“While I appreciate the confidence, I’m going to leave the musical talent to you, honey.” He continues driving past the studio-slash-barn.
I’ve never been this far back onto the property. Boone’s got more land than I realized. Past the studio, the land opens up into wildflowers in every direction. Just ahead of us, another structure, lower and wider than the barn, sits at the edge of the field.
The truck creeps to a stop. I’m still looking at the flowers when Miles cups my jaw, then kisses me soundly.
When he eases back, his gaze darts between my eyes. “I love you.”
“I know.” I grin.
“If you don’t like anything we can change it.”
My brows pull together, but before I can ask, the creak of a garage door opening pulls my attention. It reveals a Bronco—same body, same lines as Betty, but restored. Resurrected is more like it. Even in my wildest dreams, I didn’t think she’d lookthisgood.
“Is that?—”
“As much of her as possible, but with a few upgrades. Do you like the color?”
I hop out, and Miles follows, rounding the truck.
I walk toward her slowly, hand reaching out before I’m close enough to touch. The paint is a creamy tangerine, somehow more perfect than anything I would’ve picked myself. The rust spot above the rear wheel well is gone. The dents, the chips, the three decades of wear—all of it gone. But the bones are still Betty’s. Still exactly her.
“It’s perfect. But how?”
He pulls me back against his chest. “Betty was a bit… old, so the insurance company let me keep her even though she was totaled. I found a restorer back in February. He’s been working on her since.”
“Since February?” That’s almost five months. While I was in LA. While he was in the playoffs.
“She was in rough shape. But now she’s practically new.”
“Miles—” My voice cracks.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I spin, loop my arms around his neck, and rise onto my toes. “Thank you. This is the third best thing you’ve ever given me.”
A huff escapes him. “Is that right? What’re the other two?”
“Well, first, is you, of course. Closely followed by that notepad and pen.”
“Summer, this is much better than that.”
I shake my head. “Okay, maybe they’re tied. That one saidI believe in you, and this one saysI love you.”
He shakes his head. “Only you.”
I close the last remaining inch and kiss him. “Can I drive her now?”
He reaches into his back pocket and places a new set of keys in my open palm.
I climb in. The hinges don’t squeak anymore. The interior is clean, the dashboard all glossy screens and new finishes. It smells like leather, but underneath it all, still, somehow, like Betty.
Miles folds himself into the passenger seat.
I look up, then over at him. “Does the whole roof open?”
“Yep.” He pushes a button, and the fabric neatly folds back, revealing a cloudless blue sky. I didn’t think it could get any better. He rests a hand on my thigh. “Ready?”
I face forward, hands on the wheel, wildflowers stretching out ahead of us.
