Page 26 of Mating Her Dragon

That was where it had to begin. He didn't know yet what came after those three precious words– hadn't earned the rest of the sentence yet– but the beginning, at least, felt true in a way nothing else on the page had.

He heard Sydney's footsteps in the hallway and closed the notebook so fast he nearly caught his own thumb in it. He tried to act as if he hadn’t almost been caught… Only time, and the look on her face, would tell him if he’d succeeded.

She wandered out a moment later. Her blond curls were a genuine catastrophe. Her eyes were barely open. It was obvious she had yet to acquire coffee, and the pursuit of it was clearly the only thing keeping her upright.

"What are you hiding?" she asked, the second her gaze landed on the notebook under his hand.

“Busted,” Han mentally whispered, and Garrett ignored it.

"Nothing."

"You closed that like it contained nuclear launch codes."

"It does not contain nuclear launch codes."

"Then give it to me."

"No."

Her eyes narrowed, tracking the shift in his expression with the terrifying accuracy of a woman who'd learned to read him far too well over the last several months. Then her whole face lit up.

"You're writing your vows."

"I am attempting to."

"Can I read them?"

"Absolutely not."

"Garrett."

"No."

She wanted that notebook more than she'd wanted anything in recorded history. He could tell from the sparkle in her bright blue eyes– but she let it go. Well, she mostly let it go. Dropping into the seat across from him, she instead took his coffee, which he allowed, because some sacrifices were simply part of loving Sydney Kavanaugh.

It wasn’t long before they were on the road again. Sydney had her bare feet on the dashboard. Another song with far too much fiddle and country twang was coming out of the speakers, and the bag of snacks had been opened at least ten times. All in all, everything was right with their little world when they crossed into Arizona before noon.

Garrett found himself, somewhat to his own continued amazement, genuinely looking forward to the Pacific. He was no longer merely accepting it as a destination he'd named on impulse outside a diner, but actually anticipating it, the way a man anticipated something he'd chosen for himself.

Sydney had started marking their route on an actual paper map, which she'd bought at a gas station for reasons Garrett suspected had more to do with sentimentality than navigation. Small handwritten notes dotted their path so far. Jackalope. Hot Sand Incident. Good pie (the diner one, not the other one). Garrett becomes a truck guy– RIP.

And farther west, in careful block letters: PACIFIC.

Garrett looked at that single word on the map and felt the same warm ache settle behind his ribs that he'd felt in the diner, watching Sydney say something she hadn't meant to say out loud.

They were actually doing this.

They stopped a little past midday at an overlook Sydney had spotted from the highway– no sign, no gift shop, nothing built up around it at all. Just a wide stretch of red stone falling away into a canyon, wind moving steadily and constantly across the rim. The whole place carried a kind of ancient, wordless weight that had nothing to do with Magic and everything to do with simply being old.

"Okay," Sydney said, stepping out and turning slowly to take it all in. "This is gorgeous."

Garrett stood beside her, taking in the long view, and found himself thinking, unbidden: Could this be the place?

Not a decision. Not even really a thought he'd chosen to have. Just the two of them, apparently, now permanently and unconsciously evaluating every beautiful place they passed through for one particular purpose.

Sydney looked over at him. "No."

"I didn't say anything."