Page 60 of Almost Not Quite Engaged

He kisses me sweetly. My stomach drops like on a roller coaster. He’s saying things that could lead a girl down the wrong route. This route might end with tubs of ice cream, tequila, and sobbing at Nicholas Sparks movies on a Saturday night.

I start clapping. “Cake. Eat cake off of me! I’m in.” And then my eyes shut.

Chapter 27

Let Them Eat Cake

ZANE

Maui

She’s asleep before I can say anything worth saying.

I watch her for a moment, her hair everywhere, one arm thrown over her face, entirely out. I slip off the bed and make a call.

The hotel pastry kitchen is very accommodating when you explain that your fiancée has never had a proper wedding cake tasting and you’d like to remedy that immediately even at this unorthodox hour. Gotta love a five star hotel.

By the time I’ve showered and changed, there’s a cart outside our door with six different giant slices, four kinds of frosting in ramekins, fresh fruit, two forks, and a bottle of something cold and pink.

I set it up on the bed, careful not to wake her yet. Then I dab a little frosting on her lips and kiss her. Then I dab some more and she licks her lips. She opens one eye.

“This is a sex dream, right? Stop it.”

I dip a finger into the vanilla buttercream and hold it out. She takes it without hesitation and closes her eyes.

“Okay, I’m up,” she says as she sits up and leans back on the headboard. “I know what we are, but you know that fake ass story you tell everyone about us getting engaged that everyone thinks is so romantic. It’s got shit on this moment. This right here! This is romantic.” I grin and she laughs as she swipes some melon and swallows it with a little moan.

“Now that I’ve eaten healthy, bring on the sugar.”

As we sit eating cake off each other’s fingers, she says, “I don’t think I want to talk to you.”

I look at her. “What are you talking about?”

“After you head out. I’m not sure I want to keep in touch.”

That lands somewhere unexpected. I twist her nipple lightly, and she laughs and looks down at the chocolate crumbs left behind. I lean over and suck it off and she moans.

“See, that I like.” She shifts, squaring up to me. “Hear me out. I wouldn’t mind hearing about your adventures but let’s not do the checking in thing.”

“You mean as a real couple would do.” My small crooked smile becomes a full grin before I can stop it.

She nods. “Precisely. No calls.”

“Texts or emails?”

“No social media. Block me on all of it. Even Snap.”

“I’m not on fucking Snapchat,” I growl.

“I like the kitty filters.” She shrugs and I laugh.

“I don’t want to write letters.” I groan, even though I write all the time but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Postcards?” she suggests.

“Perfect,” I say it louder than I mean to and she grins. Something about that word feels right in a way I’m not going to examine right now.

“With enough information to relay to our mothers.”