Chapter 5 Warren
five
Warren
“Okay, so Dawson will help Esme deliver the flowers, then both Dawson and Dash will be the ushers.” Marigold crosses the last two items off her list for Wilder and Aspen’s wedding.
“That should do it.” I pick up the empty pizza box and carry it to my kitchen, just a few steps away, to throw it out. “We just need to make sure the bride and groom show up for the wedding.” I grab the half-empty bottle of wine off the counter, planning to fill Marigold’s glass again.
“Easier said than done.” She places a hand on top of her glass when she sees the bottle of wine in my hand.
“I probably shouldn’t have any more. I still have to drive back to town tonight.
” I hate that she insisted on driving to my cabin separately.
If it were up to me, I’d chauffeur her anywhere she needed to go.
“Unless I spend the night.” Her innocent eyes blink up at me.
If she only knew how much I want her to stay.
“I was once like you—thinking the woman I wanted didn’t want me back.” Austin’s voice rings in my head.
Maybe it’s time to finally take the leap and shoot my shot with Marigold.
I’d rather have her turn me down now than after she’s met the guy she wants to spend the rest of her life with.
Don’t get me wrong, it will still hurt like hell when she falls in love with someone else, but the sooner I rip off this band-aid and tell her how I feel, the sooner I can come to terms with her rejection.
“Would it be so bad if you stayed the night here?”
Her eyes widen, as her breath catches in her throat. “And where would I sleep?”
“That’s up to you.” I set the bottle of wine on the coffee table and take a seat next to her so close our legs are touching from hip to ankle.
“You can have the guest bedroom.” I lift my hand to her face and caress her cheek.
“Or you can share my bed.” I let the words hang in the air, silently praying she picks the latter.
“Oh.” Her cheeks darken to a deep red, almost the same color as the wine in the bottle. She sets her glass on the coffee table next to the bottle of wine. “Before I make my decision, why now, after all these months? Is it because that guy asked me out today?”
I clench my jaw, remembering the jerk who had the nerve to walk up to Marigold while we were in front of the bakery and ask her to the spring dance next weekend. If Granger hadn’t stepped in when he did, I would have knocked that guy on his ass for trying to steal my woman.
“Not entirely.” Her face falls at my words, and I realize I’ve messed this up.
“What I meant to say is, I’ve been in love with you since Mrs. Greenwald first introduced us.
I was just too stupid to act on it until that asshole asked you out—you’re mine, not his.
” Damn, I’ve probably scared her off by calling her mine.
But then Marigold does the one thing I never expected—she throws herself into my arms, planting a kiss on my mouth.
“You’re mine, too,” she whispers against my lips.
“I fell in love with you that day, too, you know.” She rests her head on my shoulder, gazing up at me as the fingers on one of her hands draw circles on my shirt.
“When you didn’t ask me out, I wanted to ask you, but I was raised to believe that the man was always the one to ask the woman.
As much as I want to see myself as a strong, independent woman, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
” Her voice sounds so small with her confession.
“There’s another reason.” Her hand stills on my chest. “I’m a virgin.
I’ve never done anything with anyone before—I mean nothing at all. ”
I place my hand over hers on my chest and say, "I’ve never done anything with anyone either, I’m a virgin too.”
“Look at us, two dual virgins.” Her laughter fills the cabin, making it feel like a home—a home I want to share with her.
“But I have one more confession to make.” She takes a deep breath, nervously blinking up at me.
“You know the book we’re reading in the book club about the mountain man and the woman he falls in love with by Briella Hart?
” She pauses, and I nod. “I wrote it. I’m Briella Hart. I’m a self-published indie author."
“Wow, that’s amazing. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s another part of the confession. I wrote the book about us and what I wanted you to do to me.
” My cock hardens, pressing painfully against the zipper of my jeans, as I remember all the sex scenes in that book.
But then I recall the real love story—how much the female lead loves the male lead, and how much he loves her back—and I crash my lips down on Marigold’s, drinking every inch of her in.
“You’re not mad I didn’t tell you sooner?
” she asks when we finally come up for air.
“No, I could never be mad at you.” I run my thumb over her swollen, well-kissed lips. “But I think it’s time we move into the bedroom and act out some of those love scenes.”