Page 18 of When it Sizzles

He blinks faster. “Yes, you’ll…marry me?”

“Yes,” I say, giggling again. “I’ll marry you.”

A second later, he swoops me up in his arms and spins me around my living room. I cling to him, laughing in between kisses and getting flakes of croissant everywhere. It’s a ridiculous mess, one Connor helps me clean up afterwards, before joining me in the kitchen for tea and oatmeal with chia seeds and fresh fruit.

We decided we needed something more nutritious than just pastries in order to have the strength to pull off an elopement in the next twenty-four hours. While I assemble our bowls, Connor uses my laptop to book flights and research what documents we’ll need to get a marriage license at the county courthouse. After that’s sorted, as we’re devouring our food, I find and book a wedding venue for this evening, while he secures a hotel.

Within ninety minutes, we have our plans in place, I’m showered and packed for the trip, and we’re on our way back to his place to grab his things before we head to the airport.

At no point during this flurry of activity do we talk about what we’ll do after we’re married—where we’ll live, work, cohabitate, etc—but strangely enough, I’m certain we’ll figure it out. Since I work from home at the moment, I have a lot of flexibility built into my job, and I’m not anxious about leaving my hometown or my family. I adore where I’m from and my crazy clan, but Binx was right—I am ready to embrace adventure.

Especially an adventure that involves the man seated next to me in first class, squeezing my hand as we buckle in for the flight that will whisk us away to Las Vegas and the rest of our lives.

Or disaster.

I’m well aware that’s also a possibility when doing wild, spontaneous things with men you barely know, but I’m willing to take the risk.

I’ve suddenly become a gambler, willing to bet it all on a man with eyes greener than the felt on a roulette table…even though I don’t even know his middle name.

Or how old he is.

Or if he wants children.

Or if we share similar values, morals, goals, or conflict resolution styles.

Good grief, woman, what have you done? the inner voice screeches, waiting to lose her shit just as the wheels leave the tarmac.

Chapter 6

Connor

This is crazy. I know it’s crazy.

I came to terms with that sometime around six a.m., after lying awake all night with my usually measured thoughts running wild, insisting I couldn’t make the same mistake with Wendy Ann that I made with Coralee. I couldn’t sit on my hands and take a woman like this for granted, especially not when Wendy Ann and I have a more powerful, magnetic connection than I ever had with my ex.

In just one night, Wendy Ann McGuire got so deep under my skin that watching her walk up the path to her apartment after I dropped her off was physically painful. I couldn’t stand to see her go, not for a night, let alone for the rest of our lives.

And it wasn’t like eloping was my first solution. I brainstormed and discarded half a dozen plans before landing on this one, but none of those options seemed right. They were all sad, cowardly compromises, and she deserves so much more than that.

She deserves a man who’s willing to lay it all on the line for her, and I am.

I turn to tell her as much, to assure her that I’ll rearrange my life in whatever way she deems necessary to make this work. But when I see her bone white face and wide, frantic eyes, all I can do is reach for her hand and beg her to, “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” she gasps, her fingers clinging so tightly to mine that my bones grind together. “I think.” She sucks in a breath and exhales a wheezing sound.

“What’s wrong? Are you afraid of flying? Do you need some water or?—”

“I don’t know your middle name,” she pants, her lips draining of color, too. “Or how old you are. Or your favorite color or food or song or if you’re secretly a gaslighting psychopath who will slowly erode my sense of self until I’m a shadow of the person I used to be, isolated far from the people who love me and too broken to realize I have the power to free myself from our toxic relationship.”

I laugh, I can’t help it, but immediately regret it when her eyes begin to shine.

Smile vanishing, I shift in my seat to face her, releasing her fingers to cup her face in both hands. I lean in, holding her gaze as I promise, “I will never hurt you. I swear. I’d jump off a building first. I only want to celebrate you and support you. I think you’re…amazing. The most incredible person I’ve ever met. You’re so funny and honest and sexy and smart. You’re a light in the cold, dark room I didn’t realize I was living in until I met you. Why on earth would I do anything to snuff that light out?”

She blinks faster, but her breath begins to come in deeper inhalations and exhalations and the color slowly returns to her lips.

“And my middle name is James,” I add. “My favorite song is anything by Hozier, my favorite food is Korean barbeque, and my favorite color is…” I search her expression, feeling like I could stare at her for the rest of our lives and never get tired of watching her thoughts and feelings play out on her pretty face. “The exact color of your eyes,” I add, knowing it probably sounds cheesy, but it’s true.

Her lips tremble at the edges. “My middle name is Ann.” She exhales a nervous laugh. “Obviously. And I love Tori Amos and olives, all kinds, green and black, and my favorite color is soft, buttery yellow, like the sunrise in winter.”

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