When We're Thirty by Casey Dembowski (beautiful books to read .TXT) 📕

rogue tears toppling her eyelids. He’d gone out of his way to get her a ring. A perfect ring. Kate’s words ran on repeat in her head—Will had loved her, possibly loved her still. All signs pointed to yes. Their wedding could’ve been quick and easy at city hall, but he’d made it special for her—for them. The situation was going to require careful navigation. She held Will’s heart in her hands, and she refused to break it.

She exhaled, covering her nerves with a laugh, and pushed his ring onto his finger. “I give you this ring as a symbol of my commitment to love, honor, and respect you.”

Eddie beamed like a proud papa. “Will and Hannah, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Will, you may finally kiss your bride.”

And kiss her he did. It wasn’t the uncertain kisses they had shared in the past. It was three years of friendship, five years of silence, and a weekend of mayhem rolled into a moment. She leaned into him, their lips dancing instead of clashing. He clung to her waist, his fingers warm even through the fabric of her dress. Her head was fuzzy and heavy with the weight of mixed emotions—excitement, fear, wonder, regret. The kiss had definitely lasted longer than the five Mississippis appropriate for a wedding. In the background, Hannah heard Kate laugh, Stephanie whistle, and Eddie joke about breaking it up. They broke the kiss, but Hannah remained in Will’s embrace. She linked her pinky with his—pact fulfilled.

Part 2

Chapter 15Hannah

Hannah pinned her hair back, tugging at the strands until they cooperated. After three days of Florida’s most beautiful beaches, her hair was feeling the effects of the humidity. The fact that the swanky Wellington Thorne resort didn’t offer flat irons almost surprised her, but the place did have an in-house salon. She sighed. At least beach waves were in style right now.

When they came in from the beach an hour ago, Will had requested she get fancied up and handed over her freshly dry-cleaned wedding dress. He’d been stingy with details before stepping into the shower, but Hannah did not doubt that it was something spectacular. For an impromptu honeymoon between platonic newlyweds, the trip was exquisitely planned. Will had pulled out all the stops—couples massages, private beaches, and chef’s table dinners. And he’d been so honest these past few days. They’d always shared so much—talking about everything and nothing, as Kate had put it. But with just the two of them there, connected by their new shared secret, it was so much more.

Will told her about his family—about his father and his brothers and the Thorne legacy. He talked about his mom and how much things had changed after her death. That part she had already heard. Stories about his mom had been in Will’s drunken ramblings sophomore year when her death had still been so fresh. His vulnerability had been part of what led to her crush on him—with each story he told, each moment with his brothers strained by grief, she had wanted to hold him, to shield him from the pain tearing at him. Back then, she had spent months rationalizing her feelings for Will, burying her crush so they could stay friends. And now she was his wife. Kate had hardly seemed surprised by their pact. Would that be the general consensus? Everyone would shrug and say, “Finally. We’ve all just been waiting on you two.”

If it wasn’t for the separate beds in their hotel room, it might have felt like a real honeymoon. Hannah might even have considered making it a real honeymoon, but there’d been no talk of invoking Rule 3a, and Will had been a perfect gentleman the whole time.

Will stepped into the bathroom with a short knock. He wore the same suit from the wedding, and like then, he looked stunning. She found herself wanting to touch him, to see if his cheeks felt as scratchy as they looked with his late-afternoon stubble. She clasped her hands in place, turning a smile on him instead.

“Are you coming, Mrs. Thorne?”

He’d been calling her that since the wedding, and the effect hadn’t worn off. She was a Mrs. And she was married to Will Thorne, of all people. “Where are we going exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

Will led her through the hotel and down to the lobby. His hand clasped hers, loose but secure, always keeping her close. As they made their way down a winding hallway, music started to filter in, muffled only by distance. There were occasional loud bursts every time someone opened the door to the ballroom. They reached a vestibule where discarded table numbers sat forgotten. Will glanced through them and picked up a pair from Table 17—one she knew would definitely be in the back and on the bride’s side.

“What’s going on, Will?”

He opened the door to the ballroom. A familiar ballad was just finishing up, the bride on the dance floor with her father. Will grinned. “If anyone asks, I’m the bride’s cousin twice removed on her mother’s side.”

She’d married a wedding crasher. “Will.”

“We deserve a reception and a first dance, albeit a little delayed.”

“We do?”

“Come on, honey.” Hannah felt her cheeks heat again. Honey. It hadn’t been patronizing or playful. It had come off his lips with some endearment behind it. “Don’t you want a story to tell the kids one day?”

“Kids?” The word cut the breath from her chest. Kids were not part of their equation. Before she could wipe the shock off her face or formulate a reply, he was grinning at her again.

“Okay, fine. Don’t you at least want a story to tell our friends and family over Thanksgiving?”

Good God, Thanksgiving. She knew she would have to tell her family eventually, just not in a few weeks. But, yes, she did want a story to tell. She wanted real memories with Will, not just ones from almost a decade ago. Tightening her grip on his hand, she let