The sound of her phone buzzing drew her out of her memories. She glanced at it and read Drake’s text:
I know you’re pissed. I’ll give you a few hours, then I’m coming over for dinner. Make something good. I’ll bring dessert.
She couldn’t help the small laugh it elicited. He always could cheer her up. Then she typed in her response: I’m not cooking. But I want a decadent and expensive dessert.
Love turned her phone off and rolled over on her side. A nap was exactly what she needed. As she lay there, her eyes feeling heavy, she prayed sleep would come sooner rather than later. Yawning, she burrowed into the down pillow.
“I, Lovely, take you, Drake, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“I like the sound of that,” Drake murmured against her lips. Nipping at her ear, he whispered, “I, Drake, take you, Lovely, to have and to hold from this day forth. Forever.”
His mouth brushed against hers before kissing her fully. The searing kiss that followed curled her toes, it was so good. His lips were soft, but firm. And she was lost in him.
“Did we really just do this?” she asked, peering into his hooded eyes.
“Yes.” He swept his thumb under her chin, down her neck.
Her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her eyelids, her nose, then her mouth. “Drake, did we make a mistake?”
“If we did, it’s the best mistake I ever made.”
He kissed her again, pulling her flush against him. Without warning, he picked her up and carried her out of the chapel.
Love’s eyes popped open, and she sat upright as their wedding night replayed in her dream. Again. Every detail filled her mind—from the touches, the kisses, the—Shit.
He’d kissed her with a sweet tenderness she’d never felt from him before, and she’d wanted him like no other man before him. It was a perfect wedding kiss, one that could and should go down in the record books. He’d at least given her that. As butterflies tickled her stomach, she relived the moment they’d come together, him inside her, filling her completely. A soft moan escaped from her parted lips at the memory. It was everything. He’d made it everything.
Squeezing her eyes—and her legs—closed, she screamed into her pillow. How the hell was she supposed to look at him and not think about it?
A little while later, Love shuffled into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she pulled out a casserole pan, humming to herself when she looked down at the delectable vegetable lasagna she’d made the night before. She’d been so wired from thinking, she’d decided to put that energy to good use and cook.
Her phone rang and she looked down at her mother’s face staring back at her. Not going to answer that. Not now. The last person she needed to speak with was her giddy mom, Gloria. Most conversations with her ended up being about Love’s lack of companionship or her mother’s lack of grandkids. But that was before the eventful reunion . Now that she’d gone and married Drake, she was sure the conversation would turn to wedding receptions and the six grandkids Gloria couldn’t wait to have. This event was bound to be a spectacle.
Despite her mother’s weird ways, she’d made a name for herself as an event planner for many years before retiring to open a flower shop. Love admired her for not letting the divorce send her to the bottle or catapult her into a sinking depression. Gloria Washington had made great strides to become a formidable businesswoman. She’d started out with a few small jobs creating floral displays for her neighborhood church. One Sunday, an executive at the Bellagio Hotel in Vegas had visited the church for a function. The visitor had been so impressed by the display, she’d insisted on meeting Gloria. That meeting had turned into a job at the hotel in the Sales and Catering Department. Gloria’s career grew from there, and she eventually went out on her own and opened her own shop.
Even now, no matter how she was feeling, her mom managed to get out of bed every morning and make it to work. Love couldn’t be more proud.
Love checked her voice mail and text messages just in case it was an emergency. No messages, so it must not be important. I love you, Mom. But I still don’t want to talk to you.
Cutting a hefty piece of lasagna, Love set it on a plate and put it in the microwave. While it warmed, she went to the wine rack and pulled a bottle of pinot noir from her reserves. Once she’d poured a nice glass for herself, she swirled the liquid around and took in the fruity, yet earthy, aroma. Love took a sip and let it rest in her mouth a moment before swallowing. Perfect.
The ding of the microwave signaled it was time to eat and she hurried over to retrieve her dinner plate. She heard the front door open and close, but stayed put. She knew it was Drake. He was the only one who had a key.