Page 116 of Sundown Somewhere

We just have something more pressing first.

Gravel crunches behind me and I turn, unable to hide my smile as I watch Jace’s truck roll to a stop. He gives me a nod as the passenger side door opens, my entire world sliding out and slamming the door shut.

Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her cutoff jean shorts hugging her glorious hips in a way that makes me more than a little jealous of the fabric, and the little teal off-the-shoulder top is the same one she was wearing last night—her lack of bra perfectly evident in the morning light.

Fuck me, is she delicious…

“I got your note…” she says, skipping a greeting. One corner of her mouth is turned upward, as if she knows that I’m up to something. “It’s a good thing that Jace was home to help me figure out where exactly on the family estate these coordinates are. You couldn’t just ask me to meet you in the far corner by the creek?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I casually lift a shoulder, as if this hasn’t been planned down to the tiniest detail. Or at least tried to be. I knew that if I had given her instructions she understood, she’d drive here herself, and we didn’t need two cars. Nope. I want to make sure that when we head back to the house after this, we do it together. Silly? Maybe, but it feels important.

“We gotta get ready and get over to Newton for Sloppy Seconds.”

“I know. But first, I need you to help me with something.”

She looks at me warily, scanning our surroundings, and I can see her still trying to figure out my angle. A long, quiet moment later, she gives in, sighing.

“Okay. Hit me with it. Whatcha got?”

Hands on her hips, she cocks them to one side, ready to sass me. And I could not love it more.

“Pick one.”

I hand her the folder, the weight of it surprising—or maybe not given how many pages I had to print. Looking back on it, I should have thought about printing double-sided. Then again, that might have caused some confusion.

“Pick one what?”

I nod to the folder, silently telling her to open it. She does, keeping her eyes on me at first. Then she flicks them down. And gasps.

“Hux…”

Dolly looks up almost immediately, her eyes glassy with tears. Happy tears. Her bottom lip quivers, and I can tell she’s trying to find her words. So I do the talking for her.

“We can make any of them work. Promise, I’m not just saying that. Yes, some will be easier than others, but we can make any of them work. I marked the ones I like the best with a little star, for what it’s worth, but please don’t let that influence your opinion.”

Flipping through the pages, little white house after little white house moving as if slides in a presentation, Dolly tries to take them all in. For a moment, I wonder if what I’m saying is really registering, or if we’re going to have a repeat of the playground.

Life with Dolly has been pretty perfect since that weekend. No one other than our family seemed to notice that she’d gone AWOL for a little bit that day, something she started to worry about after the fact. The rumor mill did pick up pretty quickly though once we were spotted out and about publicly, not hiding our affection. Much to my surprise—and apparently only mine—they picked up right where they left off when we were children, wondering when we were getting married and having babies, Dolly’s previous engagement all but forgotten.

All of which made a transition into being an official couple almost as easy as falling for her in the first place. Getting to spend the summer waking up with her in my arms only confirmed what I already knew—I needed to change her last name.

“Say something, Doll…”

“I want the creek to be our backyard. And whatever house we choose has to have some kind of mudroom back there so when your sons inevitably come in all muddy from pushing each other around in the creek, they don’t traipse it through my house.”

I guffaw, throwing my head back. My sons. Oh Dolly…

“Again, if it’s your daughters…”

“Huxley…”

Crossing her arms, she levels me with a look that can only mean one thing—we’ve talked about this and she won’t be repeating herself. I laugh again, because we both know that we’re going to continue this argument until that first child is born.

“So, do you know which one you want?” I press.

“Are you kidding? There have to be fifty houses here!” Dolly holds up the folder, emphasizing its thickness. “Plus, we have to pick this together. It’s our little white house.”