Meeting Mr. Wright (25 page)
“Forever,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal.
I smile.
Forever is such a beautiful word.
“I
REALLY
like these pants,” I say, tugging on the waistband. My finger brushes against the sewn-on logo that I designed; looking at it still gives me chills. “I think they could be a go for the women’s line.”
“I’ll tell the R and D guys,” Nate says as he sits down behind me, spreading his legs to make a spot for me.
“R and D guys,” I say, parroting him. “I still can’t believe this is happening. You, an
entrepreneur
.” I say the last word with a fake French flourish that makes Nate laugh.
“I’m a small business owner.” Nate keeps saying that, but it’s not really true. Small business owners don’t typically have the connections he does from his years in the sporting goods industry. Small business owners don’t usually have the number of preorders that Rocky Mountain Rec does before they’ve even started production. But that title makes him feel safe, so I let him have it.
I pull my hair back into a ponytail as I look out on the valley below me. The lake is so still that it looks like a mirror for the sky.
“I just climbed a mountain, Nate. A
mountain.
”
His laugh is a low rumble as he reaches forward and slides his calloused hands up and down my calves. We’ve been together a year, and I still shiver at even the slightest bit of contact. “It’s a hill, Cal. Like…a really big hill.”
“Hills have grass,” I protest, turning to look at him. “This is definitely a rocky surface.”
“Okay. It’s a big, rocky hill.”
I glare at him, but he grins and all my (mostly) fake outrage melts away.
“I’m standing on the precipice of…something!” I shout, shaking my fist triumphantly.
“If you’re standing on anything, it’s a slope.”
I swat at his arms until his hands fall away. “Really? I’m supposed to be committing myself to you for life a week from tomorrow, and this is how you’re playing the last dark days of your wifeless existence? By antagonizing your long-suffering fiancée?”
He plays so dirty, tickling the backs of my knees until I collapse in a fit of giggles. He takes advantage of my weakened state and gathers me in his arms, until I’m situated between his legs, one of my favorite spots.
“As if you could resist marrying this,” he teases as our fingers tangle together.
“I’m not sure you’re as much of a prize as you think you are,” I say, lying through my teeth. I know how very lucky I am.
“You love me,” he whispers, pressing his lips against my neck.
“I do,” I tell him. “I do.”
Love is the only word I can assign to all the feelings I have for him, even though I know that what we have goes much, much deeper than that.
“We should’ve asked for presents,” he says, leaning forward so that his chin is resting on the top of my head. “Registered or whatever.” He absently plays with my engagement ring, which is a thing he likes to do sometimes. He just turns it around and around my finger as he holds my hand, like he needs a tangible reminder that I’m here, we’re real, and soon we’ll be forever. I wonder if I’ll do something similar with his ring once he’s wearing it. I’m excited to find out; it seems like it’s been sitting in my sock drawer for a lifetime, just waiting to be placed on his finger.
I only have to wait one more week. An eternity.
“We did ask for a present,” I remind him. “Our honeymoon, if that rings a bell. And you’ll be glad we asked for donations once you see the view from our hotel in the Alps.”
He plants a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below my ear. “We’ll need a good view since I don’t think we’ll be going outside all that often.”
The undercurrent of anticipation in his voice makes me feel like a thousand butterflies were set loose in my stomach. “We’re getting married,” I whisper.
“I can’t wait.”
I can’t believe how far I’ve come over the past year. The ease with which Nate and I settled into a life together still surprises me, not that it should. Loving him was like breathing once I finally let myself do it. “I never would’ve thought that trip to Virginia would’ve led to all this,” I admit.
Nate’s fingers tighten around mine and he pulls me a little bit closer.
“So, what you’re saying is that Ben and Gabby’s wedding was the best thing that ever happened to you?”
I know he’s teasing me, but what he said is true. Well, kind of.
“Nah,” I tell him. “The greatest thing that ever happened to me had already happened by the time I got there.”
“What’s that?” he asks, gently cupping my cheek and turning my head until our eyes meet.
He already knows the answer, he just wants to hear me say it. I kiss him before I do.
“Meeting Mister Wright.”
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Cassie Cross is a Maryland native and a romantic at heart, who lives outside of Baltimore with her two dogs and a closet full of shoes. Cassie’s fondness for swoon-worthy men and strong women are the inspiration for most of her stories, and when she’s not busy writing a book, you’ll probably find her eating takeout and indulging in her love of 80′s sitcoms.
Meeting Mr. Wright
Text copyright © 2014 Cassie Cross
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This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
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