Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I blink, my eyes smarting. With the Cokes and the Coldplay and the Colorado River, is Wyatt re-creating that day?
He’s revisiting a moment that was both terrible and wonderful in equal measure.
He’s not afraid to go back there anymore.
My eyes flick to his neck. My heart thunders when I see that he’s not wearing his gold chain.
I don’t want to read too much into that. But Wyatt always wears that thing, and the fact that he’s not today—
Oh my God.
He pours a good amount of Jack Daniel’s into each of the Cokes and hands one to me.
“Cheers, Sunshine.” He holds out his Coke.
I absently touch my bottle to his. “Cheers, handsome.”
I sip. The sweetness of the Coke mingles with the fire of the Jack Daniel’s on my tongue.
Then a big old smile splits my face. Yeah, Wyatt is definitely re-creating that day.
“You get it then,” Wyatt says. “The song and the drinks…”
“I get it.” I look down at my Coke, then look up at him. “Cute.”
“Cute? That’s all I get?” he teases.
Careful not to spill my drink, I all but launch myself across the bench and climb into his lap, Sally Field in Smokey and the Bandit–style. Looping an arm around his neck, I pull him in for another kiss. “You know you’re gonna get more than that, cowboy.”
His eyes flash with heat. “I got a question to ask you first.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, like my heart isn’t in my throat and my thoughts aren’t a riot of hope. “Talk to me.”
“That day you picked me up, you said you’d be my sunshine anytime.” He searches my eyes. “What do you think about being my sunshine forever?”
I stare at him as the realization takes shape.
“Really?” I manage, vision blurring with tears.
“I know it seems fast—”
“Yes. So fast. And also not fast at all.”
“We’ve only been dating for a couple of months. But I’m not gonna waste another twenty years playing it safe. We can get married next month, next year, or ten years from now—I don’t care.” With a grunt, he reaches for the glove compartment. Opening it, he pulls out a small velvet box. “I just refuse to go another day without putting a ring on your finger.”
He flicks open the box with his thumb. The breath leaves my lungs when I see the gorgeous yellow diamond solitaire that sparkles on a thin gold band. It’s classic, beautifully proportioned, and so very me.
“You know Cash got Mom’s engagement ring,” Wyatt explains, “and I got her wedding band. But I still wanted the band to be a part of your ring, so Mollie gave me the name of her jeweler, and I had him redo the band and added the yellow diamond. Because, yeah, you’re my sunshine. I hope you like it.”
I try and fail to formulate any sort of coherent response.
Instead, I sob and pull my fiancé in for a teary, salty kiss, both of us crying and laughing and happy.
So damn happy.
“That a yes?” he asks.
I manage a nod. “That’s a yes, Wy. I love it. I love you. My God, do I love you.”
My heart skips several beats when he takes the ring out of its box. It looks impossibly delicate in his huge, blunt-tipped fingers, and I shiver when he slides it onto the fourth finger of my left hand. The diamond winks at me, its fire clear and bright.
“You’re the only one I wanna cook for,” he says. “The only one I wanna take wholesome literature and turn it into spicy prairie porn with. The only one I want to watch terrifying serial killer shows with. You’re the only one, Sally.”
“And you’re the only one my dad’s ever held at gunpoint,” I say, and he laughs, a big, booming sound. “I never thought I’d have that kind of epic love story, but I’m glad we do.”
“We.” He threads our fingers together.
“We’re a package deal now, yeah.” I lean in and bite his neck. “So how do you feel about making some spicy prairie porn of our own right now?”
More laughter. My heart soars.
Squeezing my thigh, he replies, “I could be convinced.”
I grab his hat and drop it onto my head. “Saddle up, cowboy.”
Epilogue
WYATT
Tied Up
Sally squeezes my hand, hard, making my heart dip.
“You all right?” I ask. “If you need a break, just say so.”
Her eyes are closed, a slight grimace on her face as the artist adds some dimension to the Coca-Cola bottle he’s tattooing on the inside of my fiancée’s forearm.
“I’ll be okay,” she replies. “Just—please tell me we’re almost done.”
The tattoo artist wipes Sally’s arm with a cloth. “Almost done,” he says with a smile. “Looks great.”
I smile too. “It’s not as slutty as mine—”
“I wouldn’t dream of even trying to compete.” Sally cracks open an eye and grins. “You win the slutty thigh tattoo contest, no question.”