It’s just location scouting. It’s just work. It’s just… And then I opened the truck door and the soft scent of her perfume flooded my senses.
Shit. She was in my truck.
In my passenger seat.
Where I’d imagined her a hundred times since that first night. Except rather than a drive around Willowbrook the fantasy always took us straight to my house, straight to my bed, straight to…
I gritted my teeth, and climbed into the truck hoping I didn’t look like either the creep I was or the caveman I seemed to be starting to default to whenever I was in her presence.
This was good. Today might actually be a good idea. I just needed to figure out how to ignore every thought of how good her body felt pressed up against mine. Figure out how to be an actual person around her.
I started the engine, pulled out of the driveway, and tried to focus on driving instead of the way the morning sunlight caught in her hair.
The first few minutes were silent. The radio played softly with some country station I never bothered changing, and I kept my eyes on the road. Tried not to notice how right it felt, having her here beside me.
Finally, she spoke. “Where are we going first?”
“Old mill by the river. Good natural light, rustic backdrop. Should work well for engagement photos.”
“Sounds perfect.”
More silence. But it felt less awkward now. More... anticipatory.
“How long have you lived in Willowbrook?” she asked.
“Since fifth grade. Moved here to live with my grandparents after my dad died.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
“It was.” I kept my eyes on the road. “New town, new school, everything different. But the Farrington brothers... they made it easier. Adopted me into their group before I even knew I needed it.”
“Where were you before?”
“Queens. My dad and I had an apartment there.” The words felt rusty. I didn’t talk about this much. “My mom left when I was little. Dad did his best, but when he died...” I shrugged. “My grandparents were all I had left.”
“And they brought you here.”
“Yeah. Gave me a home. The brothers gave me a family.” I glanced at her briefly. “Willowbrook saved me, in a way.”
“Have you ever thought about leaving?”
“No. After they passed, the garage and everything was left to me and I just kind of carried on with everything. I never really knew what else I wanted, or I guess I never really thought about it.”
“Or maybe you feel like you have to stay here because you owe them for taking you in.”
I looked at her then, really looked at her. She was watching me with those perceptive eyes that seemed to see straight through every defense I’d built.
“Maybe,” I said quietly.
“You don’t, you know? And I’m sure they never thought that either,” she added quietly, turning to look out the window like she knew it would be too hard for me to hear otherwise.
We drove through town, past the familiar streets and buildings I’d known my entire life. I pointed out landmarks, told her stories I’d told a hundred times before, but somehow they felt different with her listening.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled off onto a dirt road that led down to the river.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed as the old mill came into view.
It really was. Weathered wood, the river flowing behind it, trees overhead creating natural archways of light. The morning sun filtered through the leaves in a way that made everything look touched by gold.
