Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(73)

“How’d it go at the cake place?”

She sighed. “Our mommas and Miz Simpkins run the whole show.”

“Aw, baby,” he said, his hands making soothing strokes up and down her back. “They’re just excited, is all.”

Quietly she bristled. Though she knew, or believed, that when push came to shove, Woodman was on her side, he was so conciliatory, so easygoing. She wanted him to slay dragons for her, but instead he became friends with the dragons and made excuses for their fire-breathing ways.

She leaned back in his arms and gave him a peeved look. “Your momma mentioned somethin’ ’bout a weddin’ gift?”

Woodman cringed. “Too much?”

“Way too much.”

“I just thought . . . well, honey, she was so excited about havin’ those things refinished. How about we take them and put them up in the attic for now?”

Another step closer to a destiny that isn’t mine.

“Fine,” she said, leaning her forehead on his shoulder and feeling beyond weary.

“Besides,” he said, “it’s just a weddin’ gift. What matters is that we’re gettin’ married. You and me forever, right?”

She nodded against him, an unrelenting heaviness that even Woodman couldn’t lighten, making it hard for her to speak.

“Right,” she managed to whisper.

“Happily ever after, Gin,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple.

“Happily ever after,” she repeated, closing her eyes and trying to remember how to breathe.





Chapter 17


Woodman



“Austin should’ve caught that,” said Woodman, cupping her face with his hands and looking at her forehead. Her skin was soft and smooth, and she was so beautiful, most days he couldn’t believe she was his. “You okay, darlin’?”

Instead of answering, she did something he loved almost more than anything else in the world: she stepped into him, flush against his chest, and let him hold her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and his heart exploded with tenderness for her.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed. “I’m fine.”

Woodman pressed his lips to her hair, clenching his jaw with worry. The problem was that, despite her reassurances, he just didn’t feel like she was totally fine. She hadn’t been fine for a while. Though she always assured him that she was happy when he asked, since he had proposed, she had been unusually emotional. She cried more. She seemed more anxious and withdrawn. And Woodman couldn’t totally figure out what was going on.

Was it just wedding jitters? Dear God, he hoped that was all it was. He hoped that once they said “I do,” she’d start being herself again.

Though, if Woodman was truly honest, the person Ginger used to be had changed even before he asked her to marry him. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when the change had started—for a year or so after he came back, it just felt like they were adjusting to each other, getting used to being boyfriend and girlfriend after so many years of being friends and the sudden shock of sleeping together. Little by little, they’d become a couple with all the trimmings—him staying over at Ginger’s cottage and her staying at his place once he’d bought the house. They spent every weekend together, every holiday, celebrated every important milestone together, and shared their challenges at work and annoyances with family. But sometimes Woodman got the feeling that Ginger was going through the motions—like maybe her whole heart wasn’t invested in their relationship in the same way that his was.

The biggest problem of all, as far as Woodman could tell, was that even after three years together as a couple, their relationship had never quite segued completely from friendship to romance. Well, for him it had, but not for her. When he was her friend—when they were having dinner together or talking about their days at work or he was comforting her as he was now—she seemed relaxed and comfortable. But when he wanted to be her lover—to tease her, caress her, make love to her—she became standoffish.

Right now, with her breasts pressed against his chest and her soft hair brushing his throat, his body came alive with hunger. But he knew her well enough to know that she was holding on to him because she was in a snit and a hug from him comforted her because he was still, as he had ever been, her best friend first and foremost.

“You sure, baby?”

“I’m sure,” she said.

He tipped her chin up and brushed his lips against hers, unable to keep himself from trying—hoping that this time she’d wind her fingers through his hair or arch her body closer to his. He longed for the sound of a sweet moan from the back of her throat, or to feel her shiver in his arms, so that he’d know that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Her lips were warm and soft beneath his, allowing his kiss, puckering to kiss him back, even, but turning away before it had even started. His disappointment was all too familiar, but he reminded himself that he’d gotten exactly what he’d asked for.

Three years ago, when he’d sat on that porch swing with her, right before she’d given him her virginity, he’d told her that his heart belonged to her. He’d offered it to her without demanding any promises in return. He’d wanted her that badly. And now she was his, marrying him in just a few more weeks. So what did it matter if they were still best friends and a little short on the heat? He’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? Don’t beg for rain when you just got the sun. One thing at a time. It’ll come. Eventually. And Woodman had every hope and expectation that it would.