Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I cried reading more than one of them, but it was the last essay that hit me the hardest. The woman’s wedding was all planned—for a year from now. She wanted to win the giveaway because her father had been diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer and likely had only a few months to live. I reread the last paragraph of the letter for a third time, tears streaming down my face.
I had big plans for my wedding next summer—lose thirty pounds, get fit, save for a honeymoon in Fiji, have a bachelorette party in Vegas. But I now realize the only thing important is having my daddy walk me down the aisle. If I win the wedding next month, I’ll happily pay it forward and give away my day next year with everything prepaid.
I wasn’t sure if I felt this one so deeply because the woman’s story reminded me of my mom’s dying wish to marry my dad all over again when she had end-stage cancer, or if it was the mention of a honeymoon in Fiji—where Josh and I were supposed to go. Or maybe it was my lack of sleep on this long flight and my hormones being a little out of whack. But when we landed, I was glad Wilder was still in Italy and wasn’t going to be able to pick me up because my face was blotchy, my eyes swollen, and my nose chafed from cheap airline tissues.
After passing through customs and immigration, I followed the herd of people to get my luggage. A bunch of drivers were lined up behind a metal barrier, holding signs. Wilder had arranged a car, so I looked for my name as I passed. The first three signs were typed, with logos of the names of the car service. When I scanned the fourth one, it struck me as odd that it was written on what looked like a brown paper bag with pen. I had to squint to read the name. Cupcake.
My eyes jumped to the person holding it, and my heart stuttered.
The guy might’ve been wearing a baseball hat and dark sunglasses, but that cocky smile only belonged to one man. Wilder’s face fell when he got a look at me, and he hustled around the barrier and grabbed my shoulders. “What happened?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I’d momentarily forgotten what a disaster I looked like. Shoot. I would’ve fixed my face a little if I’d known he was going to be here.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I touched my warm cheek. “It’s nothing. I was reading sad stories on the plane and got upset.”
He visibly relaxed. “You scared the crap out of me.”
I smiled. “I’m fine. But what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Italy until late tonight.”
He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I was too anxious to see you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught two women looking our way. One pointed, and the other lifted her phone like she was about to take a picture. Wilder put his head down and turned us. “Come on, let’s get your luggage and get out of here before the paparazzi find out. They’re not as bad here as they are in the States, but they’ve been following me nonstop since the news broke about the team.”
Wilder kept a protective arm around my shoulder, hugging me close as we made our way to the luggage carousel. We huddled in a corner where Wilder could keep his back to the crowd, which meant all of his attention was on me.
He flashed a crooked smile. “What the heck were you reading on the plane that hit you so hard?”
“Submissions to the wedding-giveaway contest. Entrants had to write a short essay on why they should win. Some of them really hit home.”
He rubbed at my cheek with his thumb. “Mascara.”
“If you would’ve warned me that you were coming, I would’ve cleaned up a little.”
“Nah. This is why I like you. You’re just you.” He stroked my face, and I felt it down to my toes. “Thank you for coming early. I can’t wait to show you around.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand why a ridiculously handsome guy who could have any woman he wanted and was busy getting a new professional sports team off the ground would want to show me around, but I could see in his eyes that he was being sincere.
The luggage carousel made a loud chirping noise and jerked to a start. Bags started flowing as Wilder told me about his trip. He’d landed only a few hours earlier. As we chatted, I kept one eye on the conveyor belt, but there was no sign of my luggage, not even after twenty minutes. The people standing around waiting dwindled to just me and a few others, and eventually we watched the same lone purple suitcase and set of golf clubs circle around a dozen times before the belt came to an abrupt halt.