Page 136 of Merry Me
My heart did something embarrassing. Something fluttery and dramatic and definitelynotsanctioned by my better judgment.
“Just so you know,” he murmured, his hand brushing a piece of hair behind my ear, like he couldn’t help it. “I love this.”
“This?” I echoed.
He nodded, eyes locked on mine. “You. This moment.Us. The way it feels like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
I let out a breathy laugh, then stepped closer, resting my head against his shoulder. “You’re being charming again.”
“You keep saying that like it’s a surprise.”
“It is,” I said, smiling into his suit jacket. “Every single time.”
“Natalie…” he whispered, an ache in his voice.
“Yes…” I whispered back.
It came out as a sigh. A full-body exhale. Like I’d been holding something in for too long, and he was the first person I trusted to see it.
He pulled back just enough to look at me. His fingers found a piece of hair near my ear and tucked it gently behind it. “I can’t wait until our wedding.”
The only reason I didn’t trip over my own feet was because his arms were holding me up.
My heart kicked. My lungs stopped. My brain flatlined.
A weird laugh burst from my lips, the kind you let out whenyour chest is tight and your eyes sting and you’re not sure if you’re about to kiss someone or cry on their shirt.
And I might have done both. If he hadn’t stiffened.
If a voice behind me hadn’t broken through the music like a splinter in silk.
“Mind if I cut in?”
I turned—and there he was. Terry. Again. Hands folded, expression earnest, like he was auditioning for the role of Regret in a toothpaste commercial.
Of course it was him. The human equivalent of a record scratch. Two for two on ruining perfectly good moments with Easton. At this rate, I was going to need hazard pay.
“Remember how we used to dance in the living room?” he said, his voice low. “Your feet on top of mine. You were what—five?” He gave a faint smile. “I could try to pull it off again.”
My breath caught. Not because of the offer—but because I did remember.
The worn edges of the carpet under my toes. The scratchy voice of some old crooner on the radio, tinny and soft. The way my tiny fingers had curled around his, trusting. Certain. My giggle bouncing off the walls like it had somewhere important to be.
I remembered all of it. Vivid, like it had happened just last week instead of a lifetime ago.
But I didn’t thinkhewould.
“I’d rather not,” I said. My voice came out steady, calm. Like I hadn’t just been sucker punched by a memory I didn’t know still had claws.
But inside?
Everything trembled.
The music swelled between us. My fingers still tingled where Easton had touched them.
My father’s face didn’t shift much. Barely a flicker. Just a tightening at the jaw, a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth like the smile he’d worn had never quite belonged there. He nodded.
A small, quiet nod.
