Page 47 of Almost Enough

“Jesus, Red,” he grumbles, but it’s not annoyance in his voice now.

I scoot closer, the blanket dropping lower on my shoulders. Our arms brush, a little static lightning passing between us. “You didn’t come out here just for a confessional, did you?”

For a minute, he seems torn, like he’s rifling through his own head for words that won’t embarrass him. He just shrugs and says, “I just didn’t want you to think I was messing with you.”

I don’t tease him this time. Don’t crack a joke or press for more.

Instead, I lean in until our shoulders are touching. “Okay. I don’t.”

God, I really want to kiss him, but I’m afraid even a brief brush of my lips on his would send both of us over the edge. So I bite back the urge, pressing my shoulders against his, pretending I do it for warmth, but the truth is I’m doing it because I want to be as close to him as possible without giving myself away.

fourteen

. . .

Beau

If there was a perfect day for a wedding, it would be this one. The sun’s cutting through the clouds like it knows it’s got a job to do. Everything looks sharp and clean.

Rowan’s standing next to me at the front of the ceremony space, his back straight, eyes on the mountains in the horizon. There’s not a trace of doubt on his face as he stands there in his tux.

“You good?” I ask quietly, adjusting the cuff of my shirt.

He exhales through his nose, slow and steady. “I think so. Might puke. But, yeah.”

I crack a small smile. “You won’t. You’re too stubborn for nerves.”

He huffs a laugh, and it’s enough to knock a bit of the tension out of his shoulders.

“I saw her earlier,” I say after a beat. “Violet.”

Rowan glances over, brows lifting.

“She looked…” I shake my head, not sure how to sum it up without sounding like a damn greeting card. “Beautiful. Radiant. Like she already knows you’re the luckiest bastard alive.”

He swallows hard and nods, blinking fast. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I look out at the crowd. “She couldn’t stop smiling.”

Rowan clears his throat, emotion thick in the air between us.

“I’m proud of you,” I add, quieter now. “For being the kind of man she deserves.”

His eyes snap to mine, glassy and stunned. “Jesus, Beau. You trying to ruin me before she even gets down the aisle?”

I shrug, adjusting my tie like I didn’t just say the most sentimental shit of my life. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Rowan gives a low chuckle as the music shifts to something soft and slow. Guests turn in their seats in a slow wave, heads craning toward the back.

Rowan lets out a shaky breath beside me, and I know it’s because Violet’s about to appear. But my chest tightens for a whole different reason, because Whitley steps out first.

And holy hell.

She’s in burgundy—deep, rich, the color of sin. The dress hugs her in all the ways that drive a man to prayer or ruin. Her hair is curled and pinned with a few loose strands framing her face, softening all that sass she wears like armor.

She glances up, right at me. The world falls away for a second, and it’s just the two of us. My lungs seize, heartbeat slamming against my ribs

She fucking smirks.