Page 105 of Whiskey Proposal

Campbell might not have realized how true her statement was. I’m not diving into anything, thinking they might need a hand. Emerson is at my side, cycling through expressions of awe, wistfulness, and a healthy dose of fear.

Is she scared we’re going to drive her out, or that she’ll wake up to an empty room in an almost empty apartment?

A slow country song starts on the speakers.

“Excuse me,” Myles says, steering Wynter toward the dance floor. “My wife owes me a dance.”

Wynter grins and waves before tucking herself so close to Myles I can’t believe they can move.

Tate looks around. “I told Mama I’d get a dance with her. She’s hard to track down for a spin during these things.” He spots her, dips his head toward us, and leaves.

I turn Emerson with me. “You owe me a dance.”

“I don’t remember those terms.” But she takes my hand and rests her other one on my shoulder.

“They were very clear. In fact, I think you owe me all the dances.”

She giggles and lets me lead her through a slow shuffle in the crowded dance area. “It was a really nice wedding. Not stiff like some of the ones I’ve been to.”

“What were those like?”

“A few were my old coworkers’.” She smiles at Jamison as Iverson maneuvers them around us. “A couple friends from college. No one I was really close to, and maybe that’s why they all seemed so awkward. Full of people who didn’t know each other and wanted to go home. It made me glad I was never, you know, standing up there.” She snorts. “I was barely standing up for my own wedding.”

I smile, but there’s a wistful gleam in her eyes again. When will she realize that I will give her anything she wants? “What if you could do it again?”

Her gaze shuts down. “What do you mean? Get married again?” Color drains from her face.

Shit. She thinks I mean after a divorce, when she meets some other asshole. Not a fucking chance. “Celebrate a marriage. How about that?”

She blinks and confusion passes over her face. “Celebrate? So like a reception?”

No. Her in a white dress, facing me, saying her vows like she means them this time. No rote echoing of them. Our family would be looking on, and then after, we’d share our wedding favors, a flavor of spirit she and I came up with. I’d dance with her, like Haven’s doing with Prescott now. The new happy couple.

“Yes,” I say gruffly. “Like a reception. A party.”

She rests her face against my chest, but her eyes are open. She’s taking in everything. “I’ve never had a party.”

“We’ll change that.” As soon as I fucking can.

“Brooks tried to throw one when I graduated from college, but we couldn’t afford much besides a dinner out. I even ordered a rib eye.”

“So you’d have steak?”

She lifts her head. “So much steak. For all his faults, Dad could grill a mean rib eye. I missed it the most when we left.”

“Even more than the chickens?”

“Do you think Dad would butcher my pets?”

Now that I think about it, he kept all the chickens like pets. I assumed it was because they’re layers. “He kept them all for you.”

She shakes her head. “Those aren’t the same birds.”

“But he kept getting chickens in case you returned.” He kept hoping his kids would come home.

Her eyes mist over and she blinks. “Dammit, Lane. Why did you have to say that?”

“You’re right. It was for the egg money. He was making a haul.”