I grabbed my bags and headed out front. Garner's black pickup was idling in the lot of my apartment building, wisps of exhaust rising into the cool morning air. He got out as I approached and reached for my bags.
"Morning, baby girl." His voice was gravelly, and he had on dark jeans and a black henley that stretched across his broad chest. The sleeves were pushed up, revealing the swirling tattoos that crept down his muscular forearms. His dark hair was pushed back from his forehead, and his jaw was covered in a day's worth of stubble.
My mouth went bone dry. "Good morning."
He loaded my bags in the back of his truck before opening the passenger door for me. I climbed in, immediately spotting the travel mug in the cup holder. Hazelnut creamer with one sugar, exactly how I liked it.
"You're too good to me, you know that?" I said as he slid behind the wheel.
"Nah, I'm just making sure you're caffeinated. Can't have you falling asleep during our romantic weekend." His mouth quirked up at the corner.
My cheeks heated. "About that. We need to discuss our backstory."
Garner pulled away from the curb and headed toward the highway. "What backstory? We grew up together in Silver Springs. What else do people need to know about that?"
"We need to figure out the romantic details." I pulled a notebook from my purse. "I've written down a few key points we should remember. Like when we had our first kiss, when you proposed?—"
"When I what?" Garner’s brows shot sky high.
"Proposed," I repeated. "We're supposed to be married, remember? So I figured we should have a sweet proposal story. I was thinking maybe during a hike up Mustang Mountain at sunset. You got down on one knee and?—"
"I'd never propose on a hike," he interrupted, reaching for his coffee. "Too many people around. Not personal enough."
That caught me off guard. I thought a mountaintop proposal was perfect for us. "Oh. Well, where would you propose, then?"
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the road. "Somewhere that meant something to both of us. Maybe that old oak tree behind your parents' house where we built that shitty treehouse in seventh grade."
I stared at him. That was actually perfect… the ideal combination of private, meaningful, and memorable. Even though we’d known each other since we were kids, he was still capable of surprising me. "I like that. The treehouse proposal it is."
"And I think we should stick as close to the truth as possible," he continued. "Less chance of screwing up that way. We grew up together, I moved to Mustang Mountain for the tattoo job, then convinced you to come with me because I couldn't imagine being away from you."
My heart did a little flip. "That's pretty much what happened."
"Exactly. Just add in that somewhere along the way, we fell in love." He said it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world for the two of us to go from friends to forever. "It’s not like we’re going to see anyone we know there, right?"
"No. I checked the list of attendees to make sure. And I don’t think either of us knows anyone who has the extra cash to plop down for a weekend at that place.” I made some notes, ignoring the way my pulse had picked up when he mentioned the “L” word. "So what else? First kiss?"
"After prom," he said. "We went to that bonfire at Cherry Creek. You were wearing that blue dress."
I blinked at him. "You remember what I wore to prom?"
"'Of course I do." He glanced at me. "That night almost was our first kiss, you know."
"What? No it wasn't." I definitely would have remembered that.
He chuckled. "You were drunk off those wine coolers somebody snuck in. You told me my eyes were 'so pretty they made you sad' and then you leaned in real close before Mallory Thomas dragged you away to throw up in the bushes."
"Oh my god." I covered my face with my hands. "I remember the wine coolers, but none of the rest."
"I do," he said, his voice quiet.
I stared out the window, processing this revelation. I'd almost kissed Garner at prom? And he still remembered? I snapped my hair tie against my wrist, my way of dealing with anxiety.
"You're doing the thing," he said, nodding toward my wrist.
I stopped immediately. "Sorry. Nervous habit."
"I know." His voice was gentle. "You've been doing it since you were twelve."
