“You’re south of Nashville, right? Just off Highway I-3?”
“I think so.” I choke back another sob. “I took the exit to Crayton and went … I don’t know how long.”
“Hey, darlin’. Take a breath. I’m already out the door. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
My heart swells with love for this man. He’s so good to me. Too good, really.
“Thank you, Hart.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says softly. “I got you. Always.”
There’s something about the way he says it—with kindness and reverence, that hits me straight in the heart. All I can do isgive him a half a smile and pull away so he doesn’t see the tears that clog my eyes.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Mira
“What can I do to help?” Markie asks, holding the door open to Piper’s Pizza. “I’m your maid of honor, after all.”
“I don’t remember asking you to take on that role.”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “It was implied.”
The pizza shop isn’t busy, but it has a steady stream of patrons coming in and out. A round table in the center of the room holds a table of old farmers who vaguely look familiar. I wave and return their hellos as we pass since Markie clearly knows them.
We make our way to a booth in the corner and get settled.
“I have to say,” Markie says. “You’re much calmer about this today than I expected.”
“I got you.”
Shifting in my seat, I press Hartley’s voice out of my mind and shrug. “What am I supposed to do? I’ve thought it over and, while I still think this whole thing is unnecessary and intrusive, I agreed to it. All I can do now is accept it and strap in for the ride. Right?”
“That’s one ride I’d love to imagine if he weren’t my sister’s fiancé.”
An unwelcome surge of excitement threads its way through my nerve endings slowly, yet meticulously. It’s as if it knows I’m trying to deliberately shut it down—turn off any awareness of Hartley from a sexual angle—and it’s fighting me every step of the way.
Thiswillbe a challenge. It might quite possibly be the biggest challenge of the marriage. Everything about Hartley is attractive. From his rugged build to his sexy smile to the way he moves and handles himself—it’s the epitome of attractive. And somehow, I have to be married to the man, live in the same house with him for a year, and manage not to want to screw his brains out.
I grab my phone from my bag and open my Notes.
Don’t forget to bring my vibrators!
“What are you going to do with your stuff in Kentucky?” Markie asks.
“I think we’re heading up there as our ‘honeymoon.’ I don’t have that much stuff, so I don’t know whether to try to bring it all down here or ask Jeff if I can store some of it in his garage.” I flinch as Lisa, our server, pops up beside us. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“Hey, Mira. How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“We were in here the other night,” Markie says. “Donna was working.”
Lisa smiles. “Figures. So how are you?”
I fiddle with a napkin, wishing this wasn’t so awkward. Usually, I’d chat Lisa up. I’ve known her forever. But the next time I see her, I’ll be Mrs. Hartley Adler, and things like marriages usually don’t just happen overnight.
They aren’t usually predicated on an inheritance, either, but here we are. Thanks, Lolly.
