Page 95 of Stick Work

“It’s never ending, Taylor,” I murmur against her ear. “Because this is only the beginning.”

She lets out a soft laugh, her hand tightening around mine. “I think Grandma loves that we picked her song.”

“We finally managed to keep something from her,” I tease. “It’s a miracle.”

She chuckles as I slide my hand down her back, pulling her even closer. Her growing belly presses against me, and my chest tightens with pure emotion. In just a few weeks, our baby will be here. We decided not to find out the sex—wanting the surprise, the magic of that moment—and I can hardly wait.

The song comes to an end, but before I can pull away, another song suddenly blasts through the speakers. A song we definitely didn’t pick.

“What the heck?” Taylor gasps, eyes wide with happiness. “Did you…?”

“Wasn’t me,” I say, throwing my hands up. But then I spot Rip standing with the DJ, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Seriously, Rip?” The man was a true professional as he officiated our wedding, and now this. God, our team is going to be in so much trouble.

He just laughs, and the rest of us join in—because of course Adam Sandler singing Grow Old With You from The Wedding Singer would start playing at our reception. It’s Taylor’s favorite rom-com, which makes this ridiculous and weirdly perfect. But how would Rip know that?

“What? It wasn’t me!” Rip protests, pointing across the room.

We all turn at once, only to find Grandma grinning like the queen of mischief herself.

“Grandma?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “How did you know?”

She waves a hand, all innocent-like, which does make me wonder if she really did know Rip could officiate weddings all those months ago. She swears she didn’t, but she has matchmaking—and mischief—in her blood.

“When you get to be my age, you just know things,” she tells us.

Taylor chuckles, nudging me. “Maybe playing her wedding song wasn’t a surprise to her at all.”

“Probably not.” I shake my head, laughing. “Forget the fortune teller. We need to bring Grandma to the next Halloween party. She’s a match-making queen and clearly has a gift at predicting couples who belong together.”

Taylor’s gaze sweeps across the dance floor. “Who do you think she’d match next?”

Before she can answer, the music abruptly changes—to Love Stinks.

I whip around to find Rip still standing by the DJ, grinning like the village idiot.

“Seriously, Rip?” I groan.

He just gives me a devilish shrug. “What can I say…love stinks.”

Laughter erupts around us, but as I watch Rip soaking it all in, I can’t help but think that one of these days, the right woman is going to come along and turn his world upside down. And when she does—he’s definitely going to change his tune.

I can’t wait to see it.

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