When we arrive at our destination, the driver pulls onto a long, narrow road lined with tall pines. The thick trees offer privacy, hiding the estate from view, until we take the final turn onto the circular driveway.
Dex lets out a low whistle and darts a glance at Sayla. “Baby, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
The main building is three stories of white-washed brick, gray stone, and a porch flanked by sculpted planters. The windows are spotless. The shutters, pristine. There are columns and archways. Multiple chimneys. A couple of balconies.
Even I’m impressed.
And I’m the one who found the place.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous,” Sayla says, marveling at the house through the tinted window. “I didn’t know homes like this existed in Harvest Hollow.”
“Technically, we’re outside the city limits,” I point out. But I suddenly hate the sound of my own voice. There’s a fine line between being generous and showing off. I love the former. Despise the latter.
Especially around Loren.
“Your car is here,” she says, peering across the driveway. Then she turns to me, a tiny crease between her eyes. “I didn’t think about the fact that you weren’t in the limo with us at first. How did that happen?”
“I stopped by early this morning to bring my luggage and check the place out. I left my car so we’d have one here after the limo dropped us off.”
“How did you get to Harvest Farms?”
“Uber.” I shrug. Ordering a ride share is totally normal, right? I run a hand through my hair, trying to remember what it feels like to be me. Bill Nye. Not Richie Rich.
We’re still us, I remind myself.Nothing has to change.
Except everything is different now.
“Your musical car situation is absolutely fascinating,” Sayla snarks, “but who’s ready for pics on the threshold?”
“Let’s do it,” Dex says, and we all trickle out of the limo. “I’ll bring in the food and Loren’s bags,” he offers. Sayla has her phone, ready to document the moment. Loren’s got her veil straightened again. Which leaves me free to?—
“Okay, groom,” Sayla quips. “Time to pick up your bride.”
Well, all right. If you insist.
Loren gives me a small nod to signal she’s ready, and I scoop her into my arms. With my adrenaline pumping on overdrive, I might as well be carrying a pile of feathers to the door.
At Sayla’s direction, Loren kicks her feet out, heels visible, veil brushed back over her shoulders. We recreate the shot a few times, alternating between photos and video.
“Awwwww. You two are just adorable,” Dex coos. “Especially you, Bridger.”
“Shhh,” Sayla says. “Your voice is on video.”
“Won’t matter once you add music,” he says. “I made a couple mashups specifically for Margaret’s montages.”
“Shhh!” she warns again. “Now, please make yourself useful, and prop open the door for them.”
Dex runs around to deal with the door, while Sayla gives us our final instructions.
“As you step over the threshold,” she tells us, “gaze adoringly into each other's eyes.”
Loren lets out a nervous laugh.
“If it helps, pretend you’re looking at your tacos,” Sayla suggests.
“Mmm, tacos,” Loren hums.
“Yes! Perfect, perfect, perfect,” Sayla exclaims. “You know, you two could totally be models. You arethatgorgeous.”