Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 157(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Butterflies reaching stadium-seating-only capacity, I step closer. The spicy scent of his cologne swirls through my head, reminding me of the way it clung to my skin last night, making me loathe to shower. “Me, too. I was up until almost four in the morning thinking about you. I told my sisters it was three, but I lied. I just…couldn’t get you out of my head. I kept wishing I hadn’t left.”
“Me, too,” he says, his tongue slipping out to dampen his lips as he takes my croissant-free hand in his, sending sparks dancing across my skin. “There’s been little to no formal scientific research into the phenomenon of love at first sight, but over sixty percent of people polled by a vast university-backed study said they’ve experienced it. Of those, thirty percent were still married to the person they fell for, so—”
“Those odds aren’t bad,” I cut in, every molecule in my body humming at a frequency I’ve never experienced before. It’s intoxicating, euphoric, but strangely peaceful at the same time. I feel like I’m at the edge of a cliff, about to jump off into the great unknown, but I’m not afraid because I have my parachute strapped firmly on my back.
Connor is my parachute, and I’m his, a fact we prove when we say at the same time, “Especially when you consider the divorce rate in the population at large.”
We finish the sentence, trailing off within seconds of each other. A beat later, we laugh, the sound bubbling into the air between us, so happy and light and free that when Connor asks, “So, you want to fly to Las Vegas with me and…roll the dice?” I only hesitate for a moment.
This is crazy, wild—two things I pride myself on not being—but when I look into his eyes, I don’t see anything to be afraid of. I just see a kind, clever, gorgeous man who already feels like a dear friend.
So, I pull in a breath and whisper, “Yes.”
He blinks faster. “Yes, you’ll…marry me?”
“Yes,” I say, giggling again. “I’ll marry you.”
A second later, he swoops me up in his arms and spins me around my living room. I cling to him, laughing in between kisses and getting flakes of croissant everywhere. It’s a ridiculous mess, one Connor helps me clean up afterwards, before joining me in the kitchen for tea and oatmeal with chia seeds and fresh fruit.
We decided we needed something more nutritious than just pastries in order to have the strength to pull off an elopement in the next twenty-four hours. While I assemble our bowls, Connor uses my laptop to book flights and research what documents we’ll need to get a marriage license at the county courthouse. After that’s sorted, as we’re devouring our food, I find and book a wedding venue for this evening, while he secures a hotel.
Within ninety minutes, we have our plans in place, I’m showered and packed for the trip, and we’re on our way back to his place to grab his things before we head to the airport.
At no point during this flurry of activity do we talk about what we’ll do after we’re married—where we’ll live, work, cohabitate, etc—but strangely enough, I’m certain we’ll figure it out. Since I work from home at the moment, I have a lot of flexibility built into my job, and I’m not anxious about leaving my hometown or my family. I adore where I’m from and my crazy clan, but Binx was right—I am ready to embrace adventure.
Especially an adventure that involves the man seated next to me in first class, squeezing my hand as we buckle in for the flight that will whisk us away to Las Vegas and the rest of our lives.
Or disaster.
I’m well aware that’s also a possibility when doing wild, spontaneous things with men you barely know, but I’m willing to take the risk.
I’ve suddenly become a gambler, willing to bet it all on a man with eyes greener than the felt on a roulette table…even though I don’t even know his middle name.
Or how old he is.
Or if he wants children.
Or if we share similar values, morals, goals, or conflict resolution styles.
Good grief, woman, what have you done? the inner voice screeches, waiting to lose her shit just as the wheels leave the tarmac.
Chapter 6
Connor
This is crazy. I know it’s crazy.
I came to terms with that sometime around six a.m., after lying awake all night with my usually measured thoughts running wild, insisting I couldn’t make the same mistake with Wendy Ann that I made with Coralee. I couldn’t sit on my hands and take a woman like this for granted, especially not when Wendy Ann and I have a more powerful, magnetic connection than I ever had with my ex.
In just one night, Wendy Ann McGuire got so deep under my skin that watching her walk up the path to her apartment after I dropped her off was physically painful. I couldn’t stand to see her go, not for a night, let alone for the rest of our lives.