Chapter 3
Cool Auntie Lina
? I Tried A Ring On - Tigirlily Gold
Angelina
A baby cries in the row ahead of me as the plane evens out.
Her mom shushes her, rocking back and forth.
I catch a glimpse of blonde hair and blue eyes through the crack between the seats.
She reminds me of my goddaughter, Emmy Lou, when she was that age.
My heart squeezes at the memory. She’s five now, and Jess has been gone for longer than Emmy knew her.
I rest my head against the open window, watching the clouds float past. I’ve been running on overdrive since I found Tyler’s note, and it’s all hitting me at once.
I’m alone again.
The bright future I pictured for myself has all but disappeared. For a fleeting moment, I held it in the palm of my hand, until the morning before the wedding, when it slipped through my fingers. That seems to be a recurring pattern.
Light catches on my wedding band. Griffin’s flight took off two hours before mine, and we haven’t yet discussed what this means for us or where we go from here. Annulment is the most logical option, so why does the very idea of it hurt so much? Maybe it’s the loneliness talking.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the photos from our wedding night for the millionth time since I woke up married. We’re standing at the altar—me in my robe and Griffin in his casual suit jacket and jeans.
The first thing I notice is my smile. It’s not fake or forced.
The second thing I notice is Griffin—the way his palm is cradling my cheek in those seconds before our first kiss.
The way his half smile deepens the wrinkles around his eyes as he gazes at me like he’s waited his entire life for that moment.
God. That kiss.
I’ve never been kissed like that before, like our souls intertwined in perfect synchronicity.
It’s ludicrous, but I can’t help but wonder what if.
What if we don’t file for an annulment?
What if we try?
What if everything I want is right in front of me?
What if Griffin hadn’t walked away from me five years ago?
After the plane touches down in Nashville, I make my way to the baggage claim with a pit in my stomach. I have the garment bag with my wedding dress in one hand, and the rest of my luggage is packed full of everything I would’ve needed on our honeymoon in Mexico.
The destination, much like our wedding, was Tyler’s choice. He said he didn’t want a big wedding because he doesn’t have any family left, and I agreed because I loved him and didn’t want our wedding day to be one of sadness for him.
When it came time to plan the honeymoon, I’d already capitulated so much that it didn’t seem to matter where we went anymore.
It was always my dream to visit Italy and Greece, to see the rich history of my family’s lineage and visit my parents on the Italian coast. Maybe someday I’ll make that trip on my own, though I wish I could share those memories with someone.
I’m thirty-six years old. Tyler stole three years of my life.
If losing Jess has taught me anything, it’s that time is also a thief.
It might be time for me to come to terms with a solitary life.
I could be cool Auntie Lina, who spoils them with gifts and tells amazing stories of her travels.
It could be fulfilling in a way, but it would never replace the desire to have a family of my own.
Therein lies the problem. No matter how I envision my future after this, there will always be something missing.
When I step off the escalator, my breath ceases, and I abruptly stop walking. Standing there next to the Las Vegas luggage carousel is my new husband, holding a sign that reads: “I waited five years, what’s two more hours? Welcome home, wife.”
I don’t let myself dwell on the sentiment, convinced it’s some sort of tongue-in-cheek joke about our fling. Griffin’s expression gives nothing away.
“Need a ride, Mrs. Hayes?”
“Who said I was changing my name?”
He steps closer and says, just loud enough for me to hear, “My bad. I just assumed, based on the way you were screaming my name last night, you might want to share part of it.”
If I had the capacity, I’d probably be blushing, but it takes a lot more than one lurid memory to knock me off kilter.
I tangle my fist in his shirt and pull him closer. My lips ghost over the shell of his ear. “As I recall, you were pretty vocal yourself. Or do you need a reminder of whose name was coming out of your mouth, Mr. Hayes?”
“That sassy fuckin’ mouth of yours is just asking for trouble.”
“Begging,” I whisper airily.
I take a step around him and head to the luggage carousel that’s begun circulating the checked bags. Instinctively, I pull out my phone to let Jess know I’ve landed safely before I remember there’s no one on the other end of the line. My heart sinks as I slip it back into my pocket.
It’s been nearly five years, and sometimes, I still forget she’s gone.
“Ready to go?” I glance up and lock eyes with Griffin.
He’s got my black hard shell suitcase in one hand and his brown leather duffle slung over the opposite shoulder.
I reach out to take mine from him, but he pulls away. “My wife doesn’t carry her own bags.”
My eyes roll of their own volition. “Don’t you think you’re taking this whole husband and wife thing a little too far?”
“Too far was saying ‘I do’ in front of three strangers in a little white chapel. We might as well go all the way.”
Griffin carries our bags through the sliding doors, pausing on the sidewalk near the line of cars waiting to pick up their passengers. “Stay here. I’ll go get the truck.”
I want to argue with him, but I suspect I’ll lose, and I don’t have it in me to go ten rounds with him today. I’ve been beaten down enough for one weekend.
He pulls up a few minutes later in his familiar black truck with the Whispering Oaks Ranch logo on the door. The window rolls down, and he grins. “Hey, pretty lady. Need a ride?”
I roll my eyes and try to stifle my own smile, but it’s so hard when he’s just so… him.
After unceremoniously shoving my wedding gown into the backseat with my carry-on, I slide into the front. He pulls away from the curb without a word, and I’m grateful for the silence. I need time to think about what I want before we talk about the elephant in the room.
I rest my head against the window and close my eyes.
Minutes pass, maybe hours, it’s hard to say. The truck slows, and I open my eyes to find that we’re in a coffee shop drive-thru.
He rolls down his window and speaks into the intercom. “I have a pickup order for Griffin.”
When did he place the order? Did he schedule it while he was waiting for me at the airport?
A cheerful voice responds. “Got it. You can pull up.”
When we stop at the window, the worker hands him two drinks and a small bag. He sets the drinks in the cup holders and hands me the bag.
“Thanks. Have a great day.” Griffin slips ten dollars into the tip jar before pulling away from the window.
“That one is yours,” he says, gesturing to the iced coffee near my thigh.
I pick it up and read the label. It’s my exact order down to the brown sugar syrup and the extra shot of espresso.
“You know my coffee order?”
“I know a lot of things. Want me to list them for you?”
“Nope.”
He gives me a crooked grin and nods toward the bag I forgot I was holding. “Open it,” he says, turning back onto the interstate.
The paper crinkles as I unfold the top, and the scent of cinnamon sugar floods my senses. “You got me a cinnamon roll?”
“Why is that so surprising?”
I don’t have an answer, so I bite into the warm pastry and savor the flavor.
It shouldn’t be shocking that someone would know what I like, but I was with Tyler for three years, and he never got my order right without explicit instructions. Even then, he’d still find some way to fuck it up.
I’ve been married to Griffin for like three minutes, and he’s already surpassing every expectation. It’s not hard, considering the only expectation I had was of a swift annulment, but I digress.
I finish the coffee and the pastry and lay my head against the window once more. Seconds later, a warm hoodie that smells exactly like my husband is placed on my lap.
My brow furrows as I take in his bare forearms. I let my gaze travel to his large hands gripping the steering wheel, stopping when I get to the gold band on his ring finger. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, none of this seems real.
“In case you need a pillow,” he says, interrupting my slow perusal.
“Huh?”
He chuckles. “The hoodie. We still have another thirty minutes to go, and that window can’t be comfortable.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I force a smile and ball up the fabric, placing it between me and the glass. Warm, sensual amber envelopes me, and I drift to sleep listening to Griffin humming along to the radio.
I left Oak Ridge as Angelina Rossi, and I’m returning much the same, despite Griffin’s claim to the contrary. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that my life will never be the same.