8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Wylie
The helicopter touches down with a smooth hum, its blades slowing as I power everything down and glance over at Bella.
She’s still grinning.
Her hair’s windblown, cheeks flushed from the ride, eyes bright with a kind of thrill I haven’t seen in a long time. Not in red carpet dates or movie premieres or staged interviews.
Bella’s excitement is real.
She turns to me with a laugh as she unbuckles. “Okay, I’ll admit it. That was... insane. But, like, fun insane.”
I grin as I climb out and offer her a hand. “Fun is the goal.”
We step onto the rooftop landing pad, and I guide her across to the restaurant’s upper deck. The view stretches wide—twinkling city lights, the Cumberland River cutting through downtown, and the Nashville skyline glowing under a soft indigo sky.
The rooftop has been set up for us. String lights overhead, a soft jazz trio playing in one corner, the scent of rosemary and freshly baked bread drifting in from the kitchen. Subtle. Elegant. Private.
A hostess in sleek black greets us and leads us to a corner table set with candlelight and white linens. Bella looks around like she’s not sure if she should sit or pull out a phone to prove this really happened.
“This is… incredible,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers over the edge of her linen napkin.
“It’s a favorite spot,” I say, easing into the chair across from her. “Not flashy, just good food, good atmosphere.”
“And a helipad, apparently.”
“Well,” I shrug, “some people bring flowers. I bring altitude.”
That earns me a soft laugh. It’s everything.
Our server arrives, pours a local wine, and tells us about the chef’s special: grilled trout with citrus herb butter, truffle risotto, seasonal vegetables, and something involving bourbon-glazed figs that sounds downright sinful.
Bella orders with the ease of someone who enjoys food, not someone trying to impress. It’s refreshing.
When we’re alone again, I lean back and say, “Scout seemed happy to see you again.”
Her face lights up. “He’s such a good dog. I still think about how fast he picked you. You were the perfect match for him. That doesn’t always happen, and it’s almost never so quick.”
“I can’t believe I resisted having a dog for so long. He brings so much joy to my life. He’s my best friend.”
Bella nods, her expression soft. “Dogs are amazing, and Scout’s one of the best. He has the sweetest disposition.”
“I think he got it from his rescue mom.”
She blushes slightly, ducking her head, and I swear it’s more effective than a red-carpet gown ever could be.
The conversation drifts easily—from favorite hikes to hometown quirks, to her plans for expanding the rescue and my stubborn inability to learn guitar despite having access to the world’s best music instructors. She’s smart, curious, passionate. I’m amused to learn that 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton is her favorite song. And when she talks about the dogs—how she matches each one with just the right person—her whole face glows.
She doesn’t ask me for anything. No favors. No name-dropping. Not even a selfie. She’s not here to build her brand or get a headline.
She’s just here .
And she’s breathtaking.
Not because of what she’s wearing—though that sweater is working some kind of soft, magic spell—but because she’s real . The opposite of all the starlets and supermodels that I’m surrounded by on a regular basis.
She outshines them all.
And I’m going to try like hell to keep her in my life as long as possible. Maybe even forever, if I can manage it.