“Did you mean what you texted the other night?” I ask quietly.
She nearly drops the next forty-pound block on my head. I barely have time to stick out my hands and catch it.
“Sorry,” she mutters and pats my head.
Stinkin’ pats it, like I’m her border collie.
And I’m not even mad about it.
“Did you want me to mean it?” she asks tentatively, pulling her hand away.
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation.
Bliss frowns as she replies, “Then I meant it.”
I turn around and place the block on her truck bed so that she won’t see my huge grin.
When I turn back around, I have it sort of controlled. “Want to meet me at Henry’s store at lunchtime? And we can talk about it?”
The frown disappears from her face, and she nods. “That sounds good.”
“I’ll be back in town around one …”
She passes the last block to me, and I set it down and turn around just as she’s bending over to jump down. I reach up and grab her waist, lifting her to the ground.
Bliss gasps and clutches my arms as she regains her balance.
“One o’clock it is,” she whispers.
“We’ll talk about marriage.”
She visibly swallows and nods her head, then steps out of my hold and hurries to climb into her pickup.
My arms feel strangely empty as I watch her back out and turn onto the road.
CHAPTER 8
Zane
I can’t believeshe said yes. I’m going to marry Bliss.
This morning was interesting, to say the least. Maybe after we hash out all the details, we’ll be able to eat lunch in a very public spot together. I’ll have to hold her hand or something like that to make it extra clear that we’re not just friends.
But as far as the particulars for this marriage? We’d better not have an audience for that. I guess we’ll have to do all our serious talking in the cab of the pickup. We can’t risk someone overhearing us at the Shaky Pine.
Around lunchtime, I pull up in front of Henry’s store and park next to Bliss’s truck. Her flatbed is empty, so she must have distributed all the blocks this morning.
Bliss climbs out of her rig and walks toward me, a neutral expression on her face. Her clothes have some dirt smudges, and her cheek has a small scratch, as though a work project got the best of her today.
I roll down my window. “Why don’t you hop in, and we’ll talk for a minute before lunch?”
“Sounds good.”
She nods and walks around to the passenger side, just as my eyes land on the seat next to me.
“Oh crap.”
I forgot to clean out my pickup. Piles of paper, a couple of coffee cups, a fence post pounder, and who knows what all else lay strewn across the seat and floorboards.
