Page 128 of Crazy In Love
“Yes. Dinner tomorrow.” I flipped over onto my stomach so I could face him. “You know they aren’t as fun as your family, though.”
“Oh, there won’t be grown men jumping out of large boxes and Christmas trees being tipped over?” He grinned as he ran the tips of his fingers along my cheek.
“Hey, that was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. I love your family. There’s always so much—joy over there.” It was the truth. My home was more… subdued. The Chadwicks’ home was always filled with laughter and life, and I loved spending Sunday evenings over there for dinner every week.
He studied me for a long moment. “Were you someone who thought about your wedding when you were a little girl?”
It was an abrupt change in conversation, but not unusual for Bridger.
“Umm…” I thought about the question, even though I already knew the answer. Of course I’d thought about my wedding day as a kid, and throughout the years. I was an avid romance reader. I loved the idea of love and happily ever after. But I had a boyfriend who had a different idea of the future, and I didn’t want to scare him off. We’d cross that bridge when we got there. “Maybe once or twice.” I shrugged, trying to act casual about it.
“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice deep and gruff.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t ever change who you are or what you want for me.” He tipped my chin up to look at him, his gaze locked with mine.
“I know it’s not your thing, and I don’t want to freak you out.” I shrugged.
He closed his eyes for a few beats and then looked at me again. “Don’t worry about me, angel. I want to make sure you’re happy.”
“I’m happy.” I nipped at his bottom lip, and he laughed.
“All right. That’s all that matters to me.”
“You make me happy,” I whispered.
His gaze softened. “You make me happy, too.”
He tucked my head beneath his chin and kissed the top of my hair.
I love you.
I wanted to say it again to him, but I held back.
But I knew he felt it.
And I felt it, too.
thirty-five
. . .
Bridger
Dinner with the Taylors was—interesting.I didn’t mind that they were quieter.
Hell, most of the time my family talked too much for my liking.
But it was the way Emilia’s mother treated her that rubbed me wrong.
Jacoby and Shana were nice enough, and I could tell he adored his sister.
“Shall we all toast to Emilia winning the window contest last month?” her father said as he raised a glass. “And you get a full-page spread in the newspaper.”
We all raised our glasses, and I didn’t miss the way Emilia’s cheeks pinked.
She clearly wasn’t used to being celebrated. At least not by her family.
