Page 62 of Sucker For You

She’d been planning for this situation long before she’d met him.

Chase fucking Meyer.

“What I mean is, I’m ready when you’re ready.”

A breath. Her fidgeting hands stilled. “What if there’s an officiant available tomorrow?”

“Then we’ll sign the paperwork tomorrow. I promise. But,” he mustered up a laugh, hoping to melt the serious line of her mouth into one of her rare, precious smiles, “I’ll swear to a date, not a time. Assuming the officiant’s free on Monday, we’d have to head to the courthouse after we finish at MORI. Or take a long lunch? Either way, though, I’d make it work.”

He would.

Plus, if they got a Monday appointment, Isabel could meet his family during this week’s video call. She’d already have his legal protection before Erin or Adrian could probe their story and risk scaring her off, or before his mother could delay their timeline by insisting on a backyard ceremony with a cake for 300 people—and a relocation of his father’s hobby train tracks out of the garden.

“Will your family and friends want to attend?” Isabel cut across his own train of thought.

The answer for his family was an obviousyes.

What didshewant?

Stalling for time, Wes bit into his sandwich. He chewed. But eventually he had to swallow and admit, “If it’s possible with dates and times, they’ll want to be here. But having both Erin and Adrian in California while I’m in Monterey isn’t normal. Getting more than the three of us together, like parents and friends, is going to be a challenge. Your—our—timeline overrides theirs.”

How many of the seasonal acquaintances—friends?—he’d made across as many countries would even show up for a wedding? (Assuming whatever addresses and phone numbers he had for them were still viable.) He didn’t know.

“Thank you, but. . .” If Isabel’s shoulders squared toward him, her focus remained on the water. “I appreciate your offer. Our arrangement. I do. Now that we’re preparing schedules and paperwork, however, now that other people will be involved—strangers, but also your family and friends—I. . . I’d like you to be sure. I don’t want you to regret this, just because you felt sorry for me for a moment. Or just because of a deposit on theNauti Lass, when I can’t afford the whole boat. I don’t want to be an anchor on you, if you—”

No.

“Isabel.” Somehow, unthinkingly, his thumb brushed her cheekbone. Somehow, though her words caught at his touch, she didn’t startle away. He breathed for them both. “Isabel, I’m sure.”

“. . .oh.” For an unblinking moment, did lightning shiver in her rainy gaze? Her lips parted, drawing in Wes’s own breath. But then her eyes fell. Her braced shoulders slumped. She looked away and nodded.

“All right?”

“All right.”

Right now, she believed him.

He cleared his throat. “Since we’ve got that clarified, can we take a few more pictures before we lose the light?”

After wedging his tripod into the pebbles a short way back from their blanket, setting his camera to run on a timer for the final dregs of the golden hour with a slow shutter speed (they could forget the lens was there—maybe—and finish their picnic), Wes crossed his legs on the terrycloth and pinned down their towelwith a hand splayed behind her. Then he started on the second half of his sandwich.

Isabel shivered; the sea air was chilly after sunset.

“Cold?”

She shrugged—straight into the cradle of his arm.

Accidentally.

He just laughed.

“Right, good idea. Great pose.” The warmth of his hold and his slantwise smile drew her a few centimeters closer. Her elbow banged his knee. Still laughing, he unfolded his legs and stretched them out over the blanket, opening space in his body for her. “For the camera.”

It was there in the background, watching. Just like the lone California gull that hopped through a glut of tidal detritus down by the water, before flapping into the air in discontent. It circled, honking.

(The gull. Not the camera.)

No, she couldn’t forget that sentinel Nikon.