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A smile spreads over my face as I pump his hand. “Patrick. And, yeah, no—I did not remember.”

Chris might be a whole other world, but this David—David, the oldest son who was supposed to take over the company, but who isn’t for some reason—he is more my type of man. He’s not as booming or jolly as his dad. Maybe getting close to him will help me to make my case for purchasing the company.

“Great. We’ll head to the restaurant, and you all can catch up with us when you’re ready,” Chris says.

Cami is already turning and heading inside, and I realize it’s likely because even in Chanel, she probably doesn’t want to go to a nice dinner in a pair of sweatpants and a nice jacket. I give David one last look, then turn and follow her—along with the young bellhops taking our bags—inside.

First, we walk through the main hall, which contains the kitchen, dining, and living rooms. It’s a communal space, full of puzzles and books, framed by a large fireplace that encourages you to sit down and spend some time. The cabin is all soaring ceilings and polished, exposed wood. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn some old Finnish artisans worked on this place. Each column, every molding, seems to hold a sense of artistic energy, some scene or design carved into the piece.

Following the men carrying our bags, we leave through the back of the main house and follow a small path back to a smaller lodge, tucked away amongst a scattering of trees. Our little cottage is the one furthest from the big house, and the most secluded.

I tip generously, as always, before they leave, and they thank me before ducking out of the door.

When I turn around, I catch sight of the look on Cami’s face.

Of course, I’d never requested anything different from Chris, so he’s put us in a cabin with one enormous bed. There’s enough space on the thing that we could spread out, arms and legs stretched like a starfish, and never even touch one another.

Still, the look on her face concerns me.

Grabbing my suitcase and popping it up onto a bench, I say, “I can sleep on the couch.”

Cami whips back to face me. “What? No, of course not. It’s fine. We can build a pillow wall.”

I don’t watch romantic comedies, but I know enough to understand that the pillow wall is a feeble attempt at dividing a bed. Instead of addressing it, I just duck into the en-suite bathroom to freshen up.

When I come back into the main area, Cami is wearing a black wrap dress that hugs her curves and genuinely makes my heart skip a beat. I need to get back to my morning runs. I can’t have my cardiovascular system struggling like this.

“Tie it for me?” she asks, and when I come over to her, I’m hyper-aware of everything. My breathing. My hands brushing against the nape of her neck.

Then it’s over, and she’s ducking into the bathroom, taking her brand-new Gucci toiletry bag with her. It looks strange in her hands, but watching her shut the door, I feel a sense of pride over her having it. I got it for her.

And maybe I like the feeling of buying things for Cami a little too much.

I’m starting to like Cami a little too much, but so far, there’s been nothing I can do to stop it.

Dinner is loud and boisterous, and my “fiancée” looks like she loves every single second of it. I can only imagine her entire life has led to this moment—plenty of time around the table with a loud, chaotic family of her own.

Cami talks to everyone, asking Gloria about her latest cookbook, chatting with Bailey about her due date and any potential names, and even talking to Chris openly about the toy company.

“My nieces and nephews play with so many of those toys, and I never even realized they came from the same place.”

Chris laughs happily, apparently not bothered to be talking shop at the table. “That was all David. He insisted we diversify and keep the Moreno label in the background. Don’t want to pigeonhole yourself into doing one thing, and he said that way the individual branding could shine. He was right.”

I glance over at David, who’s mostly been staying quiet throughout the meal. If he was that involved in the company, and seemed to be doing a pretty good job at it, then why not take over? Surely, Chris would just name him as successor? It would be a lot easier than having to section off the entire enterprise and sell it off, piece by piece.

“Now, Cami and Patrick,” Gloria says, putting her fork down and clasping her hands together. She’s an older woman with long dark hair and laugh lines. “Please, tell us about your wedding planning!”

I glance at Cami, a heavy rock sinking in my stomach. It’s in the notes, somewhere, details about our “planning,” but suddenly, all that information has fled my brain. Under the table, as though she can sense my nerves, Cami reaches over and laces her fingers through mine.

Turning to Gloria, she says, “Well, considering the size of my family and Patrick’s friends who are planning on attending, we knew we would need some time to plan. But I know exactly which venue I want.”

“Oh—and where is that?”

“I’m from Colorado, and there’s this mountain lodge where I grew up that I just don’t think anyone sees the potential in. The owners don’t usually allow weddings there, but they’re friends of my father’s, so I think we’ll manage to convince them.”

Cami glances over at me warmly, and it reminds me to smile. Right. A wedding in the Rocky Mountains—exactly what I always pictured.

Except, sitting here next to Cami and listening to her explain what makes it so beautiful—the reflecting lake and mountains in the distance—I can picture it. I can picture her and I there, holding hands, me in a tux and her in a white dress.