The Reason I Married Him

“Soooo, are we not going to talk about what happened at The Hot Pickle?” I ask Aubree as we sit on the back of her truck parked in front of the barn.

She didn’t say much after she ran into Amanda and Matt. She was quite silent actually, especially on the drive back, and I didn’t push her to talk because I felt like she was probably still processing.

Processing running into Amanda.

Processing the horrible things she said to her.

And processing the relationship she claimed we have.

But now that we’re eating our lunch, it has to be addressed . . . for obvious reasons.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

That makes me chuckle. “Nothing to talk about? Uh, how about the fact that you called me your boyfriend in front of what I can only describe as an elevated version of Regina George.”

“So?” she says with a shrug as she remains fixated on her sandwich and in full denial mode.

“So the town talks,” I say.

“She won’t.”

“Uhh, I might be new to this town, but given she seemed to find out how you were doing, what’s going to stop her from telling everyone that I’m your boyfriend?”

Aubree is mid-bite when she pauses. I can see her mind working, thinking over her mistake. That’s right, it’s going to be known around town very shortly that I’m her boyfriend. I have no doubt about the “telephone” that passes through this town, especially if the news gets to Ethel.

After some thought, she shakes her head. “She won’t say anything to anyone.” And then she takes a bite of her sandwich.

“Do you really believe that, or are you living in a state of denial?”

“Believe it.”

“You are such a liar.” I chuckle. “You know by tomorrow, the entire town will congratulate us on our newfound love.”

She side-eyes me. “Just because I called you my boyfriend doesn’t mean I love you.”

“Ouch,” I say, clutching my heart. “That stings, wife. You know, I love you. You’re my moon and sky and everything in between. You are the light of my life. The apple of my eye. My one true love and the reason I can breathe on this planet. You give me⁠—”

“Oh my God, shut up,” she says, thoroughly annoyed with me.

I laugh some more. “I’m starting to think this relationship of ours is one-sided. I’m thinking . . . that I might, I don’t know, like you more than you like me.”

“That’s one thing you’re one hundred percent right about.” She sets her sandwich down and picks up her drink. She lets her feet dangle off the back of the truck as she stares out at the field. I watch her cheeks hollow as she sips on her Powerade—the same drink I opted for. Who says we’re not meant to be? After a few bouts of silence, she finally says, “She’s going to tell everyone.”

A slow smile spreads across my face. She might put up a fight at first, but she knows when to concede. I like that about her.

I decide to tread lightly because it almost feels like Aubree has fallen into a state of shock.

“Yeah, she is.”

“People will think we’re together.” She stares blankly.

“Yup, that seems to be the consensus.”

“But we’re not together,” she says in a monotone.

“Not at the moment, but we are linked by land, so at least we have that going for us.”

She slowly turns her head to look at me. “But I don’t like you, so why would I say you were my boyfriend? That was stupid.” Uh-oh, this is what we call a spiral. “Like, who would believe that we’re dating? We don’t even know each other. This is like the fifth time I’ve seen you in person. I have no idea if you’re some sort of sick serial killer like in your books⁠—”

“Aw, you’ve read my books.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m being serious, Wyatt.”

“Well, rest assured, I’m not a sick serial killer. I just know a lot about it from countless hours of research, not experience. Just in case I need to really make that clear.”

She places her hand on her forehead. “I can’t make a retraction on my statement. I mean . . . you kissed my neck in front of her.”

“Nice touch, wasn’t it? I’m quick on my feet. For future references, was the kiss too much pressure? Just want to gauge what you like.”

“Do you really think that’s what I want to worry about at the moment? The pressure of your kiss?”

“Seems like vital information. What if I do it again, and next time, you squirm away from me because it was a featherlight kiss that creeped you out? You think I want people thinking you’re disgusted by my neck kisses?”

“Oh my God, Wyatt! There won’t be a next time.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “Color me confused, but I can’t possibly see a scenario that doesn’t end in embarrassment where there isn’t a next time. What are you going to do? Spread a rumor about Regina George being slightly out of her mind and making things up?”

“Yes!” Aubree lights up, her eyes looking—dare I say it—a touch crazy. “That’s what we’ll say. Her pregnancy brain made up the whole thing.”

“Hold up,” I say as I hook her chin with my finger. “I might not know all of the womanly things, but I’m pretty sure that’s an offensive thing to do. She’s carrying a child. Let’s not use pregnancy brain as a default for her. Also, her husband was there. He saw everything, so if you try to spread that rumor, he’ll debunk it.”

“We blame his inaccuracy in storytelling on man brain.” Her eyes are still lit up. I’m going to need to dim those things down.

“You’re not wrong about man brain, but I don’t think we can tap into that scapegoat.” I tap my chin, thinking about it, then shake my head. “No, it’s going to be he said, she said, and right now, the points are not in your favor because your sister saw us together in the parking lot, Ryland saw us together last night, the people in The Hot Pickle saw us standing in line with my arm over your shoulders. All signs are leading to you being my special love dumpling.”

“Ew, do not call me that.”

“Not a fan? What about sugar plum?” Her nose curls. “Boobala? My aorta?” Her eyes focus in on me, making me nervous. “Snuggle bum? Moo Ma Me Ma?”

“What the hell is wrong with you? What is a moo ma me ma?”

I shrug. “No idea, but your staring made me nervous, and I just said what was on my mind.”

“If that was on your mind, then you have some serious issues.”

“Possibly, but it also makes me a great writer.”

“Does it? Is moo ma me ma winning you all the bestseller titles?”

My lips turn up. “I’ll include it in my next one and let you know.”

“We’re getting off track,” she says as she leans back in the truck bed. “We need to come up with a plan, something that⁠—”

Ding.

We both look toward her phone, which is between us. I see Hattie’s name scroll across the screen so I say, “Uh, that’s your sister. Do you think she knows?”

“Please, it doesn’t happen that fast,” Aubree scoffs while she sits up and snags her phone.

I watch as she unlocks the screen, opens the text message, and reads it. Her eyes scroll, and her lips turn into a frown.

Yup . . . Hattie knows.

Slowly, Aubree’s eyes lift to mine, and she says, “Mother . . . fucker.”

I try not to crack a smile.

I really do.

But . . . it’s just so comical.

The news in this town travels faster than the truck we’re sitting in.

“Let me guess.” I lean back on one hand. “The news got to her already about me being your boyfriend?”

“Yes, and she’s asking why I didn’t say anything to her.”

“Yeah, why didn’t you? I can’t imagine what it’s like to find out your sister is dating your brother-in-law’s brother . . . wait, would I be your brother-in-law?”

She pinches her nose, her frustration starting to boil. “Wyatt, this is not helping.”

“Okay, then how can I help? Should I get down on one knee and propose? Make this official? Draw up a contract about our impending marriage? I have a lawyer who can create something tonight.”

“I’m not marrying you, Wyatt.”

“Uh . . . what do you mean? I thought you called me your boyfriend because you were heading in the direction of making a deal. Remember, your hand for my land?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Catchy, isn’t it?”

She pushes her hand over my eyebrows. “No, it’s annoying. And I said you were my boyfriend because Amanda was making such a big deal about me being a lonely, old spinster. I just wanted to show her that I wasn’t.”

“Well, now everyone in town, including your siblings, thinks you’re not a lonely, old spinster. The only question is, what are you going to do now? You know I’m open to hitching my wagon to your . . . truck. Is that the term? Either way, I’m here for you.”

“You say that as if you’re doing me a favor. I wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t followed me around for the last couple of days, calling me Mrs. Preston and wife. You’ve slipped into my subconscious and now that has trickled out into the real world. Technically, this is all your fault.”

I throw up my hands in surrender. “I’ll take the blame. I know what I did. The question is, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to take back your words, or will you venture into the realm of a marriage of convenience and play along? You have a lot to gain.”

“And a whole lot to lose,” she answers while setting her phone down and lying back again. Her hands go to her face, and she groans.

“What would you really have to lose? Your first marriage? Sure, if you’re the type of person who is stuck on only being married once, that might be a hit, but divorce is okay. Sometimes you’re just with people for certain seasons in your life. You and I? We can be a one-year season. Not to mention, you’d get your land, I’d get my cabin, and I could always give you a parting gift on our divorce, like a new truck or something. You know, a little pat on the ass as a thank-you.”

“I don’t need your pity ass pat,” she seethes.

“Either way, I promise to be a good husband. I’ll be everything you need and more, and in the end, when we inevitably divorce, I won’t make it painful. I’ll be sure to make it as painless as possible and also cover all of the expenses. So really, it’s like you get one of the best years of your life, attached to me, and then you walk away with your land.”

She peeks through her hands to say, “You really think being married to you will be the best year of my life?”

“Guaranteed, babe.”

She groans again, but this time, she sits up. “This is such a nightmare.”

“Could be a dream if you let it.”

Her eyes shoot over to mine, and even though they read like they’re about to murder me, I can also see that she might be teetering in my direction. And when I say slight . . . I mean minuscule.

“How would it be a dream? You already irritate me.”

“I’m only irritating right now because I’m trying to badger you into agreeing to this idea.”

“Badgering a woman, wow, you put that on your Tinder profile?”

“I don’t believe in dating apps.” And given I was engaged to be married this time a month ago, that’s not a lie. I’d thought dating apps were a thing of the past for me.

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Seriously, how could I possibly deal with you for a year if I want to kick you out of this truck right now?”

“Is this where I sell myself to you?”

She folds her arms and nods. “Yes, this would be that moment.”

I rub my hands together. “The moment I’ve been waiting for.” On a deep breath, I start, “I’ve never had a cavity⁠—”

“That’s what you start with?”

I pause, seeming confused. I’m sorry, that’s a solid accomplishment.

“I think it’s a plus in my column. Shows I have good dental hygiene.”

“There are people with good dental hygiene who still get cavities.”

“Either way,” I say, growing a little frustrated. “It’s just something about me. Jesus.” I clear my throat. “May I continue?” She gestures with her hand for me to continue, so I say, “I’ve never killed a plant⁠—”

“Have you ever owned one?” She raises a brow.

“No, but that’s by choice.”

“Then how can you lead with you’ve never killed a plant when you’ve never even owned one?”

I casually drape my arm over the side of the truck. “It just shows my common sense.”

She runs her hand over her forehead. “Shows that you twist the truth.”

“Uh, no. I just thought it was an interesting fact.”

“It’s not.” She shakes her head.

“Fine, how about this.” I clear my throat again. “I know how to make a really delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” She snorts, but I continue. “I can give you an entire rundown on the history of The Great British Bake-off, who hosted what year, who judged, who won. I write bestselling novels that as you probably know are quite entertaining, and you’d get them for free. We’re talking hours upon hours of entertainment. I clearly know how to build things, so if you need a nail driven into wood, I’m your man. And not to mention”—I tap the side of my head—“this noggin is full of brilliant ideas, so whenever you need assistance or a think tank, you can come right to me. Last, I smell nice, cut my toenails bi-weekly, never leave beard clippings around the sink, and know the importance of putting the seat down after I pee.”

“Wow,” she says while slowly clapping. “You are truly a prize to be won.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” I playfully nudge her with my foot even though her sarcasm is thick. “You can’t get better than me when it comes to a marriage of convenience. I’m your man. I’m respectful, and encouraging, and funny, and I’m here to cheer you on while also letting you subtly know when you do something wrong. Because what’s marriage without checks and balances?”

“It’s not a real marriage.”

“Technically, it is very real. Legal and all, but how we treat the marriage is up to us. All I ask is that we’re not embarrassing each other by, you know . . . running around on each other. This will require you to be exclusive to me.”

“Trust me, if I marry you, there’s no way I could balance a side piece with everything else on my plate.”

“Good to know.” I lean in and say, “And you have my full discretion as well. I’ll be as loyal as they come. I could even make a shirt that says Team Aubree if you want.”

“Why would you do that?” she asks with a skeptical look.

“To show my loyalty.”

She groans. “Will you be this annoying if we get married?”

“Can’t be sure. Still trying to figure out everything that annoys you about me.”

She motions her hand in front of me. “All of it.”

“But are you annoyed . . . or are you possibly a touch intrigued and masking it with annoyance because you have too much pride that I might actually tickle your fancy?”

In the most deadpan tone I’ve ever heard, she says, “Annoyed.”

“Well, we have time to change that.” I smile brightly, and I’m met with her scowl, which, to be honest, I’ve sort of grown fond of.

I like the way her nose turns up.

The crinkle between her eyes.

The purse of her lips.

You know . . . the look might be better than her smile.

I nudge her with my foot again. “What do you say, Aubree?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Your hand . . . for my land?”

She eyes me.

Her mind races.

Her breath picks up as she thinks.

It might . . . by God, it might become a reality.

This idea.

This planning.

This constant following her around and calling her my wife.

That look? She’s leaning in my direction.

I can see it clear as day.

She’s going to say yes.

After a few more silent moments, she looks away and mutters, “I don’t want you living with me.”

“What’s that?” I lean my ear toward her.

“I said, I don’t want you living with me . . . if we do this.”

Jesus Christ, it’s happening.

Tread carefully, man.

“I get where you’re coming from. Privacy can be a big factor in decisions like this, but unfortunately, given that we’ll have to put on a façade, I’ll have to shack up with you to keep this falsity alive.”

She grumbles and folds her arms. “Then . . . I don’t want you touching me.”

I cringe. “Afraid that’s unavoidable. You’re my wife, after all. I would have to show affection for it to be believable.”

She hems and haws over that for a second and then says, “Fine, but I don’t want you touching me when we’re alone.”

“Oh.” I nod. “I see where your mind is racing off to. Don’t worry, it will be purely platonic between us. Consider us friends without benefits.”

“Friends?” She lifts a brow.

“Yeah. Do you really think we can pull this off with the rapport we have now? Our current conversations resemble complete meltdown. If we’re going to make this believable, we’ll have to ease up on each other. Which means”—I lean forward and press my finger on the wrinkle between her eyes, flattening it out—“you’ll have to stop hating me.”

“Then don’t make it so easy,” she replies, but then follows it up with a smirk. And that, right there, ladies and gentlemen, that little smirk, yup, that means I won her over.

I smile back. “I’ll give it my best shot. So . . . what do you say?” I lend out my hand to her. “Your hand for my land?”

She stares down at my hand and then back up at me.

Her lips grow tight.

She groans in frustration.

And then . . . magically, her hand meets mine.

Success!

Holy shit, I did it.

“Really?” I ask her, shocked.

She pulls her hand away and buries her head in her palms. “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . . yes.” She looks up at me and points her finger. “But only because I can’t stand the fact that Amanda and Matt pitied me. And because I really want the land, and from the looks of it, it doesn’t seem like you’re giving it up, which is a real dick move.”

“It’s not a dick move,” I counter. “It’s smart. Tit for tat.”

“Yeah, but this is giving up a year of my life.”

“Like I said . . . wife . . . it’s going to be your best year.”

“Doubtful.”

“KNOCK, KNOCK, IT’S YOUR HUBBY,” I say from outside her guest house.

After we finished eating, Aubree went into silent mode. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if she turned off her brain and just went to work. She didn’t talk, didn’t recognize me as the person working next to her, she just . . . worked. I chalked it up to her being inside her head and trying to come to terms with what she’d just agreed to.

I was fine with it, but once we finished with the chicken coop and cleaned up, she started to walk away without a word. That’s when I grabbed her by the arm and asked her if she was in shock. She nodded, and I understood, so I told her that I’d be back later to go over things, but I gave her time to work through whatever was going on in her head.

And in all honesty, if she came up to me and said she couldn’t go through with it, that it was too much for her to handle and she couldn’t help me out, I’d leave it at that. I’d find another way to save the cabin, even if it meant buying out my cousin, which would be a tough pill to swallow. Especially since I think he’d either upcharge me or just keep that cabin out of spite, knowing I had all the means to make it mine but couldn’t.

I don’t trust Wallace as far as I can throw him. It’s why I’ve been so adamant about this. Why I’ve wanted to marry Aubree. She wins. I win. And then we can move on with our lives.

Conventional, no.

But sometimes we have to think outside the box to get what we want.

After a few seconds of silence, I see Aubree walk up and open the door to her guest house.

Freshly showered, she’s wearing a pair of plaid shorts and a white tank top. There’s nothing fancy about her outfit, and I like that. I like that she can be comfortable around me and not care that her hair isn’t done or that she isn’t wearing makeup. Not that she needs to impress me.

“Feeling better?” I ask her.

“Barely,” she says as I walk into the guest house that smells like fresh soap and whatever hair products she uses. She shuts the door behind me as I take a seat on her bed. I take note how the bed is made so that when I do live here, I know how to make it to her liking. “I dry-heaved a few times in case you need to know.”

“You did?” I ask. “Why? Nerves?”

“Yes.” She takes a seat on the bed as well. “I don’t know how you can remain so calm about something like this, but this whole idea freaks me out. I understand that there are pluses to it, for you and me, but . . . what if, I don’t know, Mac gets close to you, and then when we divorce, she’s sad that you leave? She’s already lost two parents. I feel like I can’t do that to her again.”

I turn toward her and say, “I will always be a part of her life. I know I’ve been missing for a bit, but now that I’m here, now that I’ll be here for a year, I know the importance and commitment it will take to be here and be present with her. I’d definitely visit.”

“You wouldn’t stay here?” she asks. “When we divorced, you’d move away?”

“Attached already?” I ask with a smile.

But she doesn’t find it funny. “I’m being serious, Wyatt.”

I nod in understanding. “I wouldn’t. The point of this deal is to acquire the cabin. Once I acquire that, then I’d move in. Stay in Canoodle. Make that my home. And then come up here to visit with Mac. The great thing about my job is I have freedom when it comes to my schedule. She won’t be left behind.”

She worries her lip. “And what about . . . you know, money and stuff? Will we sign a prenup? I don’t want anything from you, just the land, and I don’t, well . . . I don’t want you taking the farm from me.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I like to believe you wouldn’t, but then again, I don’t know you as well as I probably should, and knowing that side of you wouldn’t be solved by asking twenty questions. That’s the kind of thing you learn about a person as you get to know them through experience.”

Looking her dead in the eye, I say, “I won’t take this farm from you, Aubree. In fact, we’ll make sure we have a legal and binding document that clarifies both parties’ needs. I know what it means to feel sentimental toward property, hence this entire façade. My plan is simple: marry you, take ownership of the cabin, move on. I don’t want anything else from you.”

“Okay,” she says, looking relieved. “And you would have to live here?”

“Yes. We have to make it seem real.”

She glances around her small space. “Would we have to go on public dates?”

“I think so, just so people see us together. The only reason I say this is because I know Wallace will put up a fight when he finds out we got married. He won’t be happy about it and will most likely contest the whole thing, so we have to make the marriage believable, especially with the town, because they’ll back us up.”

Understanding falls over her expression. “Do you think he’ll come here?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.” I let out a deep sigh. “I know this is asking a lot of you, and if you want, I can tack on some other things to sweeten the deal, like any new farm equipment you might need, or if you want me to buy you some cows. You name it, it’s yours.”

“I don’t need anything else from you, just the land.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know. I’m an honest man, Aubree, and I keep my word. I promise you when this ends, you’ll have your land, and I’ll be out of your hair. The only time you’ll see me is when I come to visit Mac.”

She slowly nods and then lets out a deep breath just as an SUV comes screaming up the dirt road. Our eyes watch as it parks, and Hattie flies out of the front seat, rounding the back and charging toward the guest house.

“Oh God,” Aubree says. “Prepare yourself because things are about to get real.”

Hattie doesn’t even bother knocking as she barges into the guest house and stands in the doorway, huffing with anger as she looks back and forth between the two of us.

Hands on her hips, she says, “Care to explain what’s going on?”

Aubree glances at me, looking like she’s about to panic, so I take the lead.

Clearing my throat, I speak very calmly as I say, “A few months ago, your sister contacted me when she found out that half of the land was given to me in Cassidy’s will. She wanted to get on the same page where the farm was concerned. I was in Palm Springs at the time and asked her if she could meet me halfway so we could talk in person. She agreed to it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were meeting with him?” Hattie asks.

“Uh, because you were going through a lot.” Aubree nervously clutches her hands together. “I didn’t want to bother you with a small detail.”

She’s good. Look at her playing along. I’m proud already.

“When she arrived, I was caught off guard,” I continue. “I forgot just how beautiful she is and well, instead of talking business and about the farm, I got distracted.” I glance at Aubree who looks like she’s gained a touch more confidence.

“Very distracted,” she adds.

“And well, we started talking about everything else but the farm,” I say. “By the end of the night, I asked her if I could keep in touch. It was one of the first times I had a true conversation with someone who I felt heard me. She said yes, so after that day, I started texting her.”

“Very needy texts,” Aubree says, making me smile.

“Needy because I was crushing hard,” I add, loving this story already. “And then those texts turned into one phone call.” Hattie looks between us, still confused. “And those phone calls turned into FaceTimes. And with every call, every moment I saw her face, I started to fall for her. For her kind heart under that rusty exterior. I fell for her snappy, witty comments and her ball-busting ways. And I fell for the sound of her voice that often calmed me before I went to bed. I quickly realized that . . . well, I loved her, and that’s when I knew I had to come out here.”

Hattie blinks a few times.

Her hands fall from her hips.

And then she rubs her palm over her forehead in distress.

“But . . . you were pissed when he came into town, Aubree. You clearly hated the man. And Hayes told me he spoke to you in the grocery store, and you seemed like you didn’t know her at all.”

“Because she wasn’t ready to tell you guys. I lied in the grocery store, trying to make sure it seemed like we didn’t know each other,” I say, completely forgetting that conversation for a second. “She was afraid of how you might take the news, and with everything that’s been going on, with you taking over the store and Ryland taking care of Mac, she didn’t want to trouble you guys with this. Of course, I wasn’t happy about it and took matters into my own hands. She was rightfully pissed at me.”

“Let me get this straight,” Hattie says. The expression on her face makes me believe this is far too painful for her to even take in. “You two have secretly been talking for months, and Wyatt decided to take a chance and come into town, and you, Aubree, were mad about it?”

“Because I didn’t want to make a fuss about things,” she says.

Hattie puts her hands back on her hips as she addresses her sister. “Do you really think Ryland and I would make a fuss about you having someone special in your life? This is . . .” Her eyes start to well up, and guilt immediately starts to swarm me because . . . yeah . . . lies. “This is amazing, Aubree.”

Hattie swoops in and hugs Aubree, who awkwardly remains seated and stiff.

She gently pats her sister’s back before Hattie pulls away and cups Aubree’s cheeks. “Are you in love too?”

Ooo, bold question.

“Um, well,” Aubree starts.

“She hasn’t said it yet,” I cut in, so Aubree doesn’t have to finish that sentence. “And I’m not offended at all. I know it will come.”

Hattie pulls away. “Why don’t you love him?”

Okay, coming on a bit strong, Hattie.

“Hattie,” I say gently. “We all move at different paces⁠—”

“I love him,” Aubree says, but rather than sounding as though she’s in love, she sounds more annoyed, like she wants this over and done with.

And I’m not sure if Hattie doesn’t recognize it, if that’s how Aubree normally acts, or that Hattie is so gleeful that she surpasses Aubree’s tone and scoops her up either way.

“Ahhh, you’re in love. Oh my God.” They fall back on the bed, and Hattie straddle-hugs her sister, clinging to her like a koala.

Aubree offers me an annoyed side-eye that makes me lightly chuckle. There is no way Aubree is enjoying any of this, but I find small delight in it. There’s just something about an annoyed Aubree that amuses and comforts me at the same time. It’s odd.

When Hattie rises, she straightens out her shirt and apologizes. “God, sorry, that’s the first time Wyatt is probably hearing it, and you guys probably want to kiss or something . . .” Hattie squeezes her hands, looking back and forth between the two of us. Does she want us to kiss in front of her?

From Aubree’s body language, I’ll take a wild guess and say that won’t happen.

“Can we, uh, get some privacy?” I ask Hattie, thinking that’s probably the best choice for the situation.

Hattie’s eyes widen. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” She gleefully claps her hands. “I’m going to go tell Ryland. We were texting, and I wasn’t sure what was happening between you two. Still, then I heard from Ethel, who heard from Dee Dee, who overheard Amanda talking about it. Well, I had to rush over here to confirm it because you know how sometimes the things the town talks about aren’t true, and I didn’t want to look like a fool when people asked me, and oh my God, I’m so excited. We can go on double dates, and you’re going to be so happy, and you’re in love and . . . ahhh!” She claps again and leaves the guest house, only to run over to the main house.

“Jesus,” Aubree exhales as she leans back on the bed and drapes one hand over her face.

“So . . . you love me, huh?”

She lifts her arm, giving me that classic side-eye that makes me laugh. “Please, I can’t handle any teasing from you at the moment.”

“Fair enough.” I smirk. “Glad that we’re in love, though. It really solidifies this bond we have.”

“Yup . . . soooo in love,” she says with a heavy dose of sarcasm that makes me laugh.

“Looks like we’re doing this. Now the question is . . . how am I going to propose?”

She lifts her arm and looks me dead in the eyes. “If you make a spectacle of it, I’ll murder you.”

Just the response I was looking for . . .