“You are exactly the man I want to marry. I want to be there for you. Each time you come home. I want to be the arms that welcome you. Comfort you. Hold you.” She took his hands, wove her fingers into his. “To answer your question, no. I don’t want you to leave the team. Not until a time when that’s what God wants you to do. But give me a promise? That we won’t ever let bitterness or anger take root in our hearts.”
“Never.” He released her hands and wrapped his arms around her. Enfolded her against his body and ducked his face to kiss her.
Soft, sweet, tender.
She melted into him. His kiss tasted like peppermint and chocolate and winter snow. She clung to him, molding herself against the hard planes of his body.
She sniffed.
He paused, resting his head against her cheek. “Are you crying?”
She wiped her eyes. “I’m just very, very happy. I don’t have a dress; I don’t even care. I thought I knew what our marriage might look like, but now I see it will be more. So much more.”
He held her tight, and she relaxed against the thrum of his heartbeat.
A squeak and a clunk came from the stairwell. A door closing.
“Did you happen to move the iron that was holding the door open?” he asked, his lips against her hair.
“When I was looking for another light switch.”
His laughter rumbled through her. “Well, I’m pretty sure we just got locked in.”
CHAPTER 10
WEDNESDAY, 3:40 P.M.
“You should probably know that I left my phone in the truck,” Boone said, releasing her.
But maybe he didn’t care if they were locked in. He wouldn’t mind having Vivien all to himself for a while.
Wow, he loved her. Her honesty. Her courage. Her beautiful wide eyes as she stared at him.
“You did not.”
He held out his empty hands. “I really don’t have it.”
She pursed her lips together, as if digesting the information. “What did you do that for?”
“I was a little distracted when I got here. Needed to clear my mind.”
“Oh…that. Well, maybe it didn’t lock.” She scrambled up the steps and tried the doorknob. Rattled it. “Yep. It’s locked.” She dropped onto the top steps and set her chin in her hands, elbows on her knees. “My phone is dead. Like, dead dead. You’re going to have to pick it.”
Right. “We’ve had this conversation before. I break down doors, I don’t pick locks. Maybe it’s just jammed.” He reached around her and tried the handle too, putting some shoulder into it. It groaned but didn’t budge. “Peter warned me that it likes to lock.”
“You could pick locks—you just choose not to.” She tromped back down the stairs. “We’re going to miss our own wedding. They won’t find us until the spring thaw.”
“They can’t have the wedding without us.”
“You tasted the food samples. You don’t think they won’t just throw a big party anyway? Well, that’s if Grace is able to still cater.”
“Well, okay—they might eat all the food, but there will definitely not be a wedding until we arrive.”
Her stomach rumbled. “I haven’t even eaten breakfast. All I had was part of a cinnamon roll with Ree and my peppermint mocha.”
Boone fished around in his coat pocket. “Protein bar?” He offered it to her.
She gave it a pensive look. “We should save it. We might need to ration it.” Her bright blue eyes caught his. “We could be here for days—weeks, even.” She raised a perfectly groomed brow.
He laughed. “I don’t think we’ll be here that long.” He set the protein bar on a box. “Peter still needs the costumes. Is your phone working at all?”
She pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed the power button on her phone one more time. “It still isn’t speaking to me.”
He rubbed the tight spots on his temples. “Well, someone will come looking for us at some point.”
She grabbed the protein bar and ripped it open. Looked it over before taking a bite, slowly chewing the bar. “This isn’t too bad.”
He quirked a brow at her. “What happened to rationing?”
“I’m stress eating.” She took another bite. “There’s no ice cream down here, though it’s just about cold enough for it.”
“We aren’t going to be stuck here forever. What are you stressed about? Certainly not this—” He gestured at the dim, damp basement.
She began pacing. “It’s all a mess. The band. The guests. The flowers. The food. We’ll probably end up serving corn dogs and Tater Tots.”
“What if we do?”
She stopped. Turned at his words. A small curve of her lips softened her face. “Then we’ll need ketchup.”
He held out his hand to her, and she stepped forward, burrowed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I love you.”
“I love you.” She squeezed her arms around him. “We could be waiting hours, though. Only my mom and Peter know where we are. My mom is going to assume we’re getting back to wedding arrangements after our big makeup and—”
“How does your mom know we made up?”
Vivien looked up at him. “Really?”
He lifted his shoulder. “I’m just asking.”
She rolled her eyes, mischief in them. “Trust me. She knows.” She loosened her grip and pulled away. “Hey—I could squeeze through that window and go back around the front to let you out.”
Boone turned to see the window. It looked like it hadn’t been opened in the past century.
Vivien hummed a melody, every so often singing a few lines.
“‘What though the darkness gather round? Songs in the night He giveth.…’”
He boosted her up onto the stack of boxes under the window. “Be careful.”
“Always.” She kneeled on the stack of boxes and worked the lock. “I think it got painted shut.” She tugged at the lever, forward and back. “Maybe. Almost—”
A snap. Vivien’s hand jerked and her body flew backward, the boxes she’d been standing on tumbling with her.
Boone dove, broke her fall, landing in a heap of broken boxes. “Umph!”
Vivien lay on top of him, her hair a wild mass. “Oops.” Her body shook with giggles.
“I’m guessing you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Good save—that’s twice today.” She held up the window lock lever. “I got the lock open.”
“I’m not sure that breaking it is the same as opening it.”
“It is if it works.” She pointed above them, where a few snowflakes drifted through the angled pane.
She tossed the broken lever aside, rolled off of him, and tucked her hair behind her ears.
The boxes had spilled their contents across the floor. A mass of fabric, lace, and—
“The costumes!” Kneeling in the pile, Vivien held up a handful of long, child-sized robes in browns and white.
“Look at this.” He lifted a fur shapka and wrap from the pile. “I think these are real.” He set the hat on a nearby pile of clothes and handed her the fur wrap.