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His quiet laugh rumbled beside me. "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

A moment later, his arm settled around my shoulders. Warm. Solid. Comforting in a way I hadn't expected.

I closed my eyes, listening to the music and the distant laughter.

His shirt was soft against my cheek, and the warmth of his body took the edge off the cool evening air. For once, I didn't feel compelled to check my phone or find something productive to do.

I could simply sit there and enjoy myself.

It was a surprisingly unfamiliar feeling.

I let my head rest against him. And I didn't worry about who might be watching. I didn't worry about what it looked like. I didn't worry about whether we were convincing anyone.

I was just present. With Damon. Listening to the music. Watching the lights twinkle overhead. Feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my cheek.

And for one reckless, breathtaking moment, I let myself imagine it. A life here.

Damon and I spending countless evenings like this, sitting outside after a long day, talking when we felt like it and enjoying the quiet when we didn't. I pictured mornings on the porch overlooking the pastures, coffee in hand while the ranch slowly came to life.

Sunday dinners with his family would probably be loud and chaotic. His mother would insist everyone take home leftovers, Dylan would steal food from somebody's plate, and Damon would find some ridiculous way to make me laugh. Mornings with coffee on a porch overlooking green pastures.

And the thought came so suddenly, so effortlessly, I couldn't stop it.

I could be happy here.

My eyes flew open. Oh, no. Huh uh. Nope. Absolutely not.

That was not an acceptable thought. That was the kind of thought that led to poor decisions and joint bank accounts and crying in your car outside a Target.

I had a company to run. A home on the other side of the country. A future I'd planned down to the last detail. None of those plans included moving to a ranch or falling for a cowboy with a reputation of treating commitment like a contagious disease.

After the wedding, we'd go back to our separate lives, and everything would return to normal.

At least, that was the plan.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Damon's voice was low beside my ear.

I tipped my head back enough to look at him. "Fine."

"Good." His thumb brushed gently over my shoulder. Then he pressed the softest kiss to the top of my head. Like it was nothing. Like it was everything.

My heart squeezed so hard it hurt. I could've stayed like that for hours.

The unsettling part wasn't that I enjoyed his company. I'd known for a while that Damon could make me laugh, even when I was determined not to let him.

What frightened me was how quickly I was getting used to having him around.

And how much I was going to miss him when I flew back home tomorrow.

29

GOLDEN RETRIEVER WITH SEPARATION ANXIETY

Damon

Ihad a problem.

A five-foot-six, dark-haired, stubborn-as-hell problem who seemed to have disappeared from the reception.