“Yeah, I know. It’s just—”
“Was it too early for Letty to give you an assignment? Because I can call her, if you’d like. Take it off your hands.”
Alarms go off in my head. “What? No! Not at all.”
“Then ignore him. The Daltons are a big account. Is it quick? Yes. Would most planners would collapse with the pressure of organizing a wedding in a week? Yes. But you’re not most planners. You’re Susie Posy.”
“I can handle it.” My resolve turns my internal organs into cold, hard steel. “You’re right. I’ve got this. I promise.”
“That’s my girl. Call me if there’s a real emergency.”
My phone beeps twice, alerting me that Thom has ended the call.
I needed a good, hard kick in the rear. And that does it.
I pop out of bed. There’s a dresser by the wall with a mirror over it, and I make sure my hair isn’t too frizzy from the plane before I make my way back downstairs.
Roxanne’s brassy voice rings out in the kitchen to the tune of utensils clicking and clanking. When I get downstairs, I can hear a second voice chime in: Ray’s.
“The plane ride took it out of her, that’s all,” he’s explaining.
“If you say so,” his mother chitters back at him.
I decide not to interrupt family time as the two make dinner. Instead, I make my way to the screen door and quietly start to slip out when—
“Escaping already?”
I whip around and see Braxton sitting straight-backed in one of the leather couches. He’s like a giant cat, always popping in when you least expect him. He has a laptop on his lap and a pair of reading glasses on his face.
The reading glasses are a surprise and, somehow, make him look even hotter.
No! No boys! Remember what Thom said…
“I’m going on a walk,” I say. “I want to get a good look at the property.”
Braxton closes his computer, puts his glasses aside, and rises suddenly. “I’m coming with you.”
I pout. “I don’t need a babysitter.” There’s that word again. Why does it seem everyone is intent on taking care of me, like I might rattle to pieces any second?
“No, but I might.” He widens the screen door, and I slip out, Braxton following behind me.
“How’s Cora?” I ask once we’re walking side by side, our shoes kicking up dust as we walk.
“Fine.” His tone is curt, short.
I hug my arms around my chest. I thought the South was supposed to be warm; instead, a cool breeze nips through my knitted sleeves. “Are you sure? She seemed a little overwhelmed.”
The corner of his mouth turns downward. “Country life isn’t really our thing.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Silver Spoon. What is your thing, exactly?”
“I don’t follow.”
“You know. Something you like? Most people have some of those.” When he doesn’t respond, I continue. “Okay, I’ll start. I like cats. Double-stuffed Oreos. Binge-watching TV shows. Knitting.” I glance over at him. “I can knit you a scarf, if you’d like.”
“I already have someone to knit my scarves. Michael Kors.”
“Okay, a tea cozy, then.”
His eyebrows lift. “A tea cozy?”
“Yes. So you can wrap it around your cold, cold heart.”
A noise leaves his mouth and—strangest of things—it almost sounds like a laugh. He admits, “I’d like that.” His eyes flicker over me, and he adds, “Though you look like the cold one.”
Braxton doesn’t ask me if I want it; he just takes off his smoke-grey coat and hangs it on my shoulders. It’s lined in polyester, and I weave my arms through it. I try to bite back a smile. “Thanks.”
The dirt path underneath us finally breaks into some sprouts of green grass. Oak and maple trees stretch their arms around us, and the setting sun flickers through the autumn leaves. The Dalton property is larger than I thought, and as we weave through the trees, I hear a low gurgle.
I stop quickly and move my hand to Braxton’s arm to still him as well. “Braxton. Look.”
There’s a small river dividing the two halves of the property. Light glints off the water as it bubbles and trickles down the rocks. On the other side of the stream, lush, rich grass.
Eureka. I get an idea and tug Braxton’s sleeve. “It’s across the river.”
“What is?”
I don’t have time for questions. I’m already dashing down the hill. My boots splash across the shallow river. I hear Braxton behind me, his quick steps stuttering with bourgeois trepidation (will his nice shoes survive getting a little wet in the river?).
I climb the small hill on the opposite side of the river and scale the short fence. It drops me off at a clearing. And here…it’s perfect. The grass is lush, green, and the opening is clear enough to fit an altar, a row of seats, even a small tent. Already, my imagination is running wild.
I’m winded from my sprint, but I manage to get out, “It’s beautiful.”
Braxton catches up with me, his own chest quietly rising and falling. “It’s okay. For a ranch.” He glances down and adds, “You realize we’re standing on train tracks.”
I turn my eyes down with him. He’s not lying—underneath our feet stand the bare, skeletal bones of abandoned train tracks. Whatever train used to run here, this route has long been forgotten and is now overgrown with tall weeds.
I grin and take a step back. “Stand over there,” I say, pointing to the other side of the train track.
He does and looks at me expectantly.
“It’s perfect.” I beam. “She’s the city girl. He’s the country boy. They’ll get married on opposite side of the tracks.”
When Braxton gets it, his lips press together in grim amusement. “Well played, Susie.”
I step over the tracks and nudge him with my shoulder. “So you admit it. It would be a beautiful place for a wedding.”
“It would. If you can cut down the weeds, tame the overgrowth, and erect a podium.”
“We’ve got a week. God built the world in seven days. Anything’s possible.”
“You’re hopelessly optimistic. One day, someone is going to pop that bubble you live in.”
“Someone like you, Mr. Prickly Pear?” I turn around, perch my elbows on the fence, and look out along the property. “This wedding will make a romantic out of you yet. I see piles of fall leaves. Torch lights when the party runs late. The bride and groom dancing barefoot as fireflies flicker around them.”
“Just try to keep the expenses to a minimum,” Braxton sighs. “My purse strings are already weeping.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Okay, now I’m confused. Your purse strings?”
“Yes. Mine.” He turns around now so he’s side by side with me. “I’m financing the wedding.”
My mouth nearly hits the ground. “You? But you hate weddings. And happiness. And Ray.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “But I love my sister. I promised her a long time ago that I’d give her whatever she wants, no matter what.” The fading sun casts a light, orange glow around Braxton’s profile. In this light, he looks almost human. There are soft flaws in his face, worry lines in his forehead, a too-tight jawline, and a darkness that lingers in his irises. He’s like an old, salty ship that has weathered the beatings of tremendous storms and survived on sheer stubbornness alone. But there’s a warmth to him too. Underneath all that dogged determination, he loves his sister. He would do anything for her, even if it means setting aside his own ego.