Why they call it a farmhouse is beyond me. That word paints an image of a little white house with a chicken coop. This is a Southern plantation. A huge, wide porch with pillars looks to encompass the entire place. Mums line whiskey barrels and give the clean exterior pops of burgundy, orange, and yellow. It’s breathtaking.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathe as it comes into full view. “Not what I expected.”
“This is my second favorite place in the world,” he whispers against my ear.
“Second? What could be more perfect that this?”
Before he can pull away, I turn my face so my lips capture his. He deepens the kiss, our lips working against one another in perfect harmony. As we pull away, breathless, he grins. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’ll ensure you come later,” I promise.
“Naughty girl,” he chuckles as the car rolls to a stop. “I like it.”