[Complete]
Chloe's world is shattered when her parents' long-standing marriage comes to an abrupt end. Determined to shield herself from the pain of love, she vows to never allow her heart to be entangled, even if it means severing ties with Henry...
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Leah: Please send updates of your trip until I get there.
Sophie: $50 Chloe admits she's in love with Henry before she comes home.
Leah: $100 she makes out with him in the first two hours.
Sophie: $200 she has sex with him before the wedding.
Me: Oh my god. You guys do realize I'm in this group text, right?
Leah: Oh oops.
Me: There will be no need for any update of any sort.
Sophie: Okay, you keep telling yourself that.
I quickly tuck my phone away into my purse, trying to gather my last-minute items before leaving. With my suitcase in tow, I approach the front door, sneak a glance outside, and there he is—Henry, leaning casually against his truck, checking his watch with a slight grin forming on his lips. He's probably annoyed that I'm running ten minutes behind.
As I open the front door and step outside, he remarks, "You're late," his tone laced with a hint of playful annoyance.
"It's 8:10," I retort, rolling my eyes. "That's hardly considered late," I add, locking the door behind me.
I turn around, closing the distance between us, making my way towards where he is leaning against his truck. "Hey, when we get to the airport, do you think we'll have time to grab coffee?" I ask.
He chuckles warmly, pushing off the truck and stepping closer to me, his hand reaching out to take hold of my suitcase.
I can't help but smile, squinting my eyes playfully in response to his laughter. "Why is that so funny to you?" I ask.
"Chloe, we ain't flying to Tennessee, we're driving," he explains, his voice laced with amusement. He lifts my bag, eyebrows raised in surprise as he gauges its weight. "Holy shit, what did you pack in here?"
"We're driving? Isn't that, like, an eight-hours from here?" I remark, shaking my head in disbelief.
"It's actually six and a half hours from here to Franklin, and yes, we are driving," he says, his chuckles still lingering.
I watch as he tosses my suitcase into the back of his beat-up old Ford truck. "And we're driving this?" I ask, the disbelief evident in my voice. "Will it even make it that far?"
"Sweetheart, I rebuilt this engine with my own two hands. It's going to make it just fine," he reassures me, patting his truck with pride.
"Wait, you fixed this truck yourself?" I ask, my curiosity piqued as I take another look at the vehicle.
"Sure did," he responds with a grin, closing the back of the truck bed.
Oh shit, that's hot.
And now, my mind can't help but conjure up the image of him shirtless, his hands covered in grease, smudges of it on his face, sweat dripping down his forehead, glistening on his chiseled six-pack as he leans over, tools in hand, working on the engin–
