Page 66 of Six Month Wife

“I saved you a table,” I say, nodding toward the setup. “Front and center, perfect foot traffic. Thought Citrine could use the exposure. Plus, with the estate rep showing up later, this is one more feather in our cap. The newlyweds are working at the hospital carnival together.”

Her eyes follow my gesture. When she sees the tablewith the Citrine signage and neat little product display, she stops walking.

“Oh,” she says, blinking. Then again, softer. “Oh.”

“I figured you’d want to show off a little. Or a lot.”

She turns to me, mouth open like she’s about to say something smart. But instead, she lets out a big breath and shakes her head.

“This is seriously thoughtful, Parker,” she says, brushing a hand across my chest. “I mean, I'm blown away. Thank you. How did you do this?”

“You’re welcome,” I say, and I mean it. I light up knowing I've not only surprised her, but that she's happy about it. "I might have roped Sue into helping me."

“If I weren’t already legally bound to you, this would’ve sealed the deal.”

“Maybe we can sneak into the Blood Mobile and give a special donation?”

She flashes me a look over her shoulder that fills my entire body with a rush of hope. “We’ll see how the day goes.”

We walk toward the event area together, and the tension from earlier is mostly gone. Adair’s got her game face on. She's smooth, unbothered, and smiling like she likes people. It's impressive. She’s impressive.

She greets the volunteers like she’s done it a thousand times. All warmth and ease. Like she belongs here. Hell, like she belongsanywhere.

As we approach the table and she sees all of the products I have here, she's blown away all over again.

"I'm still completely blown away that you got all of this together."

“Sue did all of the heavy lifting. Hope I didn’t mess up your display order.”

Front and center, prime foot traffic real estate. Freshwhite cloth, custom Citrine sign, her product display already unpacked and waiting. The good kind of overkill.

She stops dead. “Parker...”

I raise a brow, playing it cool. “Told you it’d be worth the drive.”

She gives me a look that’s somewhere between “you’re insane” and “I could kiss you.” I’m not sure which one I want more.

Then she blinks, straightens, and strides toward the booth like she built it herself. She doesn’t hesitate, even for a second. That’s the thing about Adair, she might panic in private, but in public, she’s bulletproof.

We barely make it five feet before Hattie spots us. If you looked up "mouth of the south" in the dictionary, you would see Hattie's photo.

“Parker! Adair!” she croons, eyes glittering. “Look at you two. Picture perfect. I told the girls in admin the second I saw it—this one’s a keeper.”

“Hi, Hattie,” Adair says, beaming like she’s not about to body-slam someone if they step too close to her display. “You’re looking fabulous today.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere in this town, darling,” Hattie says with a wink. “I’m so glad you’re here. The ladies at the donor table were asking if your husband was real.”

“Guess I’ll have to prove it,” Adair replies breezily, sliding her hand into mine.

Before I can respond, Samuel, the eponymous retired cardiothoracic surgeon, local legend, and the only man alive who makes my dad look humble, waves us over.

“Dr. Matthews,” he calls out. “And who is this lovely young woman?”

“This is Adair,” I say. “My wife.”

That still sounds weird. Good. But weird.

He beams and shakes her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Adair. Parker’s a lucky man.”