“I haven’t planneda single part of our wedding,” Bliss tells me a week after we’ve been engaged.
She scoops the screws and drill off the seat and sets them on the floorboard before climbing into my truck.
“And why are you in my truck?”
“Because I’m hiding.” She glances out the window and then ducks down to lie across the seat. “Act natural,” she demands as she lays her head down on the middle seat.
A lock of her hair is draped across my leg, and if I shift half an inch, I would be touching her head.
“What are you doing?” I absent-mindedly reach for the lock of hair and twist it around my finger. It’s made a thorough escape from her ponytail.
“I came into town to pick up some things from Darlene, but Mom said she was going to come meet me in town. She’s trying to convince me to drive all the way to Portland with her to do some wedding shopping.”
“And so you’re lying in my truck?”
“Exactly. What if she finds me?”
“I know you think you explained yourself, but you really didn’t.”
“I’m not sure you understand. My mom has been asking me if I want salmon pink or coral for bridesmaid dresses. I didn’t even know there was a difference.” She ends on a wail, and I have to bite back a laugh.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but apparently, my tone doesn’t convey that because she rolls on her back to glare up at me.
“This wedding was your idea. You pick between coral and salmon.”
I shake my head rapidly as I stare down at those big blue eyes. “Nope. I’m not getting between a fight with you and your mom.”
“It’s not even a fight. She just wants me to care about the details … and I don’t. Even if we were madly in love with each other and getting married, I wouldn’t care about the details. Heck, I’d probably even care less. I’d be more focused on thegetting marriedpart.”
Bliss’s lip quivers dangerously, and I wonder if she’s trying not to cry. That would be bad. Because if she cries, I’ll call the whole thing off. I need her, but I don’t want to make her sad.
“Do you want to get married to me? If you say no, we can pretend that I broke things off. Okay?”
She scoots around on the bench seat until she’s resting the back of her head on my thigh and looking up at me. “I want to get married. It’s the perfect solution to both of our … issues.”
She’s lying on my leg. Or at least her head is. I reach forward and brush her hair off her forehead. She blinks slowly, those dark lashes acting like shutters.
She doesn’t push my hand away though, so I keep brushing her hair gently.
“What has you overwhelmed?”
She sighs and closes her eyes, leaning into my touch. “I said I didn’t care. But I do. I want to get married in a barn. I want sunflowers. Barbecued lamb. Dancing. I want to buy a new pair of cowboy boots. That’s it. That’s all I want.”
It’s hard to hold a laugh in. Because I think I’ve managed to get engaged to the most low-maintenance woman in the world.
“I have a barn. We can get married in that. I’ll lay out a dance floor for you.”
“My mom wants a fancy church wedding.”
“I’m not marrying your mom,” I say with a laugh. “I’m marrying you. And you ought to get the wedding that you want.”
“Mmhmm,” she mumbles. Her eyes are still closed. “If you keep playing with my hair, I’ll be okay with getting married anywhere.”
I laugh and push my fingers through her hair again. “All right. I’m going to make a phone call.”
“Can you do it with your other hand?” She sighs happily. “I’m afraid if I sit up, you’re going to have a patch of drool on your leg.”
“There’s probably been worse things on these pants.”
