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“This is the Jubilee Parkway or Bayway, as us locals call it,” Lucy explains as we merge onto one of the two parallel concrete bridges that carry the interstate over the bay.

“It’s incredible.” The bridge seems to stretch out indefinitely as the Alabama sun casts a golden sheen across the water on either side.

“I mean, it’s no Brooklyn Bridge,” she teases me.

“Apples to oranges,” I reply with a wink. “Pretty damn cool all the same.”

As we both reach for the radio knob simultaneously, our fingers brush against each other. Lucy pulls her hand back, but I don’t, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

There’s a spark there, undeniable and electric, but I push it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. We’re crossing into a new territory, both figuratively and literally, and the last thing we need is to complicate things further. And after our little game of twenty questions, things already feel more complicated than when we left Mobile.

The music is a low hum in the background. After a while, and several turns I would never remember without GPS or Lucy, a sign announces we’re nearly there.

Magnolia Grove 1 mi

“Take a right up here.” Lucy motions.

A bluesy country tune plays as we leave the highway behind, winding through a canopy of trees.

We drive a couple of miles until a large wooden sign emerges, reading, “Welcome to Magnolia Grove.”

“Ready for the tour?” She chuckles. “Don’t blink, or you may miss it.”

“Ready.” I tap my temple. “Let’s see if it clicks with the color-coded map you emailed me.”

“Funny.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You’ll thank me later for that. Anyways, right over there is where the wedding will most likely take place. Like I said, my granny already reserved it, but we still have to meet with the pastor.”

“Whatever you say.”

She points to the right. “Down there is a Chinese takeout place and Willy’s Crab Shack. There is also Wade’s Landscaping and Earl the barber if you need landscaping or manscaping.”

“Noted.” I snort.

“Shit, I mean a shave.”

I swallow down a laugh.

“Don’t. Say. A word,” she grits out.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I turn my head so she can’t see me smiling.

“Okay, over here, lawyers and accountants. Hopefully, we won’t be needing those.” She chuckles nervously to herself.

The thought of talking to her about signing the papers my own attorney is working on leaves a lump in my throat.

We cross over an old wooden bridge, and on the other side is a picturesque town that looks like it was straight from a movie.

“This is me,” she announces, her voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. “Home sweet home.” Lucy points out her place on the corner, a two-story, whitewashed historic brick building with pale blue awnings. Simply Southern Weddings is frosted in elegant letters on a large picture window facing the main street.

“It’s beautiful, Sunny.”

She blushes, from the compliment or the use of her nickname… which, I’m not sure.

“Might as well make a quick lap around town to give you the lay of the land.”

“Won’t that just draw more attention to us?”

“Oh, Beau. You have a lot to learn about small towns. But I would wager money that the minute my SUV crossed the bridge into town, people knew I was home… with my fiancé.”