“We’re sitting down to dinner in a few minutes, honey,” I told him as he guided me through the tables.

“Can’t do that without us,” he replied.

“This is why we can’t leave,” I pointed out.

He said nothing.

I didn’t either when he led me to the hallway that took you to the bathrooms.

My belly started to warm and my legs started to get shaky as he turned right at the end of the hall then took us past the bathrooms.

At the end of that hall, he shoved aside the coats (I knew it was a cloak area) and pushed me to the back wall.

It was dark.

It was quiet.

There was likely going to be a hostess invading our space to hang up a coat at any second.

I didn’t care about any of this when Mickey put his hands to my hips.

Weird how a coat closet was our place.

But it was.

This was not where it began.

But it was where it began.

And I loved Mickey Donovan even more for taking me there the night before he was officially going to make me his and I was going to make him mine.

His eyes were down, taking me in through the shadows.

Then they lifted to mine. “Nice dress, baby.”

There I was again.

Soaring.

Though, these days, I’d learned how to live with my head in the clouds.

“God, I love you,” I whispered.

That got me one of his easy grins.

Yes, I absolutely loved him.

“Good, means you’ll make out with me in the coat closet,” he replied.

“My mother will be displeased,” I noted.

“Only reason we’re goin’ back at all is so I can save my mother from yours.”

I moved into him, sliding a hand up his chest. “I’m sorry, Mickey. They’re—”

He interrupted me, “Relax, Amy. They don’t care. They know people like that. They know how to deal with people like that. They know you’re not like that. They like you and they like your kids. That’s what matters.”

It was.

This meant it was time to relax.

It was also time to make out.

I tipped my head to the side. “So, are we gonna make out or what?”

I felt the heat from his eyes before I felt his lips take mine.

I slid my arms around his shoulders.

He slid one hand to curl it around the back of my neck, the other one he curved around the cheek of my ass.

At the intimate touch, I gasped against his tongue.

Mickey pressed me into the wall.

Thus, we made out at our rehearsal dinner in the coat closet, and we did it a long time.

Long enough to totally piss off my mother (something she didn’t show, except for the glacial looks she aimed at me), which was fabulous.

And long enough to get me hot and bothered so, much later, when my cell on my nightstand chimed, waking me from a restless sleep, and I took the call to hear Mickey growl, “Door,” I’d run to the front door (but I probably would have done that anyway).