“What do you mean?”
“What’s the plan? Salon? Real estate? A marriage and kids and a picket fence?”
My nose scrunches at the thought of a wedding right now. Magnolia just had hers and it was beautiful. I used to think I’d love a wedding one day, and a little one like her Bridget.
With everything Asher’s going through and what his family’s going through, I don’t see that happening. “I’d be fine if we never got married, to be honest.”
“Really?” Renee’s genuine shock is surprising.
“I thought you didn’t even like weddings?” I question her with a comical tone.
“I mean, I don’t. But you and Asher … you’ve had your wedding planned since high school, haven’t you?”
Just the mention of the two of us in high school brings a soft smile to my face.
“I had a lot of plans half a decade ago, Renee.” Remembering back then and how simple everything was, and how little we were prepared. I had lots of ideas and no real idea what they meant. “We all did. Plans change, though. As long as I have Asher, the rest doesn’t matter.”
“If you say so,” Renee says and sighs, like she doesn’t believe me.
Her focus drifts and I peek over my shoulder to see Griffin coming through the side door. A stack of papers in one hand, what appears to be an empty coffee cup in the other, and his dark brown eyes on Renee.
His lips lift in the semblance of a smile, like he can’t hold it back and I’m quick to turn around and find Renee blushing. She clears her throat and goes back to wiping down bottles.
“Good to see you, Bri,” Griffin calls out and gives me a wave before pushing open the front door. The daylight spills into the dimly lit bar.
“You too, thanks for letting me in early,” I tell him and he only nods, his gaze slipping back to Renee before he heads out.
“Yeah, plans never work out like they’re supposed to,” Renee states, taking in a deep, steadying breath.
“What about you two?”
Her hazel eyes meet mine. “What about who?”
I can’t help the smile that breaks out. “You and Griffin?”
She tries to play dumb, but right then and there, she spills it.
* * *
And holy hell, love is … something else.
* * *