Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3) Read Online Melanie Harlow

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Bellamy Creek Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
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Suddenly Blair and Cheyenne appeared at the side of our table, clutching hands and barely able to contain their excitement. “We heard cheering! Did it happen?”

“It happened,” I said, holding up my hand to show off the ring.

They squealed and grabbed my hand to examine it more closely. “Oh my God, it’s beautiful!” Blair looked at Enzo. “This is the replica?”

“It’s close,” Enzo said. “My cousin Paulie did the best he could on short notice.” His eyes met mine. “I wasn’t willing to wait.”

“I love everything about it,” Cheyenne gushed, tears in her eyes as she put a hand over her heart. She leaned over to hug me, and then gave Enzo a kiss on the cheek. Blair did the same, pausing to whisper something in his ear before straightening up.

“We’ll leave you to your dinner, but we’re all at the bar if you guys want to join us afterward,” she said.

“Who’s we?” I asked.

“Just Griffin, Cole, and Beckett.” Blair poked Enzo’s shoulder. “We weren’t allowed to tell anyone else.”

I laughed. “Okay, we’ll head in there after we eat.”

“Perfect.” She linked arms with Cheyenne and the two of them looked at each other and then at me like smug, satisfied cats. “Also—and we mean this in the nicest way—”

“Told you so,” said Cheyenne, before they both dissolved into laughter and headed for the bar.

I shook my head. “Those two are ridiculous. They were convinced all along that this would happen.”

“They’re good friends,” Enzo said, reaching for my hand. “And they love you. You don’t even want to know about the threats they issued if I fucked this up.”

“I can just about imagine,” I said. “What did Blair say to you just now?”

“She said she was glad she didn’t have to kill me.”

I burst out laughing. “We’re lucky to have such great friends.”

“We’re lucky, period.” He locked his fingers with mine. “And I’ll never take this for granted.”

I met his eyes and smiled. My heart was whole again.

While we ate, we talked a mile a minute about the Center Avenue house and what would need to be done before we could move in. He told me about the work that had been completed in the last two weeks, and I was so anxious to see it, I made him promise to at least drive me by it tonight after dinner.

“But it’ll be dark by then,” he said.

“I won’t care,” I insisted. “I want to see it tonight.”

After we finished our meals, we went into the bar area, where our friends were waiting. Blair and Cheyenne hugged us all over again, and Beckett, Cole, and Griffin each kissed my cheek and told me they’d known pretty much from the start that Enzo had met his match in me. We ordered a round of drinks and held up our glasses for a toast.

“To old friends,” said Griffin.

“And new ones!” exclaimed Blair.

“To second chances,” offered Cole, taking Cheyenne’s hand.

“And second basemen,” added Beckett with a laugh as Enzo took a small bow.

“Per cent'anni,” I said, looking around at our friends, my throat growing tight. I took Enzo’s hand and hoped with all my heart for one hundred more years of this.

Enzo raised his glass even higher. “To the best friends a guy could ask for . . . and fuck the Mavs.”

All the guys made caveman noises and drank, while Blair, Cheyenne and I exchanged a look. “Old man baseball,” Cheyenne said with a sigh. “Better get used to it.”

We left our friends at the bar after just one drink, Enzo tugging my arm. “Come on. We have to be somewhere.”

“We do?” I asked as he opened the door for me. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

I could not imagine where he was taking me, but I didn’t have to wonder long—less than ten minutes after leaving the restaurant, he pulled up in front of St. Paul’s Catholic Church. I looked over at him. “What’s this?”

Instead of answering, he turned off the car, came around to the passenger side, and helped me out. Taking my hand, he led me up the church steps.

“Enzo, what is this?” I whispered as he pushed the heavy wooden door open, and we stepped into the vestibule. It was dark and silent and smelled like incense.

“Come on.” Speaking quietly, he kept my hand in his and we walked up the nave toward the altar, our footsteps echoing in the empty space.

Shivers swept up my spine. The sanctuary was dimly lit, and I saw no one else until we reached the crossing, and he gently pulled me to the left, into the north transept. There, in front of some beautiful stained-glass windows lit by the moon from behind and flickering votive candles on a table below, stood Father Mike.

He smiled at us. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for this, Father,” Enzo said.

“Of course. Are you ready?”

“Give me one second.” Enzo turned to me, taking both my hands. “I know we’re technically already married. But we did that for a piece of paper. For an audience. And definitely for the wrong reasons. I wanted to do something more meaningful.” He glanced up at the stained glass. “My great-grandparents donated these windows when the church was being built a hundred years ago. I’ve looked at them a thousand times and never thought twice about them. But now when I see them, they remind me of the importance of family, of putting down roots, and of having faith in something bigger than ourselves. And that’s because of you.”



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