“Why is this our first meal dating?” I ask, though I’m not really complaining.
“You look adorable covered in barbecue sauce,” he says, reaching over and wiping a spot next to my mouth.
I should be embarrassed, but I’m too happy to care.
We finish lunch and head back to the truck, our fingers entwined.
“I’ve got plans,” Cody says. “But if you want to add anything to the agenda, just holler.”
“I like your plans,” I tell him. Then I lift my brows and look him straight in the eyes. “What if I said I want to skip going home and go to North Carolina for a weekend?”
“Then I say we’d better stop somewhere so you can grab pjs and a toothbrush,” he says.
His eyes crinkle with his smile. I know he’s joking as much as I am, but a not-so-small part of me wishes we weren’t.
He chuckles and squeezes my hand. “I wish we could. I have to get back to work tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
We drive to downtown Nashville. Cody pulls the truck into a parking garage.
“What’s the plan?” I ask him.
“Follow me.” He takes my hand again.
“I just had a thought,” I say.
He lifts his brows and waits for me to tell him.
“What if we get so comfortable today that I accidentally kiss you—like at the ranch, or in town?”
He chuckles as if I’m being ridiculous.
“Cody! I’m serious.”
“I don’t think that will happen.” His face sobers. “I wish we could be like this everywhere. And we will be one day—after McKenna’s wedding. When farrowing and calving are finished.”
I smile at the thought, but then I picture Jace and McKenna and I’m not so eager to get to that point. They won’t take the idea of Cody and me lightly.
I shake my head. Cody must sense my inner spiral. He tugs me to a stop with our enjoined hands and looks down into my eyes. He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb over my cheek.
“Today, let’s just be here.”
“Yes. Agreed. Sorry about that.”
“Nah. I’ve thought about it too—on and off all day. I just shove the thoughts away every time because I don’t want to miss a second of our time together.”
He leans in and kisses me. Right here—in the middle of downtown Nashville, on a crowded street with cars and pedestrians moving all around us.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”
We walk in and out of shops, lazily browsing and being silly, holding up items and making faces at one another. I snap a few photos of us with my phone, texting them to Cody.
After a while, we cross Second Street and walk down the sidewalk along a historic block of three-story brick buildings. Most of the lower floors are more shops and restaurants. We stop in front of one storefront. The upper windows of the building are capped with cream-colored stone lintels shaped into shallow arches. The top of the building has a matching ornate cornice, but what catches my eye is the oversized red shoe by the marquis sticking out from the front of the building.
The etched lettering on the windows saysFrench’s Shoes & Boots.
Cody opens the door and ushers me through. There’s something about the look in his eyes—purposeful, like he’s got a secret hidden inside this store.
