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“But I have just the photo.” Wells swiped through his phone, then a text popped up from him.

“Hand it over,” he said, holding out his hand expectantly.

With a sigh, I gave in, passing him my phone. A moment later, he handed it back. “Much better.”

I tapped the screen, and there it was—a photo Wren had insisted we take to commemorate W Squared Plus Day yesterday. The three of us, side by side, grinning like idiots.

Something in my chest softened.

I glanced up at him, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. “Thanks.”

He placed his cowboy hat on his head with an easy confidence, tipping it slightly as he glanced at me. “Let’s hit the road.”

I grabbed my coffee and followed him out the door, the crisp morning air wrapping around us as we stepped onto the porch. The sky was still painted in soft shades of dawn, the world just beginning to stir.

Wells moved ahead, unlocking the truck and loading in the last of the crates. I slid into the passenger seat, tucking my dress beneath me as I got settled.

As Wells climbed in and started the engine, he shot me a sideways glance. “You ready for this?”

I exhaled slowly, gripping my coffee cup a little tighter. “Not even a little.”

He chuckled, shifting the truck into gear. “You’ll do fine.”

With that, we pulled onto the road, heading toward the farmer’s market and whatever the day had in store.

The drive was quiet at first, the kind of easy silence that came with too-early mornings and half-awake minds. Wells had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the open window, his fingers drumming lightly against the side of the truck.

“You ever been to this market before?” he asked after a while.

I shook my head, stretching my legs out in front of me. “Nope. This is a first.”

He smirked. “Gotta say, you don’t strike me as the farmer’s market type.”

I scoffed, feigning offense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you seem more like a boutique coffee shop, shopping-on-your-phone kind of girl.”

I gasped dramatically. “Wow. You know, I could’ve been raised on a farm for all you know.”

Wells shot me a knowing look. “Were you?”

“…No.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

The rest of the ride was filled with easy conversation, the occasional tease, and moments of comfortable silence as the sun climbed higher in the sky.

When we finally arrived, the market was already buzzing with vendors setting up their booths, stacking fresh produce into neat displays and arranging handmade goods with care. The scent of baked goods filled the air, mixing with the earthy sweetness of ripe fruit and saltwater.

Wells backed the truck into our designated spot, hopping out before I could so much as unbuckle my seatbelt. “Alright, city girl,” he said, pulling down the tailgate. “Time to get to work.”

I groaned, dragging myself out of the truck. “Why did I agree to this again?”

“Because deep down, you love manual labor.” He tossed me a wink before handing me a crate of flowers.

I rolled my eyes but took the crate anyway, following him to our booths. True to his word, our setups were side by side—mine bursting with colorful blooms, his stacked with farm-fresh fruits and vegetables.

I stood back, surveying my work. The flowers were arranged in pretty little bundles, each wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. It actually looked… cute. Like something out of one of those small-town romance movies.