“But?” Church asks, as I twist the top off my coffee and take a sip.
“But, I guess … if my parents didn’t make it? Why would we? Maybe the way I feel about you guys is just crazy teen stuff. Besides, that’s another problem with marriage, right? I can only marry one of you.”
The smile that takes over Church’s mouth surprises me.
“Only legally, but there are other ways to be committed.” I blink back at him in shock as his face takes on this determined edge. “Not to sound like an asshole, but maybe your parents didn’t care about each other the way I care about you.”
Whoa. Far from sounding like an asshole, his statement floors me. He may as well have admitted that he feels like we’re written in the stars or something. My palms get sweaty, and I swipe them on my bedspread to keep from messing up the skirt.
“I …” Words fail me as Church looks up, eyes bright. There’s a certainty there, a confidence that I don’t feel, but that maybe I should. Looking at him, it truly feels like he has a plan here.
“My parents are still together,” he argues, taking the top off his own drink and sipping it slowly. The way he licks the rim of the bottle is most definitely suggestive in nature. He turns to look my way, his amber eyes sweeping over me in his mother’s wedding dress. “And maybe, at the time, your father was everything your mother needed—sometimes forever means just for now.” Church pauses for a moment and breathes out a small sigh. “But I don’t want this engagement to cause you so much pain. I’ll go back and tell my mother that the wedding is off; it’s clear your dad won’t be sending you away again.”
“But your mom came all this way to give me the dress,” I start, squeezing a handful of skirts in my fist, struggling to figure out why I feel so reluctant to give it back.
“I can wait and tell her later, if you’d prefer,” Church says, watching me with that stoic calm of his. “And you can keep the ring. It’s yours, even if you want to sell it and keep the money.”
“You picked this out for me?” I ask, and Church nods.
“In the antique store, just like my father picked out a ring for my mother. That’s where I went, when I disappeared before your attack in Santa Cruz. The twins told me you were concerned.” My face flushes, and I sputter to explain, but … okay, it’s true. Church has always been just a tad suspicious, right?
“You were in Nutmeg?” I ask, and he nods.
“Just for a night—I couldn’t make up my mind over which ring to choose. And then I took it home to show my parents and ask for their blessing.” He sits there patiently, waiting for me to sort out my thoughts again. “I’m glad we were able to get you back to Adamson when we did. But things have changed.” Church takes my hand and carefully slides the ring toward the end of my finger.
“Wait,” I say, pulling my hand back and adjusting the ring. I feel possessive over it, clutching it against my chest.
He smiles at me again.
“Keep it. But you don’t have to wear it anymore.”
Our eyes meet, mine searching his for clues.
“You really like me, Church? I mean, I know you said you did at the hot springs, but … you shouldn’t have to be engaged to a girl you don’t want.”
“Who said I’m engaged to a girl I don’t want?” he replies, setting his coffee on the dresser at the end of my bed and turning back to me. He captures my chin in long fingers and studies my face. “I don’t typically do things I don’t want to do.”
“Yeah, but this was just to get me back to Adamson, right?”
“Was it?” he replies, meeting my question with yet another of his own. Church leans forward and kisses my mouth, just so, a soft brush of lips, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. “I like seeing you in my mother’s dress, Charlotte Farren Carson.”
My breathing quickens, and I struggle to find the words to respond to that.
Church presses his mouth to mine again, and my eyes close of their own accord. Slowly, like he’s afraid he might ruin the moment if he moves too fast, he kisses me again. Just like that night on his parent’s patio, I find myself melting into his touch, opening my lips for his tongue. My coffee drink falls to the floor and rolls beneath Church’s bed, but neither of us cares.
Instead, I find myself lying back in the pillows, his body stretched above mine, lithe but muscular, smelling like lilac and rosemary. His mouth works against mine, relaxing me and bringing sweet sighs and sounds of contentment from my lips.
