“She just moved here from the small town we grew up in,” I supplied. “It’s new, but it’s real. We’re as serious as a heart attack.” “How new?” “A few months, but we’ve known each other forever. She’s the one.” It took everything in me not to hold my fucking nose as I said it. “When you know, you know.” In reality, I wouldn’t marry Dylan if she were the last woman on earth. She was, among other things, a rebellious, stubborn, foul-mouthed, sharp-witted troublemaker. A twenty-six-year-old Swiftie, she was sex on legs and as manageable as an F5 tornado.
