She pulls back and smirks at me, her arms wrapped around my neck as her feet hover above mine. “Are you kidding? We’re not going with her. She doesn’t even use real vanilla beans in her vanilla frosting!” The smile she shoots me is blinding, and I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her even if I wanted to.
Her mouth opens for me, and I sweep my tongue inside, gripping her ass to lift her higher against me. She holds my face as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss, moaning into my mouth when I reach up and cup a breast in my hand, my thumb running back and forth over the pebbled tip.
Panting, she pulls back and says, “Don’t think your kisses are going to distract me from what we’re talking about. We’ll keep looking until we find someone we both like, okay? But you’re not making the cake.”
I nod, running my lips up the length of her neck. I’d agree to just about anything right now, especially when she wraps her legs around my waist and grinds down against my cock.
Her breath washes over my ear as she says, “First, though, how about we give Jase a run for his money while we take advantage of this perfectly positioned counter?”
“God, I love you.”
We both scramble for each other’s clothes, her hands inching up my stomach and chest to rid me of my T-shirt as I pop the button of her jeans, then let her slide down the front of me so I can tug them off. I grip her by the ass and lift her onto the counter at the same time she removes her shirt. My jeans are stalled somewhere around my knees, but I can’t be bothered to push them any farther, because Winter’s hand is around my cock, guiding me home, and all I care about is the sweet, hot heaven I’m sinking into. I grip her hips and pull her closer to the edge of the counter, thrusting deep at the same time.
“Oh God,” she moans, her head falling back as her fingernails dig into my ass. “Fast, Cade. Please.”
When your woman tells you to fuck her fast, you listen. I slide my hands under her ass, hoping to hold her to me and prevent the counter from digging in with each thrust. She’s moaning with abandon as I pump into her, but my balls are already pulling tight, and I can’t reach around to give her a helping hand while I’m protecting her perfect little ass.
“Touch yourself, baby. Rub your clit.”
Without hesitation, she does as I tell her, sliding her fingers down until they’re on either side of my cock as it pistons in and out of her. The unexpected touch has me groaning into her neck, trying to hold back the impending orgasm bearing down on me like a fucking hurricane. I know the second she touches her clit because her back arches, pointing her tits toward my face, and I take advantage, ducking my head to swirl my tongue around one nipple before sucking it into my mouth, hard.
Her breath turns ragged, her nails digging into my skin until finally, she breaks, her pussy squeezing my cock as she comes around me, and that’s all it takes to pull me with her. I hold myself as deep as possible as I empty inside her.
“Love you, love you, love you,” I say against her sweat-dampened chest.
She runs her hand over my hair, scratching slightly against my head. “I love you, too. But I’m still not letting you make our cake.”
I breathe out a laugh against her neck, then press a kiss against her fluttering pulse. “If this is how you plan to distract me from the shitty cake, I’m totally fine with that.”
“We did this to beat Jase’s record, not to distract you from the cake.”
“I hate to tell you this, baby, but we beat Jase’s record our first week home. This was totally bonus.”
Her cheek puffs against my head in a smile. “That was a fun week.”
I hum in agreement, then lift her off the counter and carry her toward the bathroom. “We might not have beat his record in the shower, though. We should probably rectify that.”
Her laugh bounces around the walls of the bathroom as I kick the door shut behind us and proceed to forget all about the shitty cake and the mound of responsibilities at the restaurant I need to figure out how to delegate. Everything but the feel of Winter around me and the sound of my name on her lips leaves my brain. At least for now.
June 22
winter
I’ve been putting this off for months, and Tessa would kill me if she knew I went dress shopping without her—especially when I keep finding excuses when she asks me to go—but I can’t stall anymore. With fifty-nine days—God, only fifty-nine?—until the wedding, I’m still going to have to buy off the rack because there isn’t enough time to order a dress in and have it altered. Luckily, this small mom-and-pop bridal salon I’ve driven by a few times has quite a few dresses to choose from, and they didn’t even blink when I told them I didn’t have an appointment.
Yeah, luckily.
I’m not feeling so lucky now as I’m in a too-small dressing room with billowing dresses boxing me in on all sides. Janet, the sales consultant, looked surprised that I came by myself, but she didn’t give me any grief when I said I’d prefer to be in the fitting room alone.
The small, padded bench in the corner calls my name, and I don’t hesitate as I fall onto it, staring at yards and yards of silk, organza, and lace. I don’t even know what kind of dress I want, because I can honestly say it’s nothing I’ve ever thought of before. When most little girls were busy dreaming up their ideal wedding day, I was scrounging for food and dodging my mother’s flavor of the week. And now? After spending the past forty-five minutes strolling through dozens upon dozens of possibilities, to say I’m a little overwhelmed is like saying Lake Michigan is a rain puddle.
This is a day I should’ve been dreaming about sharing with my mom, and here I am, all by myself because I didn’t even want to bother Tessa with it. Truth be told, I didn’t want her to witness me having a breakdown and have her think it had something to do with my relationship with Cade, which couldn’t be further from the truth. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s him . . . us.
Just not me.
There’s no one else in the shop now—most people are probably at work at two thirty in the afternoon on a Wednesday—so the silence in here is almost deafening. At least until my ringtone blares. I fumble into my purse and don’t even think before I hit answer, just to get the sound to cease. It’s only after the call is connected that I realize it was Tessa’s face flashing on my screen.
Squeezing my eyes shut and saying a silent prayer that this is short and sweet, I say, “Hello?”
“Hey, girlie. What’s shakin’?”
“Um, not much. Just, um—”
“If you’re going to talk about something technical you’re doing for a site, don’t bother. I don’t have any idea what you’re saying.” Without pausing for my reply, she continues. “Anyway, I set up another appointment for cake testing. Hopefully my brother can force some of these down without grumbling the whole time. I swear, I think we’ve been to nearly every bakery in Michigan. I know he’s a damn good chef, but come on, man.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, my voice just above a whisper.
“Why are you all quiet?”
“What? I’m—”
“How are the dresses working out for you, honey?” Janet calls through the closed door.
I fumble to mute my phone while I say, “Fine, thanks!” but it’s no use. Tessa definitely heard Janet if her gasp is any indication.
“Winter Jacobson. Are you wedding dress shopping right now?” She spits the question out like a string of four-letter words.
“Umm . . .” There’s no right answer here. If I say no, she’ll call me on it, because it’s obvious that’s exactly what I’m doing. If I say yes, not only will she freak out, but I’ll have to try and explain why I didn’t tell her I was going in the first place.
“Look, lady,” she says in her mom voice, keys jingling in the background. “We’re going to officially be sisters in T-minus eight weeks, so you better start acting like it. Now where are you? I have the afternoon off, and Haley’s got her art club after school. I can be there in ten to twenty.” A
door slams, and I imagine she’s already in her car, pulling out of her driveway.
Hanging my head, I close my eyes and rattle off the location of the salon before ending the call. Fifteen minutes later, I’m still in the same place, sitting and staring at miles and miles of fabric, when there’s a knock at the fitting room door.
“You in there?” Tessa asks.
Without answering, I reach over and unlock the latch so she can come in. Her eyes dart to the dresses hanging on the hooks before they settle on my face, and then her lips turn down in the corners. She squats in front of me, blowing the newly blue streak of hair out of her eyes. “What’s up?”
“Just, you know”—I gesture to the dresses—“participating in the second best day in a bride’s life.”
Her eyebrows climb up her forehead. “God, if this is the second best, I’d hate to see the third. You look like you just kicked a kitten.”
I drop my head into my hands and groan. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s a few things snowballing.”
Sighing, I drop my hands and look at her. “Yeah?”
With a nod, she starts ticking off on her fingers. “First, I’ve never once seen you in a dress, so I imagine you’re feeling a bit out of your element. Second, these dresses cost money—a lot of money—and you hate spending it on yourself. And third—and I’m guessing this is the biggie—you’ve got no one here with you.” She drops her hand and rests it on her knee. “But more than that, you didn’t even think you could call me to come and be here with you.”
“No, that’s not it at all. I knew if I asked you, you’d come. I just . . .” My shoulders sag as I lean against the hard wall of the fitting room. With a shrug, I say, “I’m a mess, and I knew this would be hard. I didn’t want you to have to deal with me and my mommy issues on top of everything you’re already doing to help with the wedding.”
“Newsflash,” she says, jazz hands flying. “I’ve got mommy issues, too. True, yours was a piece of work and I’m thankful I never had to deal with that, but the bottom line is I don’t have a mom to do this with, either. So that means I’m going to count on you to go with me when the time comes and tell me point blank if I can pull off the dress I want or if it makes me look like a walrus. And whether you like it or not, I’m here to do that for you. So it’s time to suit up.” She moves to stand and plucks the first dress off the hanger, then looks at me with a raised eyebrow, just daring me to challenge her.
Even if I hadn’t been around Tessa enough to know when she’s not messing around, the truth is her little speech is exactly what I need. She doesn’t sugarcoat things or bullshit her way through any issues, and I appreciate it, even if I am out of my element. Being here by myself just showcased so many things I’m already self-conscious about and brought to life memories I’d rather keep buried. Even if it would’ve been harder to have her here to witness it from the beginning, I should’ve asked her to come, if for nothing else than to support me when I need it most.
Tessa starts tapping her foot in a silent gesture to hurry the hell up, so I stand and strip down to my bra and underwear, then let her help me into the first of too-many-to-count dresses. And while they’re all pretty, and a handful of them fit me perfectly, none of them give me anything resembling butterflies. But maybe I won’t get them? With the exception of my feelings for Cade, I’m not exactly a butterflies kind of girl.
“Maybe I should just get this one,” I say, tugging out the third dress I tried on. It’s all lace with a long train, which is a little over the top for my tastes—not to mention our small, backyard wedding—but it fit me probably the best of all of them, and I liked it okay.
“Not happening.” Tessa shakes her head and grabs an armful of dresses to take back out to Janet before inching the door open to sneak out without showing everyone my goodies. “Just sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
Like I’m going to strut around the store in my underwear.
Tessa’s voice carries into the dressing room, along with Janet’s. All kinds of terms I’ve never once heard of in reference to clothing are mentioned—mermaids and trumpets and chapel trains—and I shift from foot to foot, thumbnail in my mouth as I demolish my cuticle. What seems like a thousand minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.
“It’s me.” Once the door is unlocked, Tessa pokes her head in, dresses still out of view. “Close your eyes and assume the position.”
I roll said eyes first, but then comply, arms raised straight in the air while I wait. The door latches behind her, there’s some rustling, and then cool, smooth material slides over my skin. It feels nice, but then again, most of the ones I’ve tried—except for the ball gown that weighed at least thirty-five pounds—felt nice.
“Turn around,” Tessa says, spinning me by the hips until my back is to her. “And keep your eyes closed!” Then she’s hard at work fiddling with something at my lower back, and it takes everything in me not to open my eyes and sneak a glance, especially when she spends nearly ten minutes working on the back of the gown.
“What the hell are you doing back there?”
“Buttons.”
“Like . . . real ones?” All the dresses I’ve tried thus far that had buttons down the back had zipper closures.
“Yes, real ones.”
I think about my fiancé trying to get me out of this dress on our wedding night, his large fingers fumbling with what are no doubt minuscule buttons. “Cade’s going to hate it.”
She laughs as she runs her hands down my sides to smooth the dress and then turns me to face her again. “No, he’s not.” Her voice sounds suspiciously tight, like she’s trying to swallow back tears, but that can’t be right. She’s been as stone-faced as me this entire time.
“Can I open?”
“Yes, but don’t look down. Eyes on me, got it?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I say and open my eyes. And I was right. Hers are glassy, and we’d already agreed there’d be no crying at this party. I jab a finger at her. “I thought I told you no crying.”
“I’m not crying. I have an eyelash.”
“In both eyes,” I say flatly.
She ignores me and unlatches the door to the fitting room, holding it open for me to exit into the main area where they have a pedestal to stand on and a floor-to-ceiling three-way mirror.
“Don’t you dare look down before you get to the mirror,” Tessa says. “Eyes straight ahead.”
“If I trip and rip this dress, you’re buying it.”
When I get to the pedestal, I reach down without looking and gather up the . . . silk? Satin? And step onto the raised platform, letting the dress drop and lowering my eyes to the mirror in front of me. It takes me a minute to take everything in, from the slim straps to the unobtrusive lace embellishment peeking out of the low, draped neckline to the nearly straight silhouette, flaring just slightly at the bottom where the material pools at my feet. Janet and Tessa stand off to the side, both of them sniffling, but I don’t pay attention to them as I twist around and look at the back of the dress. It plunges to just above the small of my back, satin buttons starting there and trailing all the way to the hem.
It’s . . .
It’s . . .
It’s everything I never knew I wanted. Simple, classic, elegant, and sexy with just a touch of femininity.
In a wobbly voice, Tessa says, “She’ll take it,” and I can’t even give her shit for buying my wedding dress when I’ve yet to say a word. I’m too busy picturing what Cade’s face is going to look like when I walk toward him wearing this.
And that’s when the dormant butterflies come to life.
August 6
winter
It’s fourteen days before our wedding, and I never thought I’d be this calm. It was like a switch flipped that day in the bridal salon after finding The Dress—something I’d assumed would never happen. I figured I’d be walking down the aisle in whatever white d
ress I could find that fit remotely well. Instead, I’ll be walking toward Cade in something that makes me feel . . . amazing.
I never thought a dress could have that much of an impact on my emotions, but here we are.
It’s the day of our bachelor and bachelorette parties, and Cade and I are watching Haley for a bit while the rest of the group gets things set up—what things, I’m not sure, but neither of us mind watching Haley before her babysitter comes to stay the night.
It’s nearing a hundred degrees today, which is going to be super fun for the guys and their evening of camping. Haley’s in the new pool Jason just installed this year. It’s way too fucking big for their yard, but what Haley wants, Haley gets. At least where he’s concerned.
Even though I try to avoid it at all costs, I can’t help but compare Haley and the little girl I used to be. She’s not much younger than I was when my mom left me in that grocery store. It’s surreal and bittersweet to see what a six-year-old’s life should be like, instead of the living nightmare that was my childhood. While Tessa worries Jase spoils Haley, I’m just happy she has someone willing to give her everything she wants—a childhood she can remember with fondness rather than disdain.
“You want another beer, baby?” Cade tips his head in the direction of my nearly finished bottle.
“No, I’m okay. The girls will kill me if I get too much of a head start.”
“Have they told you yet where you’re going?”
I shake my head. “All I know is I’m supposed to wear whatever Paige left for me. I’m honestly scared to look.”
“You should be,” he says with a smirk as his eyes rake over me. Nearly a hundred degrees, and my nipples still perk up from his perusal like we’re in sub-zero temps.
Before I can ask him what he means by that, Haley pops her head over the side of the aboveground pool. “Hey, guess what?” she yells, like we’re not three feet away from her.
Our Love Unhinged (Reluctant Hearts Book 4) Page 4