Married Before Midnight by Sienna Quinn - Chapter 80

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Married Before Midnight


Chapter 80: A Date to Remember


The morning sun spilled through Charlotte Carter’s bedroom window, painting golden streaks across her quilt. She stretched, her lips curving into a smile before she even opened her eyes. The memory of last night—Jameson’s confession, the way his voice had cracked when he admitted he was terrified of losing her—flooded back, warm and dizzying. She rolled onto her side, reaching for her phone. A text from Jameson blinked on the screen. "Good morning, Trouble. Still think I’m a liar, or can I take you out for breakfast?" Charlotte snorted, typing back. "Depends. Are you buying pancakes or just more excuses?" His reply was instant. "Pancakes. And maybe one excuse if you’re lucky." She laughed into her pillow.


--- An hour later, Charlotte stood outside Jameson’s apartment building, tapping her foot impatiently. The door swung open, and there he was—messy dark hair, that infuriating smirk, and a faded band T-shirt that clung just right. "You’re late," she said, crossing her arms. Jameson leaned against the doorframe, eyes glinting. "You’re early. I was mentally preparing for the chaos of being seen in public with you." "Ha. Hilarious." She poked his chest. "You’re the one who asked me out, remember?" "Yeah, and I’m already regretting it." He caught her finger before she could retract it, lacing their hands together. "Let’s go before I change my mind." Charlotte’s stomach fluttered. This is happening. --- The diner was a cozy little spot with red vinyl booths and the scent of syrup thick in the air. Jameson slid into the seat across from her, stealing a menu before she could even glance at it. "Hey!" She snatched it back. "I need that." "You always order the same thing," he said, grinning. "Blueberry pancakes, extra whipped cream, and a side of judgment when I get bacon." Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "You’ve been paying attention." "Hard not to when you’re this predictable." She kicked him under the table. He yelped, then laughed, the sound rich and warm. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a knowing smile, approached. "You two finally dating or just pretending not to?" Jameson choked on his water.


Charlotte’s face burned. "We’re—" "—figuring it out," Jameson finished, recovering smoothly. He shot Charlotte a look that said play along. The waitress winked. "I’ll bring extra syrup for the lovebirds." Charlotte groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I hate you." Jameson tugged her hands away, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "No, you don’t." Her breath caught. No, I don’t. --- After breakfast, they wandered through Maplewood’s downtown, stopping at every ridiculous little shop they passed. Jameson insisted on trying on hideous sunglasses at a thrift store, striking exaggerated poses while Charlotte doubled over laughing. "You look like a rejected backup dancer from an ‘80s music video," she wheezed. He adjusted the neon pink frames. "You’re just jealous of my star power." She grabbed his arm, dragging him toward a photo booth. "Proof. We need proof of this tragedy." They squeezed into the tiny booth, shoulders pressed together. The camera flashed, capturing Jameson mid-eye-roll and Charlotte mid-laugh. By the third shot, he’d turned his head, pressing a kiss to her temple. The fourth caught her wide-eyed surprise, his smirk victorious. The strip of photos printed out, and Charlotte stared at it, her chest tight. Jameson plucked it from her fingers, tucking it into his wallet. "For blackmail purposes." She elbowed him. "You’re the worst." "Yet here you are." Here I am. --- The afternoon melted into evening, and they found themselves at the park, sprawled on a blanket beneath an old oak tree. Jameson had smuggled in a thermos of hot chocolate—"Illegal, but worth it"—and Charlotte sipped hers, watching the sunset paint the sky in pinks and golds. "You’re quiet," Jameson murmured, nudging her. "Regretting this already?" She shook her head, leaning into his side. "Just thinking." "About?" "How weird it is that I spent so much time convinced you were just playing games." She turned to face him. "But today… today didn’t feel like a game."


Jameson’s expression softened. He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her jaw. "That’s because it wasn’t." Charlotte’s heart hammered. "Prove it." He smirked. "How?" "Kiss me." Jameson’s breath hitched. Then, with a quiet laugh, he closed the distance between them. The kiss was sweet, lingering, flavored with chocolate and the promise of something real. When they pulled apart, Charlotte’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Jameson brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Convinced?" "Maybe." She grinned. "You might need to try again." He groaned, but he was laughing as he kissed her once more.