Chapter 20
Ethan
The Grand View Lodge photography room looks like someone emptied a Christmas storage unit and arranged everything with military precision. There are wreath arches, velvet armchairs, a faux fireplace, trees dripping with gold ornaments, and enough twinkle lights to signal aircraft.
The photographer is a short, excitable woman named Marla. She gasps when Harper and I walk in. “Oh, the Holiday Bride couple! You two are stunning.”
Harper turns pink. I turn … whatever color men turn when they want to punch a wall and run away at the same time.
Marla flutters toward us with a camera strapped to her like a tactical vest. “Let’s start with something simple. Ethan, darling, stand behind Harper. Wrap your arms around her waist.”
Harper chokes. I freeze.
“Go on,” she murmurs. “It’s just a photo.”
Just a photo … except putting my hands on her does not feel like just anything.
But I do it—slowly, carefully, sliding my arms around her waist. She fits against me so perfectly it should be illegal.
Her back warms instantly beneath my hands, and her breath wobbles in a way that hits me low in the gut.
Marla claps. “Gorgeous! Now tilt your chin down toward her. Yes, like you adore her.”
I actually do adore her so it’s not hard to put on the face. Harper glances up at me with a soft little smile.
Marla snaps a burst of photos. “Next! Harper, place a hand on his chest. Ethan, lean in a little more. You two have natural chemistry. Oh! Let’s do a forehead touch.”
We turn, facing each other now. Close. Too close. Her lashes flutter. A strand of hair slips across her cheek, and I tuck it behind her ear.
“Closer,” Marla whispers like a conspirator.
Our foreheads meet.
Electricity. Warmth. Harper’s breath brushes my lips, and for a second, I almost kiss her right there in front of the camera.
Marla sighs dreamily. “This is going to break the internet.”
We survive a few more poses holding hands under a wreath. Harper sitting in my lap on a velvet sofa (pure torture). Me lifting her slightly like we’re about to spin. By the end, I feel unsteady. Warm. Like I’ve lived an entire lifetime in one photo session.
“Beautiful work, you two,” Marla says, beaming. “You look like you’re already married.”
We walk out of the room in silence. Harper’s hand gravitates to mine. And that’s when I realize that maybe we should be married.