Page 12 of Curvy Girl and the Ex-Military Cowboy

The admission hangs between us as we enter the small town of Cedar Falls. It's charming in the way small American towns often are in films—a main street lined with local businesses, American flags hanging from lampposts, people greeting each other by name as they walk down the sidewalk.

As Aaron parks in front of a restaurant with a wooden sign reading "The Broken Spoke Steakhouse," I'm struck by the strangeness of my situation. Twenty-four hours ago, I was on a plane, wondering if I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Now I'm here, in this picturesque town, with this complicated man who might someday be my husband.

"Ready?" Aaron asks, turning off the engine.

"Ready," I reply, and I'm surprised to find I genuinely mean it.

Chapter 5 - Aaron

She might think I'm an idiot for taking her to a steakhouse on our first real outing together—first date, my brain supplies unhelpfully—but if she does, she doesn't say anything. Her face is neutral as we pull up in front of The Broken Spoke, Cedar Falls' idea of fine dining, which is about as fancy as my Sunday boots.

What she doesn't know is that I have other plans.

I check my watch discreetly as I turn off the engine. Vincent should have had plenty of time by now. I'd called him while Elena was freshening up before we left, and to his credit, he didn't ask too many questions—just said "I got you" in that way of his that made him my go-to brother since we were kids.

"Is this it?" Elena asks, looking at the restaurant with its wooden facade and neon beer signs glowing in the windows.

"Not exactly," I reply, feeling a flutter of nervousness in my gut that I haven't felt since my first deployment. "I have something else in mind, if you're up for it."

She raises an eyebrow, curious but not alarmed. "Something else?"

"Trust me?" I ask the question, feeling weightier than it should.

She stares at me for a moment, then nods. "Lead the way."

I guide her past the steakhouse and around the corner to where Vincent's truck is parked, exactly where I asked him to leave it. Through the window, I can see he's done everything I requested—and then some. Charlotte's influence, no doubt.

"We're not eating at the restaurant?" Elena asks, confusion clear in her voice.

"Nope," I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious about my plan. "I thought maybe a picnic would be better. Somewhere quiet where we can talk without an audience."

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise, then light up with something that might be pleasure. "A picnic?"

I open the passenger door of Vincent's truck to reveal a large wicker basket, a couple of thermoses, and a folded blanket. "I know a spot just outside town. It's got a view of the hills and the sunset."

Elena's smile is genuine. "This is lovely, Aaron. Much nicer than a noisy restaurant."

"I wasn't sure if you'd like it."

"I love it," she says.

I drive us out of town, taking the winding road that leads to my favorite spot on Cedar Falls—a hilltop clearing that overlooks the valley, far enough from the main ranch that we won't be disturbed.

The late-afternoon sun streams through the window, catching the dark strands of her hair and highlighting the contours of her face as she watches the landscape roll by. She's beautiful in a quiet, dignified way that seems to perfectly match her personality—no flashy makeup or affected gestures, just a natural elegance that makes me aware of my rugged hands and the dust perpetually ground into my boots.

When we reach the clearing, I park so the truck is facing the valley. The sun is beginning its descent, painting the hills in shades of gold and amber, the sky a canvas of pink and lavender.

Elena steps out of the truck, her eyes wide as she takes in the view.

"It's breathtaking," she says softly.

I busy myself getting the picnic supplies, trying not to notice how the breeze plays with her hair or how the sunset light warms her skin. She's a woman I barely know in person, yet through our correspondence, I feel like I've known her for years. It's a confusing contradiction.

We spread the blanket on the grass, and I unpack the basket—Vincent and Charlotte have outdone themselves. There's a selection of cheeses, fresh bread, grilled chicken, a pasta salad, and even chocolate-covered strawberries. One thermos contains coffee, the other red wine.

"Your brother thought of everything," Elena comments as I pour her a small cup of wine.

"It was probably Charlotte," I admit. "Vincent's idea of romance is remembering to put the toilet seat down."

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