Chapter Three
Sloane
We slip out of Peak Tavern hand in hand, the cool night air hitting our flushed skin as laughter trails behind us.
The streets of Pine Peak glow softly under the streetlamps, and the towering pines stand like silent guardians around the edges of town.
The moonshine is humming warmly in my veins, making everything feel brighter, bolder, and a little bit magical.
Forrest’s fingers are laced tightly with mine, his big hand warm and steady.
Every few steps, our shoulders brush, and the simple contact sends sparks dancing across my skin.
We’re both grinning like idiots, still riding the high of dancing, the shots, and the undeniable pull that has been building between us all day.
Halfway down Main Street, Forrest slows, then stops. He turns to face me, eyes dark and intense in the lamplight. Before I can say anything, he backs me gently against the brick wall of the old hardware store, his broad body shielding me from the quiet street.
“Sloane,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with want. “Been wanting to do this since you hit my truck in the parking lot.”
My breath catches. “Then stop waiting.”
One big hand cups the side of my face as he leans down and kisses me.
The first press of his lips is surprisingly gentle, almost tentative, like he’s giving me one last chance to pull away.
I don’t. I rise onto my toes, slide my hands up his chest, and kiss him back with everything I’ve been holding in all day.
The kiss deepens instantly, heat exploding between us in seconds.
His beard scratches deliciously against my skin as he tilts his head, taking my mouth deeper, tongue sliding against mine in a slow, thorough stroke that makes my knees weak.
I moan softly into the kiss and feel his low growl vibrate against my chest. His free hand settles on my hip, pulling me flush against his hard body. My fingers tangle in his flannel, tugging him closer, while his thumb strokes my cheek with surprising tenderness even as the kiss turns hotter.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, Forrest rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed.
“Damn,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “That was…”
“Yeah,” I manage, lips tingling. “That was.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me with heat and something deeper. “Still want that one more adventure?”
I bite my swollen lip, heart racing with wild, reckless joy. “With you? Absolutely.”
We start walking again, faster this time, still holding hands, still stealing quick kisses every few steps like we can’t help ourselves. The courthouse comes into view, its windows still glowing with soft light.
Just as we reach the steps, a deep voice calls out from across the street.
“Well, hell. If it isn’t Forrest Kane making out with a pretty stranger on Main Street like a damn teenager.”
Forrest groans, but he’s grinning as he turns. A tall, rugged man with dark hair and a quiet intensity is walking toward us.
“Ryder,” Forrest says, voice warm despite the embarrassment. “Perfect timing, as usual.”
Ryder’s gaze flicks between us, taking in our flushed faces and joined hands. A slow smirk spreads across his face. “You two look like you’re about to do something stupid. Need a witness?”
Forrest glances at me, eyebrows raised in silent question. I laugh, the sound bubbling up bright and unstoppable.
“Yes,” I say, squeezing Forrest’s hand. “We’re about to do something very stupid, and we’d love a witness.”
Ryder chuckles and falls into step beside us as we climb the courthouse steps. “Never thought I’d see the day Forrest Kane lost his mind over a woman in under twelve hours. This I gotta see.”
Inside, Judge Harlan Whitaker looks up from his desk and chuckles the moment he sees our giddy, moonshine-bright faces.
“Well, well,” he says, pushing back his chair. “Forrest Kane and a lovely young lady. You two look like trouble. What brings you here so late on a Saturday night?”
“We wanted an adventure,” I announce, voice bright with tipsy courage. “Something fun. Something we’ll remember.”
The judge’s chuckle deepens. “Adventures at the courthouse usually mean marriage or bail. I’m guessing from those smiles it’s not bail.”
Neither of us had said anything about actually getting married, but for some crazy reason, it feels right, and I’m just going to go with my gut.
Before either of us can say anything, Mabel and Betty appear from the hallway like they were waiting for exactly this. Mabel is still wearing her apron and carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers she must have grabbed on the way. Betty stands beside her, eyes bright with excitement.
“Perfect timing,” Mabel declares. “Saw you two lovebirds making out on Main Street and figured you might need witnesses.”
Ryder leans against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “I’m here for moral support and to make sure Forrest doesn’t chicken out.”
Forrest flips him off good-naturedly, but his arm stays tight around my waist. He looks down at me, eyes soft but serious even through the buzz.
“Only if you want this, darlin’,” he says quietly. “We can walk right back out that door.”
I shake my head, heart pounding with wild, reckless joy. “No way, big guy. It’s crazy, but I want this adventure with you.”
Judge Whitaker clears his throat, voice warm and official but still carrying gentle amusement. “Then let’s do this properly.”
The words come fast and sure. Forrest says “I do” in that deep, steady voice.
I say “I do” with my heart in my throat and a smile I can’t contain.
Rings from the judge’s desk drawer slide onto our fingers.
Mabel hands me the little bouquet with a happy cheer.
Ryder whoops and claps Forrest on the back.
“You may kiss your bride,” the judge says with a warm smile.
Forrest doesn’t hesitate. He cups my face in his big hands and kisses me—deep, claiming, and full of all the heat and promise that’s been building between us since that first little thunk in the parking lot.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers fisting in his flannel, the whole world narrowing to the feel of his mouth on mine and the solid strength of the man who just became my husband.
When we finally pull apart, both of us breathless and grinning like fools, Judge Whitaker slides the marriage certificate across the desk.
“There you go, folks. Official as can be. Take good care of each other.”
We thank him in a happy daze, signing where he points and laughing when our signatures come out a little wobbly from the moonshine and pure excitement.
I tuck the certificate into my purse, and then we’re back outside under the starry sky, newly married, buzzing with joy, and still holding hands like we never plan to let go.
Ryder drives us to Forrest’s cabin, stolen kisses at every stop sign, and the wild, wonderful knowledge that we just did something completely reckless and completely right.