The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“Only one way to find out,” he tells me.

“Is that why the guide looked at you like that?” I ask. “Like the two of you had a secret?”

He shrugs, sitting down near the rocks with a dead-eyed look for me.

“Get your cute butt over here and dig,” he growls.

I flop down next to him then, pushing away some sand in the center of the rocks. It looks like the top of something...a small wooden chest?

Curious, I dig deeper and lift the chest out of the sand.

“What’s this? What did you do?” I ask.

“That’s your wedding present.”

“Really?” I ask, touched by his thoughtfulness.

He nods solemnly.

Lifting back the lid, I stare at what looks like a large metallic skeleton key in the bottom, then look up at him.

He lifts it out of the box for me. “This key still works on the doors inside.”

“Doors?”

“Aunt Faye’s house,” he says, wagging a finger like it’s all obvious.

O-kay. Odd.

I take the heavy key, passing it back and forth, thinking as I feel its weight.

“Why give me a key that works on some doors at your aunt’s place?”

“Because it’s your house now, Shel. I drummed up a few donations and pitched in myself to buy it from Faye. All for you.” He pauses, kissing me again. “All for my adorable, dorky, history-obsessed wife. There’s a new account waiting for you, too, already loaded with cash from everybody who cares about preserving memories. The Barnets and Larkins alone tossed in enough to keep things going without making a dime for at least the next five years. So turn my aunt’s place into Dallas’ own museum. Whatever you decide to call it.”

Mind. Blown.

I slap a hand over my mouth and try not to short-circuit in his arms. Besides screaming with glee, I don’t know what to say, or do, or how I can ever repay him.

“Y-you’re serious? This isn’t one of your silly jokes?”

“My jokes are dumb as hell, but when are they cruel?” he says with a smirk.

“Seriously-seriously?” I whisper.

“Seriously, baby.”

“Oh, my—” An ecstatic sob steals my voice.

I kiss him. Hug him. Scratch him like I’m an overstimulated puppy.

Laughing, he grabs my wrists, urging calm.

“Easy. There’s just one little hitch you should know about...”

“What? Anything! I don’t think anything could ever ruin this, West.”

“Good, because Aunt Faye wants a job at the museum when it opens,” he says.