“You want to build a what?” Thor squinted at Missy convinced she’d just gone a little crazy.

Yet, sitting in her pretty lavender dress, Missy went on undaunted as the two of them enjoyed a cocktail at the bar before dinner “A chapel. On your property. For weddings.”

“Miss, my property is a plantation. A farm. Where we grow stuff.”

“But we agreed part of the land would be great as a party venue.”

“Did we? Did we agree on that?”

“Yes,” Missy assured him. “Right after the Party at the Plantation was such a huge success.”

“Because there was the Ultimate Tire Swing competition and Tug of War over an open flame. Not to mention the laugh-your-drunken-ass-off part of the party better known as cow tipping. That’s the kind of party you throw on a plantation.”

“That’s one kind of party,” she agreed.

“The answer is no.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No, Annabelle and Duncan are not getting hitched on my plantation.”

Missy eyed him suspiciously. “And why not?”

“Because I’m reserving that right for myself and my future bride.”

Missy sat up straighter, almost spilling her champagne. “And have you picked out this future bride?”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

“Well, maybe your future bride would like to be married in her hometown. Ever think of that?”

“Pfft.”

“Pfft?”

“My future bride considers Henderson her hometown.”

“She does?”

“She does.”

“You sound awful sure of yourself.”

“Oh, I am. I’m quite sure of myself.”

“How are you so sure of yourself?”

Thor turned his head in Missy’s direction and lowered his voice. “I’ve got plans to build a gazebo. A very large, very romantic gazebo. It’s going to be situated so that during sunset the gazebo, the surrounding landscape, and whoever is standing inside it, will be cast in that spectacular hue that professional photographers wait for to achieve the perfect shot.”

Missy sat speechless.

“My bride is going to want to stand in that gazebo beside me on a picturesque June evening when a photographer snaps that perfect wedding portrait. A portrait we’ll frame to stand the test of time, as will my unending love of her.”

After a moment Missy slapped her hand against the bar and called, “Harry. Stick a fork in me, I’m done.”