Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Hand. Fingers. Wrist, arm, biceps in a tight T-shirt. Shoulders in the dark above me, right here in this room.
My nipples tingled beneath my cotton tank, and I brushed my thumbs over them. Closing my eyes, I remembered his lips on my skin.
I yanked my hands from beneath the covers and pressed my arms to my sides above the comforter, stiff as a soldier. I would not touch myself and fantasize about him. I would not.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about him out in my living room. We hadn’t even talked about where we’d live. Would he move in here? This place was so small. There was only one bedroom.
There was only one bed.
I gulped. This could get tricky.
All night long, I heard Devlin’s voice in my head. Marry me. We do this together.
I tossed and turned and tried to sleep, but the madness of this plan, the audacity of running off to Vegas to elope, would start my adrenaline rushing, and I was awake for long stretches of time.
When I’d sworn to do whatever it took to save Snowberry, I hadn’t imagined it would involve a white dress and ’til death do us part.
Could we pull this off? Would Gran actually cede ownership to me if I became Mrs. Alexandra Buckley tomorrow? Could we convince people we were in love? What would happen if people discovered the marriage was a temporary sham?
Flopping onto my side, I flipped my pillow and laid my cheek on the cool cotton. But my eyes refused to close. Moonlight slipped in around the edges of my bedroom window shade, and I caught sight of the friendship bracelet on my nightstand. Reaching for it, I tugged it onto my wrist again. I wondered about Sara, the girl who’d made it. What her story was. Why she’d given Devlin this gift. Since she was on a Camp Lemonade field trip, I assumed she’d lost a parent. Was Devlin sort of a surrogate dad to her?
As I played with the beads that spelled out fearless, I remembered my own dad. He’d taught me to ski, to be careful but confident. The day I conquered my first double black diamond slope, he’d stood next to me at the top, encouraging me to trust in my talent and training. Urging me to take the risk. “But what if I fall?” I’d asked, my voice timid in the whipping-cold wind. The run, called Demon Dive, was steep and blanketed with moguls. Even experienced skiers approached it with respect.
“If you fall, you get up again. I’ll be right there to help you,” he promised. “You ready?”
“I don’t know.”
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all, Firefly. What’s yours gonna be?”
Heart racing, blood pumping, I pushed off the top of the slope. It felt like I’d jumped off a cliff, the angle was so extreme. Immediately, I was out of control, going way too fast, arms flailing, bouncing over the moguls like a speedboat over choppy waters. Then I heard my dad shouting behind me, his words unclear, but his voice reassuring. I could do this. I could do this. Determined to keep my balance, I flexed my leg muscles and brought my skis closer together, navigating the turns like I’d been taught, finding my rhythm, planting the poles to help me keep my balance. I made it all the way to the bottom before wiping out completely, losing both skis and poles, and face-planting into the snow.
But I’d done it.
Years later, I’d had the words tattooed across my upper back, a drawing of a firefly beneath them.
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.
What was mine going to be?
My alarm woke me at five-thirty, and I was groggy as hell. But instead of hitting snooze, I turned it off and got out of bed. Opening my door a crack, I peered across the hall. Bathroom door open.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I tiptoed down the hall and snuck a peek into the living room.
No Devlin. The pillow he’d used was at one end of the couch, the blanket folded on top of it. Huh. I went to the window and noticed his car was gone. Had he changed his mind? Left without so much as a goodbye?
Then I saw the note on the coffee table.
Went for coffee, wife. Back soon.
Laughing a little, I shook my head. “I’m not your wife,” I muttered. “Not yet, anyway.”
But today was my wedding day.
In less than twenty-four hours, I would be.
Half an hour later, I came out of my room wearing jeans and a pink cami tank, dragging a small roller bag behind me. He’d been sitting on the couch looking at his phone, but he rose quickly to his feet when he saw me. The sight of him set off butterflies in my belly. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved black shirt, his hair was combed, his jaw was freshly shaved. I put a hand over my stomach, as if to still the fluttering wings.