Landon sticks a piece of cheese to some butter spread across my forehead. And he kisses me. Kisses me soft and sweet, and I lied before…he’s making it better. Much, much better.

“We’ll be okay,” he says. Butter from my skin has transferred to his, so I reach around to the drawer behind me and pull out a washrag.

“Okay,” I say, wiping the butter off. “Even if we don’t go on a honeymoon.”

“Oh we’re going.”

“Make sure you pack a bathing suit.”

“You pack your coat.” He brings my ring up to his lips. “You know, we never talked about what’ll happen if we make it.”

“If neither of us gives in?”

He nods.

“I suppose…” I say, tapping his knuckles. “We could flip a coin.”

“Buy the tickets at the airport? Hope for a flight?”

“Why not?” I grin. Spontaneity is what I really want for our marriage anyway.

“Sounds like a plan.” He kisses my hand again. “I don’t want to leave you, but…”

“Work, I know.”

“Be happy.”

“I’ll try.”

“And I’ll pick up something on my way home. Not takeout,” he specifies when I give him a look. “Groceries that’ll last us till payday.”

“Keep it under fifty bucks.”

He nods and wipes my forehead before he places a kiss there. And even though we both know he needs to get his butt out of here, that I need to transfer money, we sit in the macaroni and hold each other for a few more minutes.

Chapter 22

I jam my feet under Landon’s butt on the couch, and I see goose bumps prickle up and down his legs. I have to warm my toes before I stick them in my boots and head to work for twelve hours. After spilling the macaroni last week and the following Thanksgiving meal was a dainty Top Ramen spread, I’ve picked up extra shifts left and right.

“Damn, woman,” Landon says, adjusting his baseball cap before running his hand under the bottom of my pants and up my leg.

“I’m cold.”

“You’re always cold.” He pinches the skin by my ankle. “And you’re furry.”

“It’s No-shave-ember. And it’s not like I have any hot dates to impress.” I wink, and he wrinkles his nose at me.

“You sound like my sister.”

“Oh, reminds me,” I say, sitting up and wrapping my arms around my knees. “Your mom called.”

“Okay.”

“Did you ask her about the flowers and tuxes?”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “Uh…not yet.”

“Kind of need you to.”

“I know.”

I tilt my head to the side and watch as he toys with the hem of my pants. “Is that okay…?” I ask, worried that I’ve struck a nerve without meaning to.

He blows out a breath. “Yeah, it’s just…can we swing it?”

“Swing what?”

“The cost of the tuxes and flowers.”

I want to snort, but I hold it back. But seriously, I just had a major money breakdown in the kitchen last week.

“Not really. Do you think she’ll say no?”

“It’s not that. I just…I haven’t asked for anything from them since I left home. And I really don’t want to.”

His gray eyes move to mine, and I give him a small grin.

“It’s okay to ask for help.”

“I haven’t needed to. I shouldn’t need to. We should be able to handle all this shit ourselves. That’s why you moved up here to New York, right? To be on your own.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Same here. We’re old enough, and we should take care of the things we need without running to our parents.”

“Landon,” I say, tucking my arm through his. “It’s our wedding, not our rent.”

He takes a deep breath and holds it, and I wonder if I need to be the one calling Mr. and Mrs. Wangford about all the expenses. Mr. Wangford will probably be my best bet.

“You’re right. Sorry,” Landon says, surprising me out of my in-law calling plans. “I’ll talk to them.”

“Thank you.”

He nods, then shuffles off the couch and grabs his empty mug off the coffee table. And even though he agreed with me, it still feels like he’s ready to argue.

DECEMBER

“Get up!”

“Ugnnn…”

“Up, up, up.”

I kick at the hands on my feet, then turn over in the bed. “Sleep. I need sleep.”

The sheets get ripped off my body.

“We’re going out.”

“Out?” I open one sleepy eye and look at crazy-ass Landon, who is way too awake for this late. Okay, it’s only nine, but after my long shift it feels like midnight.

“It occurred to me the other day that I haven’t taken my girl out since she became my fiancée. It must be rectified immediately.”

I snort into my pillow.

“You’re laughing because I said the word ‘rectify,’ aren’t you?”

“After a double shift I’m allowed to be as immature as I want.”

He grabs my arm and pulls till I’m forced to a sitting position. “Get dressed.”

“In what?”

“Something warm.”

“Coffee…” The word isn’t even all the way out before he puts a to-go cup in my hand. Then he throws me a victorious grin along with my bright red coat. “You have twenty minutes.”

I go to lie back down, but he takes the comforter, the pillows, and the sheet and walks out of the room, tripping over the lagging material. If it wasn’t freezing, I probably would go right back to bed.

—

Landon gets so frustrated with my slow pace from the front door to the car that he picks me up and carries me across the salted asphalt. Sleepy and uncoordinated are not good combos in the winter. Cautious or carried is the only way I’m getting to the car without breaking something.

I finish my coffee just as Landon pulls up to the train station. He’s had a brightly lit smile on his face the entire drive, and now the fizzy caffeine bubbles are starting to take effect, making me feel just as excited for who knows what the hell he has planned for us.

He pays for our tickets, and I don’t say anything about the money, but I know he knows I’m thinking about it, because he squeezes my hand twice and says, “I’m keeping it cheap, I promise.” And it sucks that we have to think about that just to go out for a night, but I squeeze his hand back once to let him know that cheap or expensive, I just want to be with him.

“What are we going to do?” I ask, trying to stifle a yawn. He adjusts his arm so I can rest on his chest.

“Look at lights. Wander around. Talk.”

“Mmm…”

“I’m not sorry I woke you up for it.”

I poke his ribs. “My hum was not a bad hum. It sounds fun. What should we talk about?”

“Anything. Everything.”

“How’s The Walking Stiff coming along?”

His lip quirks up at the side, and he kisses me long and sweet against my forehead. A forehead kiss. I love those things.

“It’s about twenty percent edited. I have to do a couple reshoots…but I should get a second opinion on some scenes. An unbiased one,” he adds when he sees me open my mouth to volunteer. “There are days when I hate it, that I feel like I wasted the grant money and everyone’s time, and there are days I feel like a frickin’ genius, and I can’t believe I directed something so funny.”

“What I saw was funny.”

“I know. I can hear your laughter on some of the takes.” He reaches up and tucks my hair into my beanie, lingering a little near the fabric, and my breath catches a tiny bit. Sweet damn, these butterflies. They feel like the new-relationship ones, but…somehow, better.

“I really thought when you said ‘zombie movie’ that it was a hard-core horror. And Jace’s wardrobe and the stuff you had in props…” I shiver, and he laughs.

“Maybe down the road…but if I’m going to make a name for myself, I want to start out with comedy.”

“Why?”

“I want…” he starts, then his eyebrows pull in as a set look of determination takes over. “I want to make people smile. I want to tell an epic story…with laughter. I want to change the way people view the world. I want life to stop being so damn dramatic all the time. I want…what are you doing?”