“Cheeeessseeee.”
“That’s perfect, Anna!” Chloe swoops in, shutter clicking before the toddler changes her mind.
She reminds me of a mini Evelyn, and for a ridiculous beat, I wonder if Chloe and I would have redheaded babies. The gene skipped me—hit both my siblings.
I watch longer than I should, caught by how easily Chloe corrals chaos and turns it into laughter—belly laughs from the grownups, squeals from the littles racing through my rows.
Something shifts in me, and I regret not having more conversations with Dad before he died. I wish I’d asked Dad what he saw when he ran Christmas—if this is why he wore that Santa suit for hours, listening to wish lists until his voice went hoarse.
“One of my clients asked who the handsome cowboy was watching me work.” Chloe tips the brim of my hat with one finger, grinning. “What are you doing out here?”
“Stretching my legs. Got distracted by my beautiful wife.”
A blush creeps up her cheeks. “Oh.”
“How many sessions are left?”
“Just finished my last one of the season.” She does a little shimmy. “Why?”
“Walk with me? I want to hear more about the wedding venue idea. Show me what you’re thinking.”
“I thought everyone thought I was crazy.”
“No, it’s smart. I’m mapping out new revenue, and this fits. Plus, we’ve got a resident photographer.” I nudge her shoulder as we start down the lane.
“When we get back, I can show you some weddings I’ve shot. Give you the big picture.”
I’ve seen enough to know she’d do amazing, but I love it when she shares her work with me.
“Deal.”
We fall into an easy rhythm. The old white barn needs love, but it’s where I told her I loved her the first time, kissing in the haystacks like two young fools.
If—no, when—we make it a year, I want to stand in front of everyone we love and choose her again.
No clause. No crisis.
Just us—on purpose.
“So tell me. What’s it going to take to get the whole story from one of you?” Mrs. Brooks sinks into the armchair diagonal from me, cradling a mug of nighttime tea. The house is quiet—everyone tucked away except the two of us.
My shoulders go tight.
I silently beg Chloe to finish Phoebe’s bedtime and come rescue me.
“What whole story, ma’am?” I keep my voice even.
“I don’t buy the whirlwind romance you’re selling, and I’ll tell you why.”
She lifts a finger when I open my mouth to protest. So, I shut it and sit back.
“I don’t know all that happened when you were younger—Chloe kept that close. She’s grown; she gets to.” She takes a sip of her tea. “But I can see this goes deeper than ‘we reconnected and said what the heck, let’s get married.’ It’s one of two things: you’ve been together longer than you admit…or you never stopped loving each other.”
I swallow, unsure if she’s got more to say or if she’s waiting on me. The quiet stretches.
“I think it’s safe to say I never stopped loving her,” I say finally, scraping a hand along my jaw. “Didn’t realize it fully until recently.”
Or wouldn’t admit it to myself. But she doesn’t need to know that.
