Page 95 of The Wedding Menu

“I won’t.” He forces a serious expression on his face, his lips tight into a straight line. I know this is killing him.

“Fine. Just one.”

“We’rebuttertogether.”

“Fun.”

“You’re mybutterhalf?”

“Hmm.”

“Amelie, you reallychurnme on.”

“You know, it’s not funny. I do feelsomepain,” I say as he comes to sit next to me.

Gently squeezing my leg, he smiles. “Don’t worry. You’ll feelbuttersoon.”

“What happened then?” Barb asks, eyes bulging, her spoon frozen in midair over her cereal. “Because you definitely slept in your bed. I heard you come back early last night.”

Glancing in the direction of the other tables and making sure Ian isn’t anywhere around, I grit my teeth. “Then I smacked his shoulder, he tickled my side, and we had one of those moments. You know, when it’s clear you’re about to kiss.”

“Sure.”

I nod, hating my next words even before I say them out loud. “Then I said, ‘Thank you for everything. We should do this again,’ and basically ran away without looking at him.”

She inhales through her teeth and scoops up some cereal. “?‘We should do this again’? What, slipping on butter and breaking down doors?” At my glare, she looks away, silence stretching for a while. “What happened to the macarons?”

I snort out a laugh, her cheeks turning a shade redder as she shrinks in her chair. “I’m afraid we left them behind. Cravings are that bad, huh?”

“I’d sell you and Ryan for one of those bad boys right now.”

“Damn.” I fidget with the chain of my necklace. “Before we went to his room, he said he’d come back to set them aside for you.”

Her eyes sparkle, but she shakes her head slightly when she sees me massaging my shoulder. “How’s the pain?”

“It’s fine,” I grumble. God, I feel so humiliated, I wish I could peel my skin off. “Bruised, but it’s my dignity that’s been battered.”

“That’s funny, because it actually sounds like butt—”

“Don’t even,” I warn with a motion of my hand. I can deal with these stupid jokes only if they’re delivered by Ian’s perfect lips.

“So you had a little bit of a freakout,” Barb says, patting my hand reassuringly. “It happens. You haven’t had sex in a while. You haven’t had good sex in forever. And you’ve never slept with Ian.”

“And she never will if she keeps running away from me,” Ian says from beside us.

Fucking hell. Barb giggles nervously as she throws a look at him, gives me the side-eye, and then focuses on her cereal bowl as if she’ll be quizzed about it later. And I don’t exactly have it in me to look at him, so I press my eyes shut and think of all the ways I’d rather die at this very moment than face him.

“Mind if I join you?”

“N-no, of course not,” I mutter, opening my eyes again, and once he sits by my side and his citrusy scent wafts around me, I give him a fleeting smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” He throws a glance at Barb. “I just wanted to say—”

“Do you—” Barb interrupts, wrapping one of her red curls around her index finger. “I… if you could just tell me where the macarons are, I’ll be on my way.”

Ian’s eyes jump from her to me, then to her again. “Right. I would have brought them over, but I didn’t want to risk waking you up.”

“We have an extra key if you want it.”