Black Diaries

21. Chuck Flowers!

I give you three guesses what my answer was.

Yep. That's right. I said no.

Kidding! God, can nobody take a joke anymore nowadays?

Well, I have to admit, I didn't use that joke on him. In fact, my answer was a hundred times more thoroughly soppy and romantic than anything you'd expect of a girl whose heart had already been crushed once and ground into fine powder. I mean, after what happened with Matt, how could I possibly expect anything but ending up an old spinster with fifty cats for my only company? But there he was, right in front of me: the man who had patched up my heart and healed my soul. Chuck Benson, my happily ever after.

"I can't believe it," I was still saying three hours later when I had escaped the clutches of his squealing cousins and lay on the couch, Chuck holding me so tight against his chest that my tears of joy stained his shirt. "I simply can't believe it!"

"Shh." Gently stroking my hair, Chuck pressed a kiss on the top of my head. "Don't cry. Where's my tough fighter? My fierce wild animal? Where's the Cassy that bites and growls?"

"She's too happy to growl," I mumbled, rubbing my cheek against him, wishing we could meld together forever. "I'll never growl. I'll never bite. I'll never fight with you. We'll have the happiest marriage anyone anywhere has ever had!"

"You'll never fight with me?" He pulled a face. "Damn! There goes my sparring partner! I'll have to get someone else."

I punched his chest. "Not that kind of fighting, you idiot! I meant we won't have arguments! But I'll kick the crap out of you any day! Just ask."

"I'm so happy to hear that."

And he leaned down to kiss me again.

❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤

We decided on a modest wedding venue: a little bed and breakfast outside New York that had a charming little chapel attached to it, looking as if it came from the days of the founding fathers. Both Chuck and I had a tidy sum set aside, so we could have afforded a more fancy wedding venue, but I thought he'd want a place where his parents, who didn't have much because they had invested everything in their children, wouldn't feel uncomfortable. The grateful look he threw me when I suggested the chapel told me I had been right.

"So what about the guest list?" he asked. We were sitting on the living room carpet in his apartment, charting out the details with a safety distance of ten feet between us, so we could talk without wanting to tackle each other to the ground and start ravishing each other.

"How about we both write down the people we want to invite, and then exchange notes?" I proposed.

"Good idea. Let's start!"

We started scribbling. A few minutes later, Chuck asked: "Finished?"

"Yep."

"Well, here's mine." He handed me three legal-sized sheets of paper, covered with names in neat handwriting.

I handed him back one sheet, on which I had noted down the entirety of my extensive social circle. "And here's mine."

He looked down at the paper—and blinked.

"'Jill'," he read, then looked up. "That's it?"

"Well... yes." For some reason I couldn't fathom, I felt my cheeks heat. What was there to be embarrassed about?

"But she's your bridesmaid!"

"Which means she should be invited to the wedding, right? I mean, she has a pretty important job to do. Wedding dress trains don't hold themselves up."