Small Town Girls Don't Marry Their Back-Ups - Carol Moncado Page 0,36

a couple of years by now, maybe getting ready to have my first baby or even second by the time I turn thirty. Clearly that hasn’t happened.” She snorted. “I just hope we’re better parents than... some parents out there.” She hoped no one noticed the slight pause. What she didn’t say was that she wanted to be better than her parents, but Madi didn’t want to put that out there for public consumption.

The slight raise of an eyebrow told her Wyatt had noticed and would want to talk about it more when there weren’t any cameras around.

Someday soon, she wanted to give him more than a light kiss, and at least get started on having a family.

But not yet. Not for at least two more weeks. They’d agreed to wait for anything more until after the show finished filming.

“So we’re good with the whole family coming here for dinner tomorrow?” She let her arms slip around his waist.

“Yep.”

“I’ll coordinate with Sean, then. I don’t suppose you have some special dinner or smoked meat or something you’re extra good at?”

He chuckled. “I’ll come up with something.”

“They’ll all bring sides or desserts then. That’s how it usually works. Host provides the entrée.”

“Will there be sugar cookies?” His eyes lit up like a little kid.

“Probably.”

“Awesome.”

He gave her another kiss then went behind his desk to get some more work done. Madi decided she needed to get another scene written, but it was almost time for the first kiss and the way she’d written it didn’t seem to work.

Maybe it needed rewriting. Maybe the kiss needed to wait until later. Or come earlier.

Or maybe she needed to make out with her husband.

She’d heard of writer friends coercing their spouses into working through a kiss with them to see exactly how it would work.

Madi had never done that before, not even when she’d been dating someone as she wrote her first manuscript.

But she could ask Wyatt. He’d cooperate, wouldn’t he?

Only one way to find out.

Madi left the recliner in the living room where she’d been working and went back to Wyatt’s office.

“What’s up?” he asked. “Everything okay?”

She wrinkled her nose and tried to work up the courage. “I need help with something.”

“What’s that?”

“A kiss.”

“Huh?”

She didn’t blame him for looking confused. “I’m about to write a kiss, but I’m not quite sure how it would work in real life. I was hoping you’d help me.”

A slow, ever-so-sexy, smile crossed his face. “You want me to make out with you for research?”

Madi couldn’t stop the grimace that accompanied the blush. “Not quite making out but yeah.”

He pushed back from the desk and held his arms out to the side. “I’m all yours, Mrs. Carson.”

She rolled her eyes and walked back toward the living room with Wyatt walking behind her.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a corner. “The hero is in the corner, and she’s sitting in front of him.”

A few seconds later, Madi found herself snuggled in front of him with Wyatt’s arms around her. She rested the back of her head on his shoulder.

“They’re sitting like this?” Wyatt’s voice in her ear sounded low and grumbly and made Madi wish this would be a real make-out session that possibly led to more.

If the look in his blue eyes was any indication, Wyatt felt the same way.

The pretend make-out session was interrupted by a ringing doorbell and delivery of a package.

Madi said she had what she needed so Wyatt went back to work or tried to.

Later that night, he told Madi there were things they needed to talk about once the cameras were turned off. Privately, he wondered if the talk should happen sooner than that.

Because he had a feeling the trip to Ravenzario in a week would make it hard not to give into the feelings they’d been struggling against for two weeks already.

Instead, Wyatt changed the subject and told Madi he’d decided to make his grandmother’s meatball sandwiches for Christmas dinner. Madi said they sounded wonderful.

But there, in the stillness - and un-surveilled-ness - of their shared bed, she’d confided that it didn’t matter what he made. Her parents wouldn’t like it. That’s how it always went.

Unless they’d somehow had a change of heart. After all, both were dyed-in-the-wool Crimson Knights’ fans.

She wasn’t counting on it though.

That had to be why she’d hesitated for half a second when talking about wanting to be a better parent. She wanted to be better than her parents.

Regardless, Saturday afternoon, Wyatt whistled as he formed homemade meatballs. Normally, he