Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Madison?” he asks quietly.
I tug him against me, crushing our bodies together so his weight falls heavy over me in the best, most comforting way.
“It’s good. It feels so good,” I assure him, my throat feeling too tight to get anything else out. I kiss him as proof that these tears aren’t sad, or if they are, it’s a cathartic sadness. A relief that I can still want something this much and feel it so intensely.
I don’t know if it’s appropriate to realize in this moment, but I never shared this passion with Matthew. I didn’t even know how far off I was from the real thing. I don’t say this to Sawyer. I don’t want him worried that I’m thinking of my ex-fiancé in a moment like this. There’s no way he won’t interpret it the wrong way.
So I kiss him.
I let my hands wander over his body, and eventually, the heaviness becomes lighter, the passion easier to bear. We’re just as frenzied as we were in Sawyer’s truck, only now there’s no police officer knocking on the window interrupting us as Sawyer spreads my legs and presses inside me, rocking his hips until I gasp.
The first time ends quickly. The second time we linger. The third time happens in the kitchen when we’re both desperate for a snack.
“Think we could get Queenie to send over some cookies?” Sawyer teases.
“At three AM?!”
“Fine, I’ll just eat you instead.”
“SAWYER!”
CHAPTER 17
In case you were wondering, the staff bathroom at Wildflower Weddings is decked out—floor to ceiling—with decor left over from the travel agency era. No scrap of wall escaped Luellen’s touch, and if possible, in here, she upped her game even more. The wall decals are practically layered one on top of another. Go anywhere! Be anything! Dream big! They feel satirical for someone sitting on a toilet.
Today though, the encouraging phrases are just what I need. I’ve already opened up a pregnancy test and I’ve read the instructions twice, but I’m doing it a third time because I want to be sure I have it right. I’ve never taken a pregnancy test before, and though it seems simple, the results are potentially life-changing, so if I want to read through the instructions forty-five times, I will!
I know I could wait and take the test later, at Queenie’s, but I’m too antsy to wait. I purchased three tests on my way to work and my period was supposed to start this morning but it hasn’t, so here goes nothing.
I have three tests out and ready to go. I pee, count to five (three times), then set the sticks flat on the counter and wash my hands before I start my phone’s timer. The first thirty seconds of waiting is agony. Every second is a year. I prop my hands on the sink and keep my focus anywhere but the tests; it feels like I’ll jinx it if I look at them. Instead, I study the distressed black letters nailed into the sheetrock above the vanity sink. D E S T N Y. The I is either missing or was never there to begin with. Destiny. Maybe Luellen hammered those Hobby Lobby letters in here years ago knowing one day I’d need to read them. Everything in life happens for a reason, those letters assure me.
Thanks, Luellen.
I’ve waited close to a minute when I hear a car pull up out front. Crap. Queenie and Marge can’t be back from lunch already! They said they were headed over to Cactus Cafe. I figured Waylon and Lucinda would keep them occupied for at least an hour.
I poke my head out of the bathroom, expecting to see Marge’s maroon Toyota Corolla, but instead there’s a black Escalade with tinted windows. The sleek-looking SUV doesn’t belong to Queenie or Marge, that’s for sure. I watch as the doors open in tandem, and then my stomach drops.
I blink, not quite believing what I’m seeing. Three Masons have arrived in Oak Hill, Texas. Matthew and his parents walk up onto the sidewalk and squint at the door of my mom’s office, reading Luellen’s Travel Agency and probably wondering where the hell they’ve found themselves. They’re dressed like they’ve just come from the campaign trail, Mr. Mason and Matthew both in sharp navy suits. Mrs. Mason is wearing a shift dress with pearl buttons running down the center.
They’re probably hot outside, but I’m all too happy to let them stay confused out there in the sweltering heat. Unfortunately, Mr. Mason strides forward with determination and yanks the door open. I don’t think fast enough to duck back into the bathroom before he sees me.
Immediately, his stern expression softens. “Madison!” Turning back, he waves the others in behind him. “I knew this was the right address.”
There are a million ways forward right now, only a handful of which include me stepping out of the bathroom and being gracious to these uninvited out-of-town guests. Matthew walks in behind his mom, looking a little like a shamed puppy. His shoulders are slumped and his attention is on the floor. I look at him as I walk over to greet them, willing him to meet my gaze, to say something, but he doesn’t. It’s his father who comes over to me and gives me a hearty side hug. His mom smiles and compliments my dress. It’s like, for them, nothing has happened; I should be happy they’re here.