Page 84 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

The Rockies are already entrenched in winter and will be a snow-covered paradise well through March. Thanks to the dedicated men and women Connor used to work with, the highways were safe to travel. It wasn’t until we were navigating the back mountain roads that it became more adventurous.

Connor took it slow and repeatedly asked if I was comfortable because he wanted me to feel safe. I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with him, regardless of the setting or circumstance.

He rounds the truck cab with a skip in his step that warms my heart. My golden retriever with a surprisingly wicked protective streak. Frigid November air whooshes in and I shiver.

“Let’s get you inside and I’ll bring in the bags,” Connor insists.

The interior of the Dreamhouse is out of a magazine, and I’m filled with pride Izzy’s applied her vision to properties like this across the Rockies. A crackling fireplace greets us, instantly warming my chilled skin. Connor drops a kiss on the crown of my head and goes back out to get our things.

No one’s in the main room to greet us, so I take my time wandering through the space admiring the woodwork and unique artwork gracing the walls. A door shuts behind me and I whirl around.

“Twinie!” she shrieks running into my arms, as if we don’t see each other every day.

At the same time, we say⁠—

“You’re getting married!”

“I’m getting married!”

We laugh and hug and twirl around the living room like children.

“I never dreamed my life would turn out this way,” Izzy says, with a spark of sadness.

“I never dreamed it either, but you deserve it, sissy. We went through too much, suffered too greatly, and worked too hard to claw our way out of that trailer. You deserve every happiness and luxury life affords you.” I comfort her, gently rubbing her back, the white ends of her hair tickling my hand.

Her hair’s grown so much this past year. She kept it short for ages as a result of her trauma, but once she felt safe with Reid, she let it grow and regained her bodily autonomy.

“Christ, it’s cold out there! It’s not even December, what’s going on up here?” Connor groans, toeing out of his boots and hanging his canvas work coat by the door.

Even fully clothed, his body makes me weak. He’s next level gorgeous and all mine.

“Let me take you to your room and I’ll give you the grand tour!” Izzy says with a delighted clap of her hands.

Somehow, the Dreamhouse is larger on the inside than it appeared from outside. Five suites are sprinkled throughout the property, along with the opulent master suite. Everyone was happy to double up, but there’s the perfect amount of space for the small wedding party.

Mr. and Mrs. Andersen will sleep the farthest from the center of the house, the quietest room for when they’re done of an evening.

Olivia and her niece Harper will be sharing an adorable suite facing the front of the property. Harper will be delighted to see the fairy lights from her window.

Connor and I have a corner suite overlooking the lake. I wish we could come back in warmer weather to take advantage of what must be the perfect lakefront.

James and Greyson get their own rooms—Greyson closer to Harper and James closer to the master where the bride and groom are staying.

Izzy jokes that James might want to shack up with Greyson because they have no intention on being quiet on their wedding night. She gives an exaggerated nudge-nudge-wink-wink and Connor feigns throwing up. She punches him in the arm, on par for their relationship.

“Reid’s parents just got here. There’s nothing planned until dinner, so go relax in your room. Take advantage of the jacuzzi tub—trust me.” Izzy bops off to greet her future in-laws and Connor snicks the door shut to our suite.

“Thank god we’re staying in a different room than they’ve used,” Connor says with a shiver of disgust. “I did not need to hear about Iz and Reid fucking in that tub.”

I snort, because I didn’t need to hear about it either, but it was hilarious how Connor grew more uncomfortable the more Izzy overshared.

He gathers me in his arms, pressing me into his hard chest and spins us like a madman until we flop onto the giant king-sized bed in a heap of giggles.

“Hi,” he says sweetly, peering down at me.

“Hi,” I say back, utterly charmed by this man. Seventeen years later and he still gives me butterflies. The difference is, I can act on them now.

We spend the afternoon making love and fall into a blissful nap.