He shifts, rolling us to our sides, his arm still securing me to him. His lips find my forehead and linger there. “God, I love you.” His words, whispered in a panting breath, hold a hint of wonder in them.
I tug the sleeping bag over us, snuggling closer. My eyes remain closed as a blissful smile lingers on my lips. Exhaustion from the day pulls me under, and I distantly register Hollis’ words, spoken so softly, in the barest whisper.
“You won’t regret this, Shortcake.” His voice cracks with emotion. A featherlight kiss grazes my forehead. “I love you. Like that.” He exhales slowly, his warm breath soothing me.
“Always like that.”
Hollis
THREE MONTHS LATER
Atlanta, Georgia
It’s great to be home after being out of town a week and a half for work. I don’t reckon I’ve ever been so thankful for FaceTime and getting to see Magnolia. Still, nothing’s better than having her within arm’s reach.
She would’ve gone with me on this work trip, but she’s taking marketing classes in order to eventually join the Custom Motorwerks team.
After telling her how much we struggle to balance everything and still have a reasonable marketing plan in place, Magnolia offered to step in and help. She convinced me it was what she wanted to do, insisting she was more than content to leave politics—a career she’d never been crazy about to begin with—behind. Since starting her courses, she’s been doing well and has already come up with some killer ideas.
Magnolia’s hand is in mine as we approach the large, newly constructed treehouse in our backyard. Then she whispers words I’ll never tire of hearing.
“I love you.”
At the base of the ladder, I turn and take her face in my hands. The light from the nearly full moon illuminates her beautiful features. “I love you.” With a tender kiss, I briefly rest my forehead to hers and murmur the words we’ve since changed. “Like that.” Then, I step back and gesture for her to precede me up the ladder.
Once we’re inside and I’ve closed the hatch door behind us, we lie back on the soft sleeping bags. The two battery-powered lanterns cast a faint glow over the interior.
As soon as we moved into our new house, only a short drive from where the shop is, Magnolia and I went to work on building this treehouse. It was pretty labor intensive since I decided to add a skylight so we can look up at the stars.
It’s wired for electricity and we’ve included an air-conditioning window unit, just like Dad had done. We took a board from the back of my old treehouse and nailed it on one of the inside walls of this one. It’s the board Dad insisted we carefully carve our names into long ago.
Built by: Dad, Hollis & Magnolia
Maybe it’s odd to have a treehouse when we’re in our twenties, but we don’t care. This brings back treasured memories for both of us.
We lie back and gaze at the sparkling night sky above us. She curls up along my side, our fingers laced together, and we have the pillows propped beneath our heads.
“You know what’s missin’?” she asks suddenly.
I laugh softly. “Got you covered.” I reach into the pocket of my shorts and hand her the packet of Pop Rocks.
“You’re the best.” She sits up and carefully rips open the top, ready to shake some out of the packet when she goes utterly still.
I study her reaction carefully. Then, her lips part before her gaze slowly lifts to mine, eyes brimming with tears.
“Hollis?”
“I wanted to do this right. But still our way.” I sit up slowly. “This is your choice. I’ll love you forever, regardless of your answer—that’s a known. But I’d be honored if you’d choose to marry me and be my wife. Take my name.” A hint of a nervous smile tugs at my mouth. “It’s only a three-letter change, if that sways you any.”
I sober, clear my throat, and dart a nervous glance at the packet she holds. “That ring in there, it’s a promise. I’ll be with you, by your side, through everythin’ and anythin’. If you choose me, I promise you won’t regret it.” My voice breaks as my eyes burn with unshed tears.
She reaches inside and plucks the ring between her thumb and forefinger. It’s the closest I could have made to what she talked about as a little girl. A two-carat oval-shaped diamond surrounded by tiny diamonds on a simple band.
Tears spill down her cheeks as she holds the ring and looks at me. “Oh, Hollis,” Magnolia murmurs softly. She leans forward, pressing her lips to mine, and whispers, “Yes.”
Her response sends relief coursing through me, and I carefully slide the ring on her finger. Our eyes lock, and I take the candy from her, setting it on the small shelf, before I tunnel my fingers in her hair and capture her lips with mine.
Within a moment, she’s beneath me, and I’m kissing her—my fiancée. My best friend. The woman I plan to spend the rest of my life with.
The only woman who owns me, heart and soul.
Hollis
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
Atlanta, Georgia
The bride is beautiful. Breathtaking, actually. I’ve never seen a more stunning sight before in my life.
Her dress is simple, white and lacy and ankle-length. It’s strapless, baring her tanned shoulders and arms. One sparkly hair comb holds one side of her blond hair back, and her loose waves tease the tops of her shoulders. Her blue eyes lock with mine, and a sweet, soft smile plays at her lips.
The best part of all of this is that she’s planning to marry me.
This backyard wedding might not be exactly how she saw it playing out years ago, but from the look on her face, she doesn’t mind one bit.
The hand that settles on my shoulder gives it a quick, comforting squeeze, but I can’t bring myself to look away from Magnolia as she approaches. Once she’s within two steps from where I stand with her grandpa Joe, a sense of awe stutters through me.
She takes another step, her eyes never leaving mine.
My emotions become a turbulent upheaval and my eyes grow wet. My throat is tight. The final step she takes, drawing to a stop beside me, has me dragging in a much-needed breath, my lungs burning.
Blue eyes still locked with mine, Magnolia carefully hands her bouquet to Stephanie. My soon-to-be wife smiles wider and a tiny tear trickles from the corner of her eye. I carefully smooth it away before taking her hands in mine.
Grandpa Joe begins the ceremony while Stephanie and her husband Tommy, Grant, my uncle Johnny, and a few other close friends we’ve made since relocating to Atlanta, look on.
“I love you,” she silently mouths.
And, of course, I respond the only way I possibly can.
“Like that.”
Epilogue
Magnolia
“Mommy! Come and see what Daddy and I made!”
I walk down the hall to where my husband and six-year-old son, Jase—or J, as we’ve nicknamed him—have been quietly working at the dining room table. When I see what they’ve built, I can’t help but smile at the rush of memories that hits me.