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I'd always thought that made me dependable. Just not relationship material. But what if I'd been wrong?

What if being good at loving someone wasn't about saying all the right things? What if it was about staying? About making the choice, every damn day.

I looked at Mikayla. She was watching her cousin with tears shining in her eyes. And I knew that she was it for me. I wanted to choose her every day.

Oh, fuck.

No.

Absolutely not.

My brain tried to slam on the brakes.

Unfortunately, my heart had apparently stolen the keys and driven straight through the guardrail. Because once the thought appeared, there was no shoving it back into whatever dark, dusty corner of my subconscious it had crawled out of.

I wanted a future with Mikayla Parsons. An actual future. Not a weekend. Not a fling. Not a series of conveniently timed visits that ended before we got too attached.

I wanted shared calendars, arguments about thermostat settings, and her expensive face creams taking over my bathroom counter.

I wanted to know what she looked like at sixty. Seventy. Eighty. I wanted to be there when her hair went gray.

I wanted to watch her conquer the world and then come home and complain about a blister on her foot from her new heels. I wanted those heels by my front door. Her laugh in my kitchen. Her hand in mine. Forever.

Holy shit.

I wanted forever.

And not in some vague, theoretical, maybe someday when I was old and boring kind of way. I wanted it now. With her. The truth crashed through every excuse I’d been hiding behind, and I was finding it hard to breathe.

Dean glanced at me. "You okay?"

No. No, I was not fucking okay. I was having a full-blown emotional emergency in the middle of a wedding. Someone needed to call an ambulance. Or a priest. Possibly both.

"I'm fine," I lied.

Dean studied me. "You look like you just found out you're pregnant."

"I will punch you in church."

His brow furrowed. "We're outside."

"Then God won't even see it coming."

Dean just smiled wider.

I hated him. I loved him, obviously. But at that moment, I hated him. Because he knew. And worse, he looked delighted.

The officiant invited the couple to exchange vows.

"I can't promise I'll always get things right," Rob said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise I'll never stop trying. I'll choose you every day, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."

I'd always thought forever sounded boring. One woman. One house. The same person sitting across from me at breakfast for the rest of my life. I'd imagined marriage as an endless series of dull conversations about grocery lists, mortgage payments, and whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher.

I'd looked at marriage like it was a prison sentence with better catering. But watching Mikayla brush a tear from her cheek, I understood something I'd somehow missed for thirty years. Forever wasn't about losing my freedom. It was about finding the person I wanted to share it with. And instead of feeling trapped, I felt like I'd finally found somewhere I belonged.

Not because I didn't love the ranch. I did. Lockhart Ranch was home. My family was home. But Mikayla…Mikayla felt like home, too.

Which made absolutely no sense. She lived in a different world. Her days were packed with meetings, deadlines, and decisions that affected thousands of employees.