by Gigi Blume
“Yeah,” he says with a grin. There’s a bewildered undertone, but he thinks it’s funny, too. Now we’re busting up. It’s ridiculous, but we’re laughing so hard our eyes water. The whole thing is absurd.
“You do realize,” he says between peals of laughter. “All this could have been avoided if you’d have just talked to me.”
“I was a teenager. You were a hot older man. I was too nervous to talk to you. Why do you think I wrote letters? It was safe.”
“Not so safe, after all.”
“No, I guess not.” I frown through the giggles. What a mess.
He gathers me in his arms and we hold on to each other until our tears of laughter subside and our breathing settles. I feel more at home in his embrace than anywhere in the world. He strokes my hair and cradles me into long, silent minutes. Even the music stopped. It’s just us and our beating hearts—and occasional deep sighs. I lose track of time in this contented bubble, but even so, my mind races with all the things he said. Suddenly the resentment I’ve been standing on all these years falls out from under my feet. I’m falling through the cracks of a mislaid foundation and Ingram’s here to catch me. Also, he was quite taken by my pizza eating skills.
“So you really did love me all those years ago?”
He slides his arm from my back to cradle my chin. “I never stopped.”
My heart bursts with joy and I crash my lips on his. One does not simply say that to a woman and not expect her to lay it on him. I kiss the dickens out of this man. I kiss him seven ways ‘til Sunday. I love him and he loves me. I’m so glad I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.
“I’m so sorry I told you to kiss my grits.”
He growls and licks his lips. “If your grits are anything like the rest of you, I’ll kiss them all night long.”
And that’s exactly what he does.
I wake up to an achy back and Ingram’s arm around my waist. We must have fallen asleep sometime in the middle of the night while reminiscing about the good ‘ol days in Jersey. We spent the time laughing and telling tales and getting to know the grown-up people we’d become. And we made out. A lot.
I open one eye. His arm is heavy on my bladder—not that I’ve had much to drink. When my vision comes into focus, there’s a figure standing over us, hands on his hips.
“Eugene?” I may be hallucinating. He could be a mirage.
“What is-a my flour all over floor?”
Yep. He’s not a mirage.
I jostle Ingram to wake him up. Eugene chuckles to himself and shakes his head as he shuffles away.
“I to going in my office.” Then he mumbles something in Greek as he disappears.
Ingram must have seen him because he’s awake now but he doesn’t seem to care. He nuzzles his nose in my neck and spoons me closer to him.
“Good morning, Funny Face.”
I bristle a little but somehow it doesn’t bother me like it used to.
“Why Funny Face?”
He guides my cheek with his thumb to turn my head around and kisses me tenderly. “It’s an old Hepburn movie. To me it means you’re elegant and graceful and I’m crazy for you.” He kisses me again. I could stay like this forever if the flour sacks weren’t so lumpy. He plants one more kiss on the tip of my nose and moves to get up. It’s a fumbling, awkward business getting off these big bags of flour.
“I guess we should go talk to Eugene before we clean up our mess,” he says.
“Yeah. This flour’s history, though.”
He runs his fingers through my hair to tame the wild mess. “Are you ready to wow him with our marketing ideas?”
“Let’s do this.”
He breaks away, heading in the direction Eugene went, tucking in his shirt as he walks.
“Ingram?”
He turns and holds out his hand to me. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
I skip over to him. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night...”
(Because my mouth was more agreeably occupied)
“Tell me what?”
“That I love you.”
A huge grin splits his face and I’ve never seen anything more radiant. “I think that was implied.”
“Oh? Well I thought you should know.”
He plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “I appreciate it.”
“And Ingram?”
He raises a brow in a playful way. “Yes?”
“I always have.”
“Me, too,” he says, and with a devilish smirk, he tugs me against his chest. He kisses me hard and hot. I’m reeling.
Then, with a deep, rumbly tone, he says something that slays me.
“Rosemary, love of my life... you will always... always... have a pita my heart.”
Epilogue
INGRAM
The setting sun casts a golden glow on my wife’s white dress. My wife. The two words are new yet familiar and oh so right on my tongue. She’s incandescent with the backdrop of the turquoise sea and a sky of orange and pink. There isn’t a ballroom in Jersey that could match this level of perfection—no matter how many luxurious chandeliers and centerpieces. Rosemary said she wanted me to take part in the planning, but I pretty much stayed out of it. Between her and her quirky mom, they had it covered. I’m glad of it.
A destination beach wedding suits me just fine—Rosemary had dreams of coming to Bali. And I’m happy the celebration is intimate. Presently, she’s dancing on the sand with Bing. Her laughter carries on the wind with the crashing waves. I’ll never tire of watching her. She’s wearing a crown of daisies over her long, wavy hair and her dress flows freely in the breeze. My chest squeezes just a little. I’m so filled with love.
I glance to my left. Bing’s pretty blonde wife is graciously nodding and smiling, although her company is less than savory. She’s surrounded by dudes. I don’t know how Bing doesn’t get jealous. I go over to rescue her, but really, I have ulterior motives.
“Hey, Jane.”
She smiles warmly and the dudes break their circle around her to give me a spot. They pat me on the back and raise a beer to toast me and my nuptials.
“Do you guys mind if I borrow Jane for a while? Her husband is asking for her.”
They kind of grumble and Jane just laughs. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen.” She even waves goodbye.
“Gentlemen is a bit of a stretch.” I guide her over to the sand. “You’re way too nice.”
She hitches one shoulder and kicks off her strappy shoes. “They’re just curious about what I do. I’m used to it.”
Jane plays Christine Daae in Phantom of the Opera. She’s amazingly talented, but Bing has a Broadway career, too. I don’t see crowds forming around him. We reach our spouses and I tap Bing on the shoulder.
“I’m cutting in, brother.”
He dips Rosemary and she squeals. The flower crown falls off so I pick it up and plop it on Bing’s dopey head. He’s got such a pretty-boy face, it doesn’t look so bad on him.
He claps me on the back. “Take good care of her.”
“Always.”
Jane slides her arm through Bing’s and they’re gone the next moment. I finally have Rosemary to myself. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her flush against me. I want this party to be over with already.
“What are you thinking, married lady?”
She hums contentedly. “I’m thinking this is way better than any prom.”
“And not a corsage in sight,” I say into her neck. “Let’s get outta here.”
“Knock it off. We still have to cut the cake.”
“Forget the cake. I’m full on hummus.”
We had Eugene’s wildly popular line of Mediterranean products shipped in for the reception. He offered to bring them himself, but we wanted him to fly in luxury. First class. If it weren’t for him and that locked-up factory of his, we might not be here today. He’s like our fairy godfather.
“Just a little while longer,” she says. “And then we can hone
ymoon.”
“Mmmm, baby, you are going to love the surprise I have for you.”
Her eyes grow round as clementines. “Is that so?”
Innuendo drips from her voice, but she’s going to flip when she opens her present. I found a pita blanket on the internet and I can’t wait to wrap her in it.
I kiss her firmly on the mouth and tug her bottom lip with my teeth as I break away.
“I love you, Funny Face.”
“I love you more... Yale Boy.” Her fingers find their way under my white island shirt, tickling my abs.
I level my eyes with hers. I’m all seriousness now. “Words cannot express... hummus I love you.”
She groans. “You’ve been saving that one, haven’t you?”
I shoot her a lazy grin. “You have no idea.”
“Come on.” She grabs a handful of my shirt and tows me through the sand. “Let’s cut that cake and get the shawarma outta here.”
She doesn’t need to ask me twice. I scoop her up and sand flies from her feet. I’m not wasting one more minute. I’ve wasted too many years. This is one prom night I’m not going to miss.
WHAT TO READ NEXT
Backstage Romance continues in:
THE FRIEND ACT
Best friends don't kiss. But under the stage lights, all bets are off.
It's all an act and I don't care. When it comes to Edmund Bertram I'll take what I can get.
Yes, THE Edmund Bertram.
YouTube star and all-around popular guy, Edmund Bertram.
He also happens to be my childhood BFF.
Can I convince him the love I declare for him on stage is real, or will he think it's all a song and dance?
GET THE FRIEND ACT HERE
Join me every Sunday for my ridiculous Newsletter tomfoolery and I’ll send you a FREE book as a thank you gift for subscribing:
Beth Bennet and Will Darcy help Anne de Bourgh find her happily ever after in
Dancing with the Cowboy
My controlling grandma is planning my wedding. I’m just planning another encounter with the hot cowboy I met at the arts gala.
Gorgeous: Check
Flirty: Check
Looks good in rawhide trousers: Double check
He's a smart sharpshooter and my heart doesn't stand a chance.
SUBSCRIBE TO GIGI’S NEWSLETTER AND GET DANCING WITH THE COWBOY HERE
A Note From Gigi
This series is a labor of love. From the very moment I cracked open a Jane Austen novel, something sparked inside me and I dare say, changed my life.
My goal in writing Austen-Inspired romantic comedies is not to turn her works upside-down, but to honor the stories and characters with the respect they deserve with a modern spin.
I hope you enjoyed what you have read so far. There’s more to come. The best way to stay in the loop for the next book is to subscribe to my newsletter or join my Facebook group. I can’t wait to meet you so we can laugh at memes and nerd out on books.
Of course, I can’t take all the credit. I couldn’t have published without the help of these awesome people:
Rachel, Rachael, and Rachael, Dawn, Sarah, Sarah, and Sarah, Kelly, Melissa, Christina, Megan, Deanna, Julie, Zoe, Laura, Paula, Rose, Lisa, Sue, and Apóstolos.
About the Author
Gigi is a hopeless musical theatre nerd and sucker for happily-ever-afters.
Former professional wedding singer turned word-slinger, Gigi lives in Southern California with her personal chef...er...husband and two weird and awesome teenagers.
When Gigi's not writing like a crazy woman or hanging out with other authors on Instagram, she likes to binge-watch Doctor Who and spend all her free cash on Broadway shows and books.
Visit Gigi Blume’s Website:
www.gigiblume.com
Join Gigi’s Reader Group:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/gigiandfriends
BOOKS BY GIGI BLUME
Backstage Romance Series
Confessions of a Hollywood Matchmaker
Love and Loathing
Dancing with the Cowboy
Secrets of a Hollywood Matchmaker
Driving Miss Darcy
The Friend Act