Page 121 of Spicy Ever After
“She’s right,” Mom says quickly. “Besides, he’d need a suit, and… well… getting one might be a hardship.”
I scowl at my mother. “He wouldn't need a suit. There’s no dress code on the invitation.”
Mom sniffs. “All I’m saying is that guests of the wedding party end up in a lot of pictures, so they should look the part.”
The thought of Beck in candid pictures from the reception has heat blossoming in my chest like a thermonuclear peony. The two of us dancing…
And he looks great in a button down. Those pictures would be fantastic.
It’s only when Mom and Dad glance at each other that I realize I’ve said this out loud.
Oops.
We pull into our driveway.
Damn. The townhouse really is close.
“Just ask him,” Dad says, killing the engine. “There’s no harm in asking.”
Chapter Fifteen
BECK
Someone's banging on the front door. I shoot out of bed and stumble down the stairs. I pull the door open to find Uncle Paul. He stares down at me and taps his watch.
“Time’s up, Beckett.”
The wind is knocked out of me. I can’t breathe. I thought I had another two and a half months. No way do I have the money to buy him out. He’ll sell his share, and then we’re fucked.
He taps his watch again, and I hear it. A bell clanging. Like a timer going off. Like?—
I bolt up in bed. It’s my phone. I blink at the screen with my heart practically at my tonsils. But when I see Hattie’s smile across the screen, the vital organ lands right back where it belongs.
It’s 12:24 a.m. I still have two-and-a-half months. And my girl is calling.
“Thank fucking God.” I swipe the screen and put the phone to my ear. Blaring music replaces the ringing. “Hattie? You okay?”
Before she even responds, I remember it’s her sister’s bachelorette party.
“Hey Beck… I’m sssposed to ask you a question?” Her words are like untied shoelaces. I grin. My girl is drunk. She told me she didn’t like alcohol, but she must’ve made an exception for the party.
“What question, honey?” I flop back onto the pillow, knowing a drunk dial from Hattie will be way more fun than sleeping, given my fucked-up dreams.
“You sssay… you can sssay no. And you don’t… you don’t even neeeed a suit. That’sss ssstupid. You can say no… Say no, okay?”
Nearby but almost inaudible over the music, I hear another female voice. “Don’t tell him to say no. Just ask him.”
“Ssssh! Mar-ga-ret—” She turns her sister’s name into three clunky syllables. “Beck’s my boyfrien… boyfriend… Don’t inter… interfere.”
She sounds a little ticked. And possessive. My smile is almost feral.
“Do you wan—” She hiccups. “Do you want… to be my… my date… for the wedding? You have a farm to… farm… so you don’t have to?—”
“Yes.” Who cares if it’s a few hours I won’t be on the harvester or in the distillery? This is the first time Hattie’s asked me out, and I’ll be damned if I’d turn her down. I’d never turn her down. “Hell, yes, I’ll be your date for the wedding.”
She sucks in a gasp. “Really? You’d… you’d do that?” Her voice shifts to a hissed whisper, but it might even be louder than her speaking voice. “It’s going to be sooo bor—” Another hiccup. “Boring.”
“It will not be boring!” I’m guessing that’s Margaret. “It’ll be a blast. THE BEST WEDDING EVER!” A cascade of screams and whoops blare over the phone.
