“It's none of people's business who either of us dances with."
She snorted. "I'm a Landry and you’re a LeClaire. That means everything either of us does within the boundaries of this town is everyone's business. And the things that we do together—or don't do together—are doubly everyone's business."
She was right. Was it ridiculous? Was it overboard? Was it annoying as fuck?
Yes, yes, and yes.
But it was reality.
“I’m extra pissed off because being with you in New York was the complete opposite of this,” he said. “I could touch you, kiss you, put my hand on your ass, whisper in your ear. It was just us.”
“And it’s even more strange, because here we’re surrounded by people who love us and would love for us to be together rather than a bunch of strangers who didn’t really care,” she said.
Yeah. This was all so mixed up.
But he could never have a long-distance relationship with her. With anyone, really, but especially with Ami. He’d want to be there every day, for everything. It would be too difficult to be that far apart, it would wear on them, and eventually they’d break-up and their families would be disappointed. Yes, the Landrys and LeClaires would love for them to be together. Yes, their sisters had been matchmaking for nearly a year. But a break-up would be worse than never even starting.
“I don’t know if you want to dance with me,” he said, trying for one more excuse not to pull her close and feel her body against his…and not do anything more. “I was holding a goat earlier, you know.”
She smiled. Then stepped close, leaned in, and took a deep breath. "You changed your shirt and you smell amazing."
His cock stirred. Honestly, she could walk past him in a room and the air around them could swirl with her scent and his cock would stir. He could hear her voice from the next room and his cock would stir. He could hear someone say her name and his cock would stir.
But having her close and sniffing him, of all things, definitely made him hard.
This was such a problem.
"How do you know I changed my shirt?"
"You were wearing white earlier. This is light blue."
"You noticed what shirt I had on?"
"Let me ask you a question," she said. "Is this how I was wearing my hair at the wedding?"
He sighed. He could lie. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to point out that he'd noticed details about her as well. But she would know he was lying.
"No. You had your hair twisted up. A few curls around your face. One in particular that I don't think was supposed to be there." He lifted a hand and twirled that curl around his index finger.
Her hair was now down and pulled back into a loose ponytail at the back of her head. Those same curls still framed her face though, including that errant one.
She nodded. "Exactly. Just because we’re not acting on this thing between us, doesn't mean it isn’t here."
God, her hair was silky. He needed to know if her skin was still as silky as he remembered. Without thinking, he settled his hand on the side of her neck and stroked his thumb up and down the skin on the underside of her jaw. She sucked in a quick breath.
She reached up to cover his hand with hers, then brushed her thumb across the back of his knuckles. Michael knew he should pull away. There were people in the room who would be watching them. He knew that his grandmother and her friend Ellie would notice the slightest nuances—the expressions on his and Ami’s faces, how close they were standing. There was no way Rosalie and Ellie would miss touches. But he didn't pull away.
“Do you want to dance?” He couldn’t not dance with her now. It was the only way he could touch her and now that his fingers had touched her skin, he couldn’t stop.
She studied his eyes. Then she nodded. “Yeah.”
So they danced.
Five times.
And as he held her for the slow songs, he had a tough time not running his hands up and down her back.
And as he swung her during the fast songs and watched her laugh and smile, he had a tough time not thinking I could look at that face forever.
And as he watched her hug Andre goodbye when it was time to get his son home for bed, he felt a very sharp sense of God, I’ll never feel like this for anyone else.
And when she gave him a little finger wiggle goodbye, he felt a very sharp sense of what the fuck are you doing? You need to go get her and take whatever time and pleasure the two of you can wring out of this thing.
But when he dialed her number after Andre was asleep, even though it was still before midnight and he knew the wedding reception was still going on, it went to voicemail. And before he could figure out how to get a hold of her without alerting anyone either of them was related to, he got a call.
A car accident out on the highway.
He called his mom, who headed over to stay with Andre as he started for the scene. JD and the other guys would meet him there.
And as he came upon the car on its top in the ditch, the front end mangled, and the rental sticker in the back window, he realized that he’d really fucked up.
Because he might have missed his chance to ever tell Ami Landry that he was in love with her.
the morning everything started
Eleven Months Before the Wedding
two
The things that Ami Landry wanted out of life were pretty simple.
And interestingly, most of them had to do with the couch she was sitting on at the moment.
It was easily the most comfortable couch she'd ever met. It was coffee-with-cream-colored and L-shaped and was so deep her feet didn’t touch the floor when she sat all the way back, and the cushions were so big that Brownie, the chocolate lab-mixed-with-something-else-big-and-sweet, could use one as a dog bed.
But the couch was made even better by the view it gave her. It faced huge windows that overlooked a large backyard filled with balls of all types, a swing set, a huge tree with a treehouse, and plenty of room for a little boy and a dog—or multiple foster dogs—to run.
Beyond the back fence was a field that filled with wildflowers in the summer and rolled gently down to the bayou. There was even a little wooden dock with a fishing boat tied to it.
The whole damned thing was so idyllic that Ami sometimes closed her eyes and just thought about that view when she was back home or in a hotel somewhere and really sick of traffic and big buildings and crowds.
On top of all of that, the couch was inside a room that had a huge stone fireplace that was perfect on cold, rainy nights, and toys, more balls, and Legos scattered across the rug.
The room was inside a house that was often a gathering place for many of her friends and family members. She’d opened Christmas gifts here, cheered football teams here, celebrated birthdays here, and played many games of hide and seek here.
It was a great house. Filled with great memories. It epitomized home and family.
It didn't hurt that it also belonged to a man she’d had a crush on for, oh, about eight years.
It was really too bad he didn’t like her.
Oh, Michael LeClaire didn't hate her. Their families were longtime friends. She'd known Michael literally her entire life. She and her sisters had grown up in Shreveport, but their father was from Michael’s tiny hometown of Autre, Louisiana, and the girls had spent many weekends, holidays, and every summer there that Ami could remember. Autre was their second home and Michael’s grandparents were so close to Ami’s that the two families were practically one and the same.