Page 1 of The "I Do" Do-Over

Prologue

Taryn

Seven years ago

Igiggle as Boone and I stumble through the front entrance of our Las Vegas hotel.

I never giggle. Ever.

But it's Las Vegas. And what happens here stays here, right? It seems like the perfect place for firsts.

Besides, I’ve downed enough cocktails to make even the most stoic tattooed, pink-haired, punk chick giggle like a little kid.

Boone catches me by the elbow. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Just high on life.”

I want to silently add,And on you.

But that’s not something I can ever say. It’s completely off-limits. Because words like that? They could transform this friendship into something more complicated, risking everything, and I’m not willing to do that.

I think. Lately, I’ve been less and less certain.

We grew up in Montana, buddies since kindergarten. We’d been delighted to learn that we share a birthday. It felt like a secret binding us together when we were kids, and now, as we enter adulthood, it’s not any less fun.

I stumble again.

“Are yousureyou’re okay?” Boone asks.

“Of course,” I say, waving a hand airily. With the other hand, I clutch onto him for support. I’m glad he's there.

He's always been there for me.

We’ve been the most important person in each other's lives since we met, giggling in Mrs. Humphrey’s classroom as we worked together to hand out juice boxes and crackers for snacktime.

Somehow, later, we never fell prey to teenage hormones. We never hooked up, never dated each other. Best of all, we’ve always had each other's backs.

But lately, now that we’re freshly-minted adults working and living in western Montana, I’ve been feeling something different inside every time I look at Boone.

Something liquid and honey and hot.

“I’m glad you're here,” I say. “I’m glad we're here together.”

Boone grins. His green eyes crinkle at the corners, dancing with light beneath his perfectly messy mop of brown hair.

“Me too,” he says. “Life is always better when you’re around. We're the dynamic duo.”

“Like Batman and Robin?” I tease.

“Better,” he says, one arm winding around my waist. I lean into the contact.

He pulls me close. Our hips bump as we walk — okay, fine, as we stagger, let’s be real — to the elevators. It should feel jarring and strange but instead, it feels perfect.

Stumbling out of the elevator, we find our room. Boone pulls the keycard from his pocket and slides it into the lock. The door opens and we tumble inward like puppies who haven’t yet found their feet.

We laugh and clutch onto each other until we fall, together, onto the closest bed. We’d reserved a room with two beds, but now I find myself wondering if we really need both.

We’ve seen the city. We’ve been to a show (Celine Dion, of course). We let ourselves get caught up in the neon-lit spectacle that is Las Vegas.

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