Page 54 of Kiss the Bride
I keep throwing silly suggestions at her until she finally looks at me and swats my arm, laughing. “Alright already, enough. I want to make the last three years go away.”
“Sweetheart, if I could, I would. You know I would.”
Instead of tears or sadness, Olivia’s smile reaches her eyes and it’s as if the sun comes out behind the clouds. Slowly she reaches for my hand and the years apart disappear. This isn’t the same woman who tried to kiss me in my sleep. The woman only two nights ago acted out of hurt and pain. This is the woman whowatched her wedding dress burn as her shoulders straightened and her head lifted. Her eyes are no longer tormented. Her smile is no longer forced. This is a woman who knows what she wants, and if she still wants me, I’ve lost the reason to say,no. I won’t say,no.
“Liv, I’m sorry for the other night. The kiss … us … I keep trying to do the right thing and it only ends up hurting you.”
“Oh.” She says a single word with more emotion than a poem.
“If we do this, it needs to be for the right reasons. It can’t be because it’s what our parents expect or want, it can’t be because we have a past and it’s just comfortable. Not everyone gets a second chance, and I don’t think we’ll get a third. I need you to tell me what you want.”
I watch her closely for any sign of distress. No sudden gulp, no tightening of her shoulders, change in her breathing or rapid blinking. I want to believe that she’s ready, that it’s only been a couple of days since the wedding-that-never-was, but she’s ready to move on—with me.
“Really? Are you like my fairy godmother and about to grant me three wishes?”
I laugh and wriggle my legs, kicking up dry sand until she pulls the basket to her side to protect it. “Do you still think I’ve got the legs to pull off a fairy godmother costume?”
“I don’t know.” Liv pretends to inspect them. “We might have to shave them.”
“We?”
“I’ve been known to shave you before.”
I think back, “Shit, I forgot all about that.” I shake my head as if to keep the memories blotted out.
“You’d started believing your own PR and thought you wereso hot.“ This time her eye-roll comes with a teasing grin.
“I thought I was built. Going in for a bodybuilding comp seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“But shaving your chest in the bath wasn’t our finest moment. It took me ages to clean it.”
“And I looked like an amateur up on stage against all the tanned testosterone beasts.”
“You looked pretty great to me.” Liv laughs. “That’s what I want.”
“For me to make a fool of myself? Granted.” I wince and pat my abs, hoping she notices the muscle, “Can’t say I’m looking forward to the scratchy chest from regrowth.”
“No, I mean I want to laugh like this. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.”
“He never made you laugh?” Sure, they’d always been serious when I saw them together, but I figured behind closed doors Liv was still Liv.
She shrugs and pulls a face only family—or someone as close as family—can love.
“Crazy kiddo.” It’s impossible to keep a straight face, even while I’m trying to wrap my head around Olivia falling in love with someone who didn’t make her laugh. The woman I Ioved couldn’t go a week without a practical joke. She doted on sitcoms and the lighter side of life which balanced out the stresses of study and supporting her mother move on from the divorce.
“You asked me what I want and it’s so easy. Make me laugh. Pretend that my jokes are funny even when they’re pathetic. Feel the fear and laugh anyway.”
“Liv, I can’t promise the impossible.” I fake seriousness. “If you try and tell me one of your half-hour-long jokes, believe me when I’m telling you now, I’ll try and wake up for the punch line.”
On cue, her face lights up and a giggle forces its way through her sun-kissed lips. “I think you’re man enough for the job, and if you don’t, I can always shave your legs.”
I lay on my side, ensuring the afternoon sun is in my eyes and not Liv’s. The half-empty picnic hamper has been the perfect anecdote to any residual awkwardness from the last two nights. We’ve eaten, reminisced, and laughed more in the last hours than I’ve laughed since … well, breaking her heart five years ago.
“Did you plan this?” She asks, handing me the champagne to open. “And do you remember how?”
“No, and yes.” I exaggerate a sigh. “If I tell you how I got the hamper, you’ll judge me. And how could I ever forget how to open a bottle when you used to make me open two or three a week for you and your friends.”
“Now, you have to tell me the story.” She sits up, cross-legged and pins me with a sexy stare. “Mr. Williams, you have been charged with stealing a picnic hamper. How do you plead?”
