Grady did not let himself dwell on the idea of adding bourbon to peach cobbler; he just grabbed two shot glasses and the half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey and returned to the couch. Placing the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, he sat on the edge of his seat and poured two shots. Half turning, he handed one to Suzanne before grabbing his and settling back into the couch cushions. “How about we put some fun into the movie?”

Feigning a shocked expression, she said, “You’re not having fun?”

Grady chuckled, and she smiled back, and he realized he was having fun. “This is my fun face, can’t you tell?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer, though, before launching into his proposal. “I propose we take a shot of bourbon every time we see a wreath.”

“I don’t think there’s enough bourbon in Colorado for that, is there?”

He grinned. “You could be right.”

She shook her head, wisps of her blond hair fluttering like fairy dust around her face. “Plus we could both be dead of alcoholic poisoning by the end of the movie.”

“Okay, so let’s just see how long it takes us to finish this bottle?”

He should at least have enough of a buzz on by then to cope with the seasonal schmaltz on the television, the curvy blonde beside him, and the uncomfortable feeling he was missing out on life sitting like a fucking great elephant on his chest.

Suzanne didn’t look convinced as she returned her attention to the movie. He followed suit, and they watched as the heroine went into a shop with a wreath on the door.

“Wreath,” she said and, not looking in his direction, threw back her shot.

Grady grinned and threw back his own.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Twenty minutes later, Grady did have a nice buzz on. So did Suzanne, if he wasn’t very much mistaken. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was an interesting glitter in her eyes. They’d both had five shots, and the bottle was empty.

Twenty minutes.

“Well—” She upended her empty shot glass on the coffee table. “That’s that. And there’s still thirty minutes to go.”

Grady upended his glass beside hers. “I predict more wreaths and that they’re going to live happily ever after.”

She gave a half laugh, half snort, which made Grady laugh a little more as she said, “You don’t believe in happily ever afters?”

Grady most definitely did not. But even five shots of bourbon down, he knew a woman who cried at schmaltzy movies probably did. Hell, she probably even believed in love at first sight. And it was definitely best to steer this conversation in another direction altogether.

“I think somebody with that many wreaths is compensating for something not conducive to relationship longevity. Now, for the love of god, can we switch this off?”