Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
August shook the man’s free hand. “Yes, I believe the last time we met, you told me not to let the door hit me in the tuchus on my way out of the bank.”
“You weren’t so polite, either, as I recall, but that’s all water under the bridge now.” The man was regarding him a little too closely to be polite, but August said nothing. Making a good impression on this man was important to Natalie. Ingram held the purse strings and August wouldn’t mess up Natalie’s chance to untie them.
“Enjoying the party?”
“I am. Corinne always outdoes herself.” Ingram paused. “Although not usually on such short notice.”
A prickle rode up the back of August’s neck. “Natalie and I are grateful to her.”
“Yes.” Ingram canted his head to the left. “How did you and Natalie Vos meet?”
“Natalie Cates,” August corrected, forcing an affable smile. “We met at Wine Down Napa.” God, she’d been beautiful that night. And every night since. Back then, though, there wasn’t a speck of vitriol between them. Just that weightless excitement. “She was there to represent the vineyard—”
“And she’d had a little too much wine, like we all do at those events,” Julian said, approaching unexpectedly on August’s left. Giving him a quick nod. “An online wine blogger was trying to snap Nat’s picture in a tipsy state, but August blocked their shot.”
Did I?
Yeah, he guessed he had. The whole night was a blur of anything but . . . her.
The way she’d smiled. Her smoke-and-flowers scent.
How he’d lost his balance the moment he saw her and never got it back.
“I was positive in that moment we’d be seeing a lot more of him,” Julian finished, raising his glass and sharing a fleeting smile with August. “And I was right.”
Ingram considered both of them in turn. “What a nice story.” He took his time taking a bite of cake, chewing it while looking over the crowd. “Corinne invited me to dinner at the vineyard on Monday night. I’m looking forward to hearing more about how this union came to be.” He tipped his straw hat to Julian and August. “Enjoy your night.”
“Same to you,” August said, smiling with teeth.
“Bastard,” Julian muttered near his ear.
“Yeah. Someone find a princess to kiss that guy and turn him back into a frog,” August agreed, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Thanks for having my back, man. I forgot about the whole thing with the photographer.”
“I didn’t.” Julian swirled his wine. “I also remember when she threw wine in your face and you only looked angry at yourself for arguing with her in the first place.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me.”
Julian shook his head. Sighed. “You’re in love with her.”
Suddenly, August couldn’t swallow.
The music swelled in his ears.
Was he in love with Natalie? No idea. If the key to her happiness was at the bottom of the ocean, he’d strap on some flippers and goggles to dive down and get it. If she showed any signs of illness, even a common cold, he would consider bringing her to the ER. If she asked him to dress like Zack Morris at Halloween so she could dress like Kelly Kapowski . . . he’d already have suggested it first. Did all of that equal love?
To him? Yes.
He loved her. Really, really bad.
It couldn’t have seemed less natural for Julian to lay his arm across August’s shoulders, but he did. Briefly. “I have faith in you.” He stepped back. “I also have faith that she wouldn’t have gone through with this unless something was there.”
“Thanks, Julian,” he managed through his parched throat.
“And if you hurt her, I’ll break your nose.”
“Heard you the first two times.”
When Julian returned to his girlfriend’s side, August picked up an uneaten plate of food from one of the tables and dug into it with a tiny fork. Cold sea bass was not the most appetizing of choices, but God knew he’d eaten worse.
How to get Natalie’s attention. How to get . . .
The DJ booth released a slow plume of fog out onto the dance floor.
August smiled mid-chew, finally landing on a plan.
A few minutes later, the opening strains of “Brick House” filled the tent and Natalie’s shoulder blades twitched, then she was turning around and sending daggers at him with her eyes. He only winked back. When the lyrics kicked in, August strutted out onto the dance floor and pointed directly at his new wife with an open challenge. At first, he was positive she was going to throw the closest heavy object at his head, but to his everlasting happiness, she joined him in the center of the floor, causing the drunk guests in attendance to applaud.
“Are you serious?” Natalie mouthed at him over the music.
August unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket with a flourish and dropped it on the dance floor, moving on to the cuff links next. Rolling up his sleeves. And then he started to dance—although even he could admit that that term should be used loosely when applied to his series of exaggerated disco moves and jump spins. Not to mention a lot of finger guns. He’d developed this routine years ago as a way to shake the malaise that often overcame his team when they’d been away from their families too long and, frankly, it was ridiculous. But it was him, whereas this wedding was definitely not.