“Where—” I try again when my voice comes out husky. “Where are we going?”
“Forward.”
I want to kiss the tiny smirk right off his lips.
But since that would distract Trevor to the point that we might end up in an accident, I strategize instead. “It’s a Thursday night, and we’re in formal wear. The most obvious answer would be dinner, but we’re overdressed for most places in Virginia Beach.”
Trevor nods along as I talk.
“The marina is the opposite direction, so we’re not boating.”
“Nope.”
“Most galas or charity events would be held on a Saturday, so that’s out.” I tap my lips, thinking. “What weekday event would require a floor-length gown and a bespoke suit?”
Trevor makes a turn, but I miss the sign we just passed. Mature maples and a white three-rail fence line the sides of the road, separating us from soybean fields. Why are we entering someone’s farmland? A nostalgic pang settles low in my belly, but that still doesn’t explain why I’m wearing heels when all I see through the trees is a few large barns in the distance.
We turn around another bend, and the unassuming farmland reveals itself as an elegant event space. String lights stretch between two barn buildings with a pergola nestled at the far end, housing a string quartet. Lanterns hang from beams, their warm light flickering over clusters of tables topped with delicate floral arrangements.
“Is this what I think it is?” I ask as several similarly dressed guests file into one of the barns.
Through the open barn doors, a gentle breeze rustles chiffon draped in picturesque rows. Everything feels suspended in that perfect golden hour as the sun dips low over the horizon.
“I know how much you like completing lists.”
The smile in Trevor’s voice pulls my gaze away from the effortless blend of refinement and rustic charm.
“How? I mean— Who’s… How?”
Trevor’s easy laugh is as luminescent as the fairy lights strewn throughout the barn’s interior.
Before he can give me a proper answer to my half-formed questions, a uniformed valet opens my door. “Miss.”
I take his outstretched hand and get out of the truck, bewildered. Trevor rounds the front in a few short strides before tucking my arm through his and pulling us toward the barn.
“We’re at a wedding,” he says, voice low over my ear. “I had to pull a few strings to get us in at the last minute.”
“What kind of strings?”
“After calling all the venues in the area and asking if they had weddings today, I needed to find a couple that was willing to add on two last-minute guests. Fortunately, Megan—the bride—is a big Waves fan. Though…she told me it took some convincing to get her fiancé, Ryan, on board.”
Alarm bells ping in my skull. I’d hate to ruin someone’s big day.
“We’re not wedding crashing, are we?”
Trevor’s deep chuckle is comforting when I’m tucked against him like this. “No.”
“Is it because Ryan hates sports?”
“Nope.”
“A baseball player broke both his legs and stole his car,” I suggest, having a little fun with this guessing game.
Hearing Trevor’s delighted guffaw feels like balancing a ledger perfectly on the first try.
“He was concerned that having a celebrity in attendance would draw focus away from his bride.”
My instantawwmakes Trevor’s grin double in size.
