"Sounds nice."
"What about you? Any wedding fantasies hidden behind that gruff exterior?"
"Can't say I've given it much thought."
"Liar. Everyone thinks about their wedding day."
"Not everyone."
She studies my face. "You really haven't? Not even when you were with Sarah?"
I stiffen. "How do you know about Sarah?"
"Ridge mentioned her once. Said you were serious for a while. Before the accident."
Ridge talks too damn much. "Ancient history."
"Sorry." She touches my arm lightly. "Didn't mean to pry."
The gentleness in her voice erodes my defenses. "We dated for two years. Talked about marriage, vaguely. Then a burningtree nearly crushed me, and I became someone different. Someone she didn't sign up for."
"She left because you were injured?" Outrage colors her voice.
"Not exactly. I pushed her away. Made it impossible for her to stay." I run a hand over my face. "I wasn't easy to be around after the accident."
"So you decided all relationships were doomed and became a hermit?"
Put that way, it sounds ridiculous. "I decided I prefer solitude."
"Until your aunt forced you into a fake marriage." Her smile returns, softening the moment. "Lucky for you, I'm an excellent fake wife."
"Lucky indeed."
We spend the next hour planning a wedding that will never happen, Jennifer's enthusiasm infectious despite my best efforts to remain detached. By the time we've "settled" on evergreen and holly decorations, a ceremony in front of the fireplace, and a dinner for five afterward, I've almost forgotten it's all pretend.
"We should practice our vows," she says suddenly. "Aunt Mildred will expect heartfelt declarations of love."
"I doubt she'll ask us to recite them."
"Better safe than sorry." She turns to face me fully on the couch, taking my hands in hers. "I'll go first."
Her small hands feel right in mine, warm and soft. She clears her throat dramatically.
"Jared Calloway," she begins, eyes twinkling with mischief. "One year ago today, I promised to love your grumpy, hermit self until death do us part. I promised to tolerate your unreasonable waking hours, your obsession with proper coffee beans, and your tendency to communicate in grunts and monosyllables."
I snort. "I use plenty of syllables."
"Shh, I'm performing here." She squeezes my hands. "I promised to bring laughter and color to your perfectly organized, terribly lonely mountain fortress. And though our love story might seem unlikely to some, I wouldn't change a single moment of this past year. Not the snowball fights, not the burnt pancakes, not even your refusal to use exclamation points in text messages. Because beneath that rugged exterior beats the heart of a man worth loving, a man who sees me exactly as I am and somehow loves me anyway."
Her voice softens on the last words, and something shifts in her expression. The teasing falls away, replaced by something vulnerable and real. For a moment, I can almost believe she means it.
"Your turn," she whispers.
Words stick in my throat. This is too close to something genuine. Too close to feelings I've been desperately trying to suppress since she barreled into my life with her bright smile and relentless warmth.
"I'm not good with words," I manage.
"Try." Her eyes hold mine, challenging and encouraging all at once. "What would you say if this were real?"
