“Shut up, Jace,” I groan, although I’m grinning along with everyone else.

Mr. Dawson pulls the SUV off into a large dirt field already filled with parked cars. I open my door and eye the soft earth below skeptically.

“What’s wrong?” Jace asks as I hesitate.

“Nothing. I just didn’t think the heels through.” I admit, laughing to try and cover my embarrassment.

Jace doesn’t say anything in response, he just climbs out past me. Rather than turning around, he stands there with his back to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “I was already going to have trouble getting out. There was no need to complicate things further.”

Jace snorts. “Get on, Viv.”

I scoot forward and place a hand on one of his broad shoulders. I move to wrap my leg around his waist, but the fabric of my skirt stops me. Groaning, I shimmy it up until the material nearly reaches my upper thigh.

“Any day now,” Jace tells me, his voice amused.

“I had to make some outfit adjustments,” I inform him, finally climbing onto his back.

“What kind of outfit…” Jace stops speaking when his hands encounter my tight-clad thighs rather than velvet material.

Sizzles of electricity skitter through me as the heat from his hands burns through the thin material. Jace starts walking across the field. I’m grateful for the length of my coat, which conceals both his intimate touch and my mostly exposed legs.

We attract a fair amount of attention from other wedding guests as Jace’s long strides eat up the spongy ground, and I’m unsure if they’re staring because it’s Jace or because they’re surprised to see one wedding guest carrying another.

We reach the brick path that leads to the large barn, where the rest of the Dawsons are standing, watching Jace and me with expressions of amusement. Jace slides me down his back gently, and I quickly tug my dress down under my coat.

“Had no idea you were such a gentleman, big bro,” Mike teases as we all start walking up the path. Jace opens his mouth to reply, but Mrs. Dawson beats him to it.

“You could learn a thing or two from your older brother, Michael.”

Jace grins while Mike rolls his eyes. We reach the small side door of the massive barn. It’s propped open, and I look around in awe when we step inside.

Rather than the assorted farm equipment and tools that fill the Dawsons’ barn, the interior of this building doesn’t offer any glimpse that we’re on a working farm.

The walls have been cleared of any dust or cobwebs and the wide wooden planks that comprise the floor gleam as though they’ve been freshly scrubbed. Twinkling lights are wrapped around the beams. Dozens of round tables pepper the central space, each displaying a carefully arranged assortment of bittersweet. Long tables line the walls of the room, holding empty serving dishes, glasses, plates, utensils, and bottles of champagne. A raised stage is set up with instruments and microphones for a band and an empty stretch of floor in front of it is clearly meant to be a dance floor.