Page 20 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

"You could have asked me what I wanted," she said.

"I should have."

She was quiet for a beat. "You're going to have to get better at that."

"At what?"

"Asking. Instead of deciding."

"I know."

She studied my face for a long moment. Then she nodded, accepting it without forgiving it entirely. "Okay."

That was it. No argument. No extended negotiation. Just acknowledgment and forward motion. I respected the hell out of that.

When the wedding events finally wrapped for the evening, I walked Hannah to her car in the parking lot. She leaned against the driver's side door, keys dangling from her fingers.

"What now?" she asked.

"Come home with me."

Her brows arched. "Not the cabin?"

“No. I want to see you at my place."

Understanding flickered across her face. This wasn't a matter of convenience or proximity. This was me inviting her to come home with me.

"Okay," she said.

I drove, and Hannah followed in her car.

The route took us out of Broken Bend, past the water tower, past the turnoff for the cabin, into the stretch of open land where the houses spread farther apart.

My place sat at the end of a gravel drive. It was a small ranch-style cabin. Nothing fancy.

The barking started before we even parked.

Hannah climbed out of her car, laughing. "You have a dog?"

"His name's Hank."

The dog in question appeared in the window, his tail wagging hard enough to shake the curtains. He was a mutt. Part Lab, part something stockier. All enthusiasm.

I unlocked the door, and Hank bounded out, circling Hannah twice before shoving his head under her hand.

"He likes you," I said.

"Good." She scratched behind his ears. "That's important."

I watched her crouch down to Hank's level, her dress pooling around her knees, her smile easy and unguarded.

This. This was what I’d always wanted.

Inside, the house looked lived in but not decorated. I’d collected furniture that served its purpose and had a kitchen I actually used. Mama Mae's Christmas ornaments still hung in the front window because I hadn't gotten around to packing them away.

Hannah noticed them immediately. "Christmas was almost nine months ago," she said.

"I know."