48. Dusty

I like the way Marnie looks in a yellow bikini.

I like it when she wears holey jeans and old t-shirts.

I really like it when she wears my clothes, looking all loved up.

But I didn’t know what she looked like when she pulls out all the stops.

We’re going to take her car to the wedding. I cross the farmyard, feeling strangled by the black tie I put on, but hoping Marnie likes it. She meets me at the door, and I temporarily forget how to speak.

She’s got on some little black dress. Simple and elegant, but viciously sexy. It’s short sleeved and skims her body like a second skin. She wears black, patent leather pumps that make her legs look a mile long.

I help her down the steps, unable to resist pulling her up against my body. “You left your hair down.”

My nose brushes across her soft hair, breathing her in.

“I thought maybe you’d like it that way?”

My fingers tighten on her lower back, feeling possessive and smug. “You’re damn right I do, baby.”

My fingers slide through her shiny hair. “How about we skip this lame wedding and check out your bedroom instead?”

She purrs when I nibble at her neck. “I think Mason might have opinions about that.”

“Ugh. Bridezilla.”

We drive about three miles an hour down the country roads. Marnie’s ultra-aware of the cakes carefully stacked in the backseat. I’m tempted to remind her that this is not the city. We don’t have break-neck traffic to be skittish over. But just as we’re pulling into Clark’s country club where the reception will be held, a dog scoots across the drive. She jams on the breaks to avoid it. I whip my head around, reaching out just as the top box slides off the stack and sheers to the side.

I manage to catch it before it can tumble end over end, but from the lopsided weight, I can tell that it took a spill.

“Oh, fuck.”

Marnie looks at me with wide eyes.

“I’ve got it, babe. Just find a parking spot.”

She parks right in front of the club’s front doors, slamming the door and muttering to herself. “This is why I don’t like dogs.”

“What about Ed?”

She laughs, frustrated. “He’s half-okay.”

“I’m sure he’d half-appreciate that.”

She peels the lid off the box and flinches at its contents. “God damn it.”

I circle around the car, standing at her shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

She looks up at me with a rigid expression. “It’s the topper, Dusty. People might notice.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, babe. I know how hard you worked on this.”

“Worst-case scenario.”

She says, looking frustrated.

I rub her back and pull her in so that I can kiss the top of her head. Taking a deep breath, she lets it out in a whoosh. “Okay. Let’s see what we can do to fix it.”

She peers up at me, a sly grin tugging at those lips. “How are you with a piping bag?”

“Terrible.”

“Terrible is all we got. Let’s do this.”

I trail behind her, carrying the cake boxes like they contain deadly explosives. She finds the wedding director, otherwise known as Mason’s aunt, who points us towards the cake table. Marnie gives me directions while she sets up the cakes. I watch, fascinated, as she assembles the cake tower like a reverse game of Jenga. The last cake to come out of the box is the topper. The final tier. It’s pristine except for a smashed edge the size of her hand. I hand her the icing bags she packed and watch as she creates swirls of frosting that look like folded satin. Once she’s placed the fresh flowers, the damaged edge is a thing of the past.

We stand back, my arm hooked around her waist. “I think it looks better this way.”

“I actually do, too.”

She peers up at me. “I had a moment there where I thought I wanted to toss the whole cake in the dumpster. Thanks for helping me through that.”

I peer down at her. “What’d I do? You were the miracle worker.”

“You were just you. Steady and calm. I feel better when you’re around.”

I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but steady and calm are not words I’ve heard before. Her words make my chest feel strangely tight. I pull her into a hug, relishing the way her body feels in that stretchy little dress. “I feel better when you’re around, too.”