I, Jayne Pembroke, must have been out of my mind. Erik Randolph, Youngsville’s most eligible playboy, had walked into the store where I worked, chosen a ring for his future bride—and then proceeded to ask me to marry him. And although I knew our marriage would be based more on terms of a will than love at first sight, my heart beat at an unfamiliar pace the moment I uttered “I do.” Because it’s not every day you get to walk down the aisle—or fall in love with your very own husband.
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