Birthday Flowers | The Kissing Booth

65. Stupid Hot

(Elle)

The patio door opens, letting out a brief burst of music from the reception still going strong inside, and I turn to see Noah walking out, two champagne flutes and a plate balanced in one hand. It's not fair how he can still look this good in his tux after how long and hot today has been, but I'm not going to complain.

Well, yes, actually I am. I'm going to complain, again, about why Lee and Mickey chose to get married in August. In South Carolina. Sure, fine, her whole family's nearby and they've been gathering at this seaside resort every August for decades. It's all very sentimental and charming and I can't deny the hotel is gorgeous, but I could have done with a cooler season or a more casual dress code. I had hoped to find some fresh air outside, but the only breeze is the one created by the porch swing's motion.

"Any room on that swing for me?" Noah asks, handing me one of the flutes. It's probably not champagne in there, but at least the glass feels icy cold.

I narrow my eyes. "Are you implying something about my size?"

I wouldn't be complaining so much about this heat if I weren't seven months pregnant. Another reason why I wish Lee and Mickey had picked a different date for this wedding, or at least spared me bridesmaid duty.

"Do I look that stupid?"

That damn twinkle in his eye is as irresistible as ever, and he's as aware of that fact as ever, but I still pretend to carefully consider his question.

"Anyway, I come bearing cookies and lemonade. So even if that had been an incredibly foolish joke about your present situation, I'm pretty sure you'd forgive me."

Yeah, accurate. I slide over to let Noah sit down, eagerly grabbing the plate from him. One aspect of this wedding I will not be complaining about is the dessert table, and I'm so distracted trying to see what all Noah piled on the plate that at first I don't notice him shedding his jacket and tie.

"See, that's another reason this bridesmaid situation is so unfair," I grouse. "You can at least take off part of your outfit."

"Are we really still having this conversation? The wedding is over, Elle. You survived."

"It's not over. It's not over until I get to escape this ridiculous dress."

"If what you're complaining about is wanting to strip, I mean... don't hold back on my account."

Noah's smirk is smug enough that I'm tempted to call his bluff, but we're in plain view of the reception and I'm not that comfortable around Mickey's extended family. I settle for kicking off my shoes and using Noah as a backrest so I can stretch out more comfortably across the swing. He did bring me cookies, and it's not his fault Lee and Mickey are doing this to me. Well, the seven months pregnant part is his fault. Mostly. He likes to remind me this was my idea, but it's his fault for agreeing.

"Any calls for rescue from the sitter?" Noah asks.

"Not a one. Her last message said he went right to sleep."

Which figures—Sammy's always on his best behavior for sitters. And for June, and my dad, and basically anyone other than us. Then again, maybe Sammy was just exhausted from that sprint he broke into when Lee tried to get the rings from him during the ceremony. Noah managed to chase Sammy down before he made it to the fountain he was intent on jumping into, and by some miracle he hadn't dropped the rings along the way.

I'd feel worse about Sammy disrupting the wedding if I hadn't warned Mickey and Lee that's exactly what would happen if they recruited a two year old ring-bearer. Especially this two year old. Sammy is Noah's clone inside and out, although Dad claims I share the blame for the mischief.