Page 78 of Wild Then Wed
I nod. “You miss him.”
She nods too. “All the time.”
The words settle between us, quiet and unpretentious.
I lean back a little, arms crossed loosely. “Grief’s weird like that. It’s not something you get over. It just…becomes something you learn how to carry without dropping everything else.”
That catches her off guard. She lets out a soft laugh—surprised, but not mocking. “That was oddly poetic coming from you.”
I shrug. “I contain multitudes.”
She smiles and pushes herself back to her feet. “I didn’t mean to unload all of that on you.”
“You can unload on me anytime. It’s good to talk about it. Get it out there.”
She raises a brow. “Is that your professional advice as a vet or your personal advice as my fake fiancé?”
“Both,” I say. “Though I feel like that’s a slippery slope, professionally speaking.”
“Oh, great. Now I’ve jeopardized your entire career,” she deadpans. “Guess I’ll have to marry you out of guilt instead of convenience.”
I grin. “Hey, guilt’s gotten me worse deals.”
“Oh, totally. At least with this we’ll get access to water rightsandunsolicited emotional support. Sign me up.”
She pauses, tilts her head. “Wait—do I get your health insurance, too?”
I laugh. “You’d marry me for the health insurance and not for my sparkling personality and incredible upper body strength?”
She cocks her head. “Well, I figured if I have to fake a marriage, I might as well get a good deductible out of it.”
“Wow,” I say, hand to my chest. “Betrayed by my own fiancée. Gonna make a hell of a story for the fake grandkids.”
She just grins, and it hits me again—how easy this is when we stop pretending it’s not.
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my phone. “Actually, I wanted to show you something.”
Her brows lift in suspicion.
I smirk and pull up the website, then hand her the phone. “It’s a venue. Just outside of town. I figured we should lock something down before Summit Springs collectively implodes over our engagement.”
She takes the phone and starts scrolling, and immediately her jaw drops. “Are you freaking kidding me? This place is gorgeous.”
It is. High vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto a line of pine trees. Exposed beams, dark wood floors, soft string lights strung across the main room. It’s cozy. Romantic without being cheesy. And more importantly—indoors.
“There’s no way they weren’t booked,” she says, her eyes still scanning the screen.
“They were,” I say, leaning back against the stall wall. “But I know people.”
She lifts her head and narrows her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I say slowly, “don’t worry about it.”
Her glare sharpens into something suspicious. “Sawyer.”
I grin. “Look, do you want it or not? I can get us a reservation for the first weekend in December.”
She scrolls through another photo of the reception space, all candlelight and long wooden tables with greenery draped down the center—and lets out a quiet breath. “It’s perfect.”
