“Mount Olympus?” I brush away another tear.
“Valhalla,” he counters. “Wherever they are, they know we love them.”
I nod, because at the end of the day, I have to believe him.
CHAPTER 24
Hours later,Arlo pulls up to a little home nestled in the woods. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me where we end up, because I’m ready to make our future a priority.
I want this man. I want him in my life in any way he will have me. The past three hours we spent in a car cemented that.
I talked, he listened.
He spoke, I listened.
I didn’t just wait for him to tell me a story. I collected every single word he uttered like cherished jewels. He held my attention the entire drive, and as dusk came, and with it, the turn onto a winding road, I felt almost sad this ride would end.
Until I realized I have this man all to myself for the next forty-eight hours.
Butterflies dance in my stomach as he shuts off the car and stares at the little cabin. Wooden beams and an A-frame design make it look like something out of a fairy tale.
That’s when the twinkle lights flicker on, lining the rails of the wraparound porch to a backyard where I can just make out the edge of what I hope is a hot tub—though I didn’t bring a bathing suit.
Eh, who needs it?
“Well…” Arlo pulls the keys from the ignition. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” I repeat, suddenly feeling unsure of myself and so far out of my element. I don’t date, and I never run off with a guy. But Arlo isn’t just some guy, he’s my friend and something so much more now. “What were your plans for me tonight, Mr. Larson?”
He groans before pushing out of the car. “Don’t call me that.”
“What’s that, Mr. Larson?” I tease in my best Marilyn Monroe voice. Getting out, I lean on the hood of the car and wag my brows at him.
“I am not Mr. Larson.” He grabs our bags far too forcefully. “That was my father.”
“Yes, sir.” I switch to my military voice.
“In the house, Birdie.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” I spin on a heel and skip to the front door, noticing it has a keypad instead of a lock. How modern. “Got the code?”
“Yep, twenty-one eighteen.” He grunts, pulling my luggage over. “What’s in this thing?”
“Ah, you will be happy to know that I did not, in fact, pack said luggage. Your sisters did, or so I assume.”
“They must have put in a kitchen sink.”
“I hope so.” The door clicks open, revealing the cozy little space. There isn’t much. It’s a loft style cabin with a living area and kitchen smashed together, and steps that lead up to the loft with a simple, flimsy-looking railing.
Arlo throws our luggage into a corner and saunters over to the fridge. “I need a drink.”
“Now I know why you were sipping milk.” I peel off my heavy coat and toss it on the back of a chair. It’s incredibly warm, and I’ve been sweating for the last half hour.
“Had to drive.”
“So responsible of you.” I join him in the kitchen and grab a drink for myself because this feels weird, like really weird. “So when does the third date start? Was it the drive? The plan to spend the night here with you?”
Beer sprays out of his mouth, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. “I didn’t.” He glances up at the loft. “Oh no.” He slams his beer down on the counter and takes the steps two at a time. “There’s only one bed.” His voice echoes across the little cabin, while flurries fall outside, creeping toward a squall.
