Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
The rest, I’ll figure out later.
We managed to land the best seat in the house, out on the terrace, overlooking glacier-fed waters that gleam gold beneath the last bit of sunlight. The Rockies rise in jagged peaks, the warm night air carrying that crisp bite only early mountain summers can hold.
It’s one hell of a view, but none of it holds a candle to the woman sitting across from me.
Harlow’s gaze drifts over the terrace, slow and deliberate, as if she’s trying to capture every detail and lock it away. “Man, these views are incredible,” she murmurs, a note of awe lacing her voice.
“They are,” I agree, lifting my beer. “But I’ve got the best one in the house.”
Her gaze flicks my way, deadpan as ever. “Are you this corny with all your dates, Masters?”
I chuckle, fully expecting the jab. “Only the pretty ones with sharp tongues.”
A flush creeps into her cheeks before she hides it behind a scoff. “Whatever. Just don’t start up with the fire-and-ice speech again and we’ll make it through tonight.”
“Hey, that was solid shit,” I argue.
“If you say so.”
Her mouth twitches, betraying the smile she’s trying to hold back.
“You plan weddings for a living, Goldilocks. Don’t tell me there’s not a hopeless romantic buried under all that bite.”
She snorts. “Not this wedding planner.”
That answer hooks me, my brow lifting. “Explain that to me. How does a girl go from throwing backyard weddings for her stuffed animals to building the real thing for a living, and not believe in any of it?”
“What can I say? I’m one of a kind.”
I don’t let her off the hook. “I’m serious. I want to know.”
She hesitates before a small sigh escapes. “The truth?”
I nod once.
“I used to be,” she says, quick to clarify. “A romantic, I mean. I was that girl—the dreamer who believed in fairytales. My favorite part of every story was always the wedding at the end. The happily ever after. It always felt so…magical.”
Her gaze turns distant, caught in the memory of the little girl she used to be.
“I wanted to be part of that. To feel it in real time. To create something so beautiful it would last forever.”
Every word lands heavy, the past tense impossible to ignore.
“And now?” I press when she falls quiet.
Her eyes find mine, and just like that, the wistfulness is gone. “Now I know better.”
The answer knocks something loose in my chest.
“I grew up and realized not everything is meant to last.” She lifts a shoulder, all casual, but her eyes give her away. “So now I focus on the day instead of the forever. The little details I can control. I give my clients something no one can take from them, a memory to hold onto. That way, if it all falls apart later, they’ll still have that one day. That one perfect moment when the magic felt real.”
She says it so matter-of-factly, like the admission doesn’t still ache in places.
It makes me really fucking sad. For her…and the little girl who used to believe in forever.
Of course, I don’t say that because the pity would only make it worse. Instead, I do what I always do: bury the heavy beneath something lighter.
“So, you’re a wedding planner who doesn’t believe in forever.” I grab my beer with a smirk. “That’s one hell of a contradiction, Goldilocks.”
A ghost of a smile traces her lips. “I’m a realist, Masters. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”
That’s what she wants me to believe, what she wants everyone to believe, but I know better. I’ve always known better.
Setting my drink back down, I lean forward, bracing my arms on the table. “Or maybe…you just need a reason to believe in the fairytale again.”
Something flickers across her face, a flash of longing, before she buries it beneath a sharp arch of her brow. “Are you saying you believe in the fairytale?”
“Hell yes,” I answer without hesitation. “My parents are proof of it. Thirty years, and they still can’t keep their hands off each other.”
Her expression softens with a smile. “I remember catching them a few times sneaking kisses in the backyard.”
I grunt, not the least bit surprised. “Yeah, they’re not exactly subtle.”
“Neither were you and your brothers,” she says, a hint of amusement cutting through. “Always running wild, pulling pranks…starting slime wars with the neighbor girl.”
The corner of my mouth lifts, but it’s weak.
I used to love pulling my brothers into every stunt, thought it was nothing but harmless fun. But after learning the truth about the day she left, I realize it was a mistake. One that ended up costing us both.
“Speaking of my brothers…” I start, pressing forward. “I talked to Cash.”
Her amusement vanishes, eyes locking on mine with quiet caution.
“He admitted he lied to you. Said he thought he was doing me a favor.” My jaw tightens, the edge of anger still sharp in my chest. “Trust me, I made sure he knows how big of mistake it was.”