Page 81 of Unforgettable

“Let’s do the family ones first and then they can do what they want with their wandering hands while you take a photo of them together,” Dixie instructs.

The word family has my heart expanding infinitely inside my chest. Because real or fake, temporary or permanent, today Oz’s family feels like mine. Their happiness for their sister and daughter feels exactly the way I feel about Callie and Poppy.

The photographer’s assistant fusses over each of us, directing us to stand every which way, while the clicks of the camera continue in the background.

When it’s our turn to take our photo together, Oz has his hands on my waist and his mouth close to my ear, whispering both sweet and dirty nothings.

“You look so fucking sexy,” he murmurs. “It’s actually becoming painful to be around you.”

He presses his covered erection into my backside and I soon become very well acquainted with his meaning.

I glance over my shoulder, smiling at him. “You’re going to get us into so much trouble.”

“But trouble is so much fun.” He sings the last word and then takes a little bite of my ear.

“Hey,” I laugh, lazily swatting him away. “What’s gotten into you?”

His arm moves across my stomach, tucking me even closer to him. “I’m just so glad you’re here,” he says, his honest and vulnerable confession wrapping itself around my heart.

“Me too,” I say, my words thick with emotion. “Me too.”

The photographer, whose name I learn is Clay, continues to take photos of us, with his assistant moving us around one too many times. When we’re finally able to face one another, we don’t care who’s around, or who’s still taking pictures.

It’s just us, smiling and kissing and talking. Getting completely carried away in the moment.

“I think we’ve got you all,” Clay calls out. “I’ll see you all again when it’s time for the reception.”

Clay walks toward Oz and me and gives me back my cell. “Ginny took as many as she could,” he says, referring to his assistant. He pulls out what looks to be a business card from his back pocket and hands me one. “You two take some beautiful photos. Make sure you visit my site to see the rest of them after the wedding.”

Quickly, I slip the card into my suit jacket, the urge to flick through the photos on my phone immediate. There’s only a handful, but there isn’t a single one that doesn’t capture the very essence of what Oz and I are like together.

Happy.

It’s in every photo, no matter the pose, no matter the angle. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. Not on my own, not with Micah, not with anyone.

“He’s right,” Oz says, his voice gruff. “We look good together.”

* * *

The rest of the wedding passes in a spectacular blur of eating and drinking and dancing and laughing.

Any worries or hesitation I had about Oz and me took a back seat temporarily, and I let myself enjoy the day with Oz Walker as my boyfriend.

It was undoubtedly one of the best days I’ve ever had.

It was like a glimpse into what life could be for Oz and me, and for a moment, with his arms wrapped around me on the dance floor, swaying to Sam Smith’s acoustic version of the song “Latch,” I let myself believe that we could have it.

A life in Vermont.

A life together.

“Want to get out of here?” Oz whispers in my ear.

I look at him over my shoulder. “Isn’t there a rule that we have to leave after the bride and groom?”

“I have no idea,” he answers, coming around so we’re face-to-face. “But we’re seeing them for breakfast tomorrow before we all head off anyway, so it’s not like we’re not going to miss wishing them well.”

“In that case.” I hold my hand out to him. “Lead the way.”

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