“I asked you a million times on the way over here if you were cold. You lied through your teeth every single time, hm?”
“Indubitably.”
Without hesitation, Forrest shrugs out of his plaid flannel shirt, leaving him in just a snug white tee that does nothing to hide the contours of his chest and shoulders. He wraps the flannel around me, his body heat still clinging to the fabric.
“Better?” he asks, his voice dropping to a lower register that sends a different kind of shiver through me.
“Much,” I manage, tying the shirt’s hem at my waist to keep it in place. The sleeves hang well past my fingertips, and I have to roll them up to free my hands.
Forrest removes his cowboy hat and places it carefully on my head, adjusting it with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter. “There. Now you’re a proper cowgirl.”
“How do I look?” I strike a pose, one hip cocked.
His eyes darken as they roam over me—his oversized shirt, my bare legs, the too-big hat perched on my head. “Like every fantasy I never knew I had.”
The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. “Forrest Hawkins, are you flirting with me?”
“Darlin’, I’m way past flirting.” He steps closer, his fingers tracing the open collar of the shirt where it meets my collarbone. “Come on. I’ve got something else to show you.”
He takes my hand, leading me back outside. The sun has nearly set now, the first stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. It’s then that I notice what I missed upon our arrival—Forrest’s old truck parked about fifty yards from the house frame, its bed facing the open view.
As we approach, I realize the truck has been transformed. A mattress fills the bed, covered with blankets and pillows. String lights have been hung around the edges, casting a warm, golden glow. Most surprisingly, a white projection screen has been attached to poles at the end of the truck bed, and a small projector sits on the roof of the cab.
“What is all this?” I ask, amazed.
Forrest’s smile is touched with shyness—an unexpected and endearing look on him. “Our official first date. Movie night under the stars.”
“When did you have time to set this up?”
“Squeezed it in between fence repairs and feed inventory,” he says with a casual shrug that doesn’t quite hide the effort this must have taken. “I do have one serious question, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Have you ever seenThe Princess Bride?”
I laugh, delighted. “Only about a thousand times. I’m pretty sure Westley was the original book boyfriend.”
His smile widens. “I’ve never seen it, but Taio told me it was the epitome of date-night movies.”
“Taio said that?” I arch one brow.
“I paraphrased. He might’ve said it was panty-dropping material. Anyway, is this corny?” he asks, suddenly looking uncertain.
I reach up, taking his face in my hands. “This is perfect.Absolutely perfect. I’m already a big fan of country-boy romance.”
Relief floods his expression. He helps me climb into the truck bed, then retrieves a small cooler from the cab. “Drinks and popcorn,” he explains, opening it to reveal bottles of soda and a container of what looks like homemade caramel corn.
“You think of everything.”
“I try.” He settles beside me on the mattress, arranging blankets around us against the growing chill. With a click of a remote, the projector hums to life, and the familiar opening scene appears on the screen.
For a while, we simply watch the movie, cuddled together under the blankets. The unique combination of comfort—the soft mattress, warm blankets, Forrest’s solid presence beside me—and the wild openness of our surroundings creates a bubble of intimacy that feels both safe and thrilling.
Above us, more stars emerge as true darkness falls. I’ve never seen so many in my life—a glittering tapestry spanning the entire sky, unimpeded by city lights or tall buildings. The movie plays on, but I find my attention increasingly drawn to the man beside me, to the way the string lights catch the angles of his face, to the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.
“You’re not watching the movie,” Forrest murmurs, his voice a pleasant rumble against my ear.
“I’m distracted,” I admit.
