylenol after we shuffle off the dance floor.
“Are you going to make an old lady sit all alone?” Nana says, reappearing only after Finnegan made a hasty exit.
“Do you mind?” Wren asks.
“Such manners,” his nana praises.
“Try not to step on her toes,” I tell him with a smile.