“Want to grab a movie?” I gestured to the brick storefront of Rick’s Movie Rentals. “We could grill burgers and stay in tonight.”
“Sure.” Brett glanced out the window. “I didn’t think those existed anymore.”
I smiled, pulling into the gravel lot. “Watch what you say in public. We’re a no-Redbox town in support of Rick.”
“Really? That written down in the city code?”
I scowled at him. “Might as well be. Walmart stuck one out front—had to replace it three times due to vandalism. They finally gave up after the last one caught fire.”
“Did they catch who did it?”
I laughed. “No, and no one tried. That Redbox would have meant the death of one of our town’s oldest establishments. Plus,” I elbowed him, “if you give Rick the secret word, he’ll let you in the back where the dirty videos are.” I turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, and opened the door.
“Sounds clandestine.”
“Oh, it is.” I leaned against the front door, the chime of bells causing the round man behind the counter to look up with a smile.
“Hey Riley. It’s been a while.”
“Hey Rick. This is Brett—he’s visiting from Lauderdale.”
“Oh, I’ve heard.” The man eased off the stool and stood, reaching a hand across the glass counter. “Nice to meet you. Take good care of our girl, you hear?”
“I’m trying.” Brett smiled.
“Got anything new, Rick?” I called, dipping down the aisle.
“New ones are on the end caps.”
We finally—taking our time, nothing left of the town to see—decided on Die Hard, grabbing some candy and microwave popcorn packets off Rick’s shelf. Brett paid and we returned to the car, cracking open a box of chocolate peanuts for the ride home. I had just pulled out when Brett chuckled from the passenger seat, turning the DVD case over in his hand.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about our first dinner in Aruba. When you asked me to name a movie with singing in it.” He held up the case. “Doesn’t Bruce Willis sing in this? Some Christmas song while he’s running around?”
I tilted my head, thinking. “I think you’re right. Another shining example of your poor answering ability.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think Jerry Maguire endeared you a little to me. Cracked my tough guy exterior.”
“Tough guy exterior?” I laughed. “Please.”
It was odd, being in my normal environment with him beside me. The two of us—out of luxury, no palm trees or ocean waves in the background. My air conditioner blew hot, our burgers got slightly burnt, and the DVD skipped every time things got interesting, but the night was a success.
That night, his body curled around mine, Miller’s body warm on my feet, I fought off sleep. I just wasn’t ready for the day to end and him to fly away in the morning. I had been so nervous about the weekend, the wedding, and all for nothing. Brett had been perfect, complimenting the girls, dancing most of the night on the floor, jumping on stage with the band at one moment and showcasing an impressive ability to—of all things—play the guitar. I’d fallen deeper in love with him at every turn, with every introduction, with each wink he gave me and kiss he stole. It was as if his profession of love had opened a floodgate in my heart, and my body was finally allowing a hundred powerful emotions to pour forth and link my soul to his. I had pulled aside my father early, his gruff exterior becoming even more rigid when I ordered him off of Brett.
“It’s my job as your father to protect you. You’ll understand it when you have a child.”
“I won’t ever get to that point if you scare off any potential suitors,” I had said pointedly, my hand gripping his shoulder. I’d looked up at him and begged with my eyes. “Please, Daddy. Just let me have this one relationship and trust me that I know what I’m doing. Please.”
His eyes had softened and he’d pulled me close to his chest. “You know I love you, Riley.”
“I know, Daddy. Now prove it by trusting me.” I spoke into his shirt, his hand pausing in its pat of my back.
“If that’s really what you want, pumpkin.”
I pulled back and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Now, where is this man? At least let me give him a warning glare.”
I had laughed, looping my arm through his and leading him to Brett. Dad had postured, straightening to his full height and gripping Brett’s hand with a strength that had to hurt. Brett had smiled, easy and confident, his eyes direct on my father’s, soft on my mother’s, his head tilting when he listened to her speak. He was, simply put, perfect. And they didn’t fight it, Mom beaming at me, Dad actually clapping Brett on the back near the end of the night, his mouth curving into a rare smile. If I could replay the evening a hundred times, I would. Especially our last dance, the music slow, our bodies close, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging at the pins there. I hadn’t protested, I’d just rested my forehead on his as I felt the fall of curls on my bare back. “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you,” he’d murmured. I’d said nothing, just released a soft sigh and taken his kiss when it’d come.
I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you.
The best sentence in the world.