Before Dallas

Alexia

Soft music drifted through the apartment as I moved around the kitchen, setting out snacks across the marble island and straightening things that didn’t really need straightening. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Dallas glittered beneath the darkening sky, all restless headlights and neon reflections, but inside the apartment everything felt softer. I had dimmed the overhead lights until the rooms glowed warm and golden, the kind of atmosphere that made even the longest workdays feel easier to leave behind.

I shut my laptop a little harder than necessary as I walked past the kitchen island, still replaying the call I’d ended less than ten minutes earlier. The executive fromWest & Wildehad spent nearly forty minutes dismantling every concept I had pitched for their upcoming campaign, speaking with the kind of polished condescension only people in fashion seemed capable of mastering. Unfortunately for me, she had never been the type to soften her opinions either.

The irritating part was that I knew the campaign was good. It was probably the strongest work I had put together in months. The entire concept was built around blending old western influence with modern luxury Dallas life , expensive tailoring against dusty backdrops, sharp silhouettes mixed with vintage Americana, which, ironically, had beenWest & Wilde’s own direction in the first place. Apparently, though, they wanted “Texas with edge” without it actually looking too Texan, a sentence that still made absolutely no sense no matter how many times I turned it over in my head.

I twisted my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head as I moved around the apartment, absently singing along to Sabrina Carpenter playing through the speakers. There was probably something ironic about a happily engaged woman dancing around her kitchen to songs openly criticizing men, but after the day I’d had, I was willing to overlook it.

The sound of the apartment door unlocking pulled me from my thoughts almost instantly, and before I could stop it, a smile spread warmly across my face.

Ryan stepped inside looking pleasantly exhausted from the workweek, dropping his bag by the front door before shrugging out of his jacket and toeing off his boots beside it. The familiar routine of it all softened something in me immediately as he made his way toward the open living area like this apartment, like us, was the easiest thing in the world to come home to.

“Hey, babe.”

Ryan’s voice softened the room even more as he stepped behind me, pressing a warm kiss against my temple before wrapping his arms loosely around my waist. I leaned back into him automatically, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of cedar and the outside air still clinging to him from the city. After four years together, it was terrifying how quickly his presence could settle every sharp edge in me.

I reached for the wine bottle sitting on the counter and poured him a generous glass before handing it over my shoulder. Ryan took a sip almost immediately, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he glanced down into the glass.

“You bought the expensive one,” he noted, amusement flickering in those hazel eyes I knew almost as well as my own reflection. “Bad day?”

I let out a quiet groan before taking a sip from my own glass, letting the warmth of the wine settle on my tongue. “It’s West & Wilde.”

Ryan laughed instantly, the sound low and familiar against my shoulder as he tightened his arms around me for a second.

“Ah,” he murmured knowingly. “So they’re still pretending they want creativity while asking for the exact same campaign they rejected three months ago?”

“Don’t even start.” I turned around in Ryan’s arms with a look of genuine offense. “The executive was so rude to me today. Completely obnoxious.”

Ryan tried, and failed, to hide the amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh no,” he said solemnly. “Not the terrifying women of luxury fashion.”

I narrowed my eyes immediately. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are, baby.”

“She spent forty minutes tearing apart my presentation only to circle back to my original concept in the end.”

Ryan laughed softly again. “That sounds about right.”

I shoved lightly at his chest. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” he defended, catching my wrist before I could move away. “I’m also entertained when you get all fired up like this.” his eyes twinkled and I couldn’t hide my smile.

“She actually said my campaign felt ‘too authentic.’”

Ryan blinked once. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly!” I pointed at him dramatically. “Thank you.”

He took another sip of wine, shaking his head slowly. “Corporate people love making normal words sound threatening.”

I laughed under my breath. “She kept saying they wanted something more elevated.”

Ryan’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You work for a company called West & Wilde.”

“I know.” I slammed the glass on the counter a little bit too aggresively, spilling a bit of the wine. “They literally sell six-hundred-dollar cowboy boots!”

“And somehow you’re the problem.” he pulled me back against him.

I groaned, dropping my forehead briefly against his chest. “This is why I wanted wine.”

Ryan’s hand slid slowly up my back. “For the record,” he murmured softly above my head, “I think your ideas are probably better than anything they’ll end up choosing.”

Something in my chest warmed immediately at how certain he sounded saying it.

I looked back up at him. “You have to say that. You’re marrying me.”

Ryan smiled lazily. “Pretty sure I decided that after realizing you argue with executives like a southern lawyer in heels.”

A smile pulled at my lips as I kissed him, easy and familiar, the warmth of his mouth melting away the frustration that had been sitting in my chest since the end of the workday. There was something dangerously comforting about Ryan, something that made the rest of the world feel quieter whenever he touched me like this.

I loved him. Completely, hopelessly, in the kind of way that had slowly crept into every corner of my life without me even noticing it happening. Somewhere between shared grocery lists, late-night conversations in bed, and years of building routines around each other, Ryan Bennett had become part of everything I imagined for my future. He knew how to make me laugh when stress made me impossible to be around, how to pull me out of my own head before I spiraled too far into work or worry, and how to make me feel loved without ever having to try too hard at it. Loving him had never felt complicated. It had always felt as natural as breathing.

We settled into the large sofa overlooking the city, the conversation slipping into its usual rhythm so easily it barely required thought anymore. Ryan talked about his day while absently tracing circles against my leg with his fingertips, complaining about meetings that should have been emails and spreadsheets he was convinced existed purely to ruin his mood. I listened with my head resting against his shoulder, half watching the Dallas skyline glowing through the windows while the familiar comfort of being beside him settled warmly through me.

Then suddenly I remembered the package that had arrived earlier that afternoon. My head lifted immediately.

“You won’t guess what arrived today.” I said, unable to hide the excitement in my voice despite the fact I had spent most of the evening complaining about work.

Ryan let out an immediate groan into his wine glass before I’d even finished speaking. “If it’s another stack of bridal magazines, I’m leaving.”

I pulled back just enough to stare at him in mock offense. “You are literally engaged to me.”

“Debatable after the centerpiece conversation.”

A laugh escaped me as I pushed myself off the sofa, already reaching toward the pile sitting neatly on the kitchen counter.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Ryan watched me over the rim of his glass, looking far too entertained with himself.

“No, baby,” he corrected lazily, “unbelievable was you making me compare shades of cream for forty-five minutes like my answer actually mattered.”

“It did matter.”

“They were identical.”

“They were not.”

Ryan shook his head slowly, still smiling to himself. “I swear wedding planning has made you emotionally unstable over color palettes. They were all white.”

I turned to glare at him. “One was pearl.”

Ryan looked at me with complete disbelief. “That sounds fake.”

A laugh escaped me as I grabbed one of the bridal magazines from the stack and pointed it toward him accusingly.

“This,” I informed him dramatically, “is exactly why I’m handling all aesthetic decisions.”

“Good,” he replied easily, sinking further into the sofa like he didn’t have a single real concern in the world as long as I was sitting beside him. “Because if this wedding was up to me, we’d end up in somebody’s backyard with folding chairs and beer coolers.”

I turned toward him slowly, genuinely horrified. “You’re joking.”

Ryan smiled then, soft and lazy and so familiar it still somehow managed to affect me every single time I saw it.

“Mostly.”

God, I loved him.

I shook my head under my breath, unable to stop smiling as I moved back toward the kitchen island and started sorting through the stack of magazines scattered across the marble countertop.

“Honestly,” I murmured while flipping through glossy pages filled with flowers and tablescapes I had already overanalyzed three separate times, “sometimes I forget you’re secretly still a small-town man.”

Something in Ryan’s expression changed at that, subtle enough most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all. His smile softened around the edges as he watched me moving around the apartment, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch while the city lights reflected gold against the windows behind him.

“Don’t insult me in my own apartment,” he muttered, though there was no real defense behind it.

I smiled to myself as I continued digging through the pile, searching for the magazine article comparing summer wedding palettes for July ceremonies, fully aware Ryan’s eyes were still following me around the room in that absentminded way they always did. Four years together and he still looked at me like I was his favorite thing to come home to, and maybe that was why loving him had always felt so frighteningly easy.

The knock at the door came just as Ryan reached across the coffee table for another handful of chips, and the grin that spread across his face was immediate enough to make me laugh before he even spoke.

“There he is.”

“You say that,” I called after him as he pushed himself off the sofa, “like he’s a divorced father arriving for custody weekend.”

Ryan pointed toward me without missing a beat as he headed for the door. “That is exactly the energy Dominic brings into this apartment.”

The door swung open a second later, revealing Dominic standing in the hallway with a paper bag tucked beneath one arm and a six-pack hanging loosely from his fingers.

“I almost turned around when I heard my name being slandered from inside.” he said dryly as he stepped through the doorway.

Ryan laughed, clapping a hand against his shoulder before shutting the door behind him. The two of them had known each other for so long their friendship had stopped feeling like effort years ago, settling instead into something that looked closer to family. Ryan had once told me they met during freshman year of college after Dominic nearly got into a fistfight defending him at a bar, which somehow explained their entire relationship perfectly.

“You’d have nowhere else to go on a Friday night,” Ryan informed him.

“True,” Dominic admitted easily, toeing off his shoes near the door before his attention landed on the kitchen island. His eyebrows lifted immediately. “Jesus Christ, Lex. Did you prepare for three people or a small corporate event?”

I glanced toward the spread of snacks across the marble countertop. “I had a stressful day.”

Dominic nodded once like that explained everything. “Ah,” he said solemnly. “Emotional support charcuterie.”

Ryan snorted softly into his wine glass. Dominic dropped the beer onto the kitchen counter before immediately reaching across the charcuterie board to steal a cracker, completely ignoring the fact I had spent twenty minutes arranging everything.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully while looking around the apartment, “for two people actively planning a wedding, this place still somehow feels aggressively anti-marriage.”

I looked up from the magazines immediately. “What?”

Dominic gestured vaguely around the open living space, all warm lighting, expensive furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Dallas.

“It looks like two attractive people accidentally wandered into a furniture showroom and decided to stay.”

Ryan glanced around once before nodding like he was genuinely considering it. “He’s kinda right.”

I stared at both of them in disbelief. “You’re both banned from speaking.”

Dominic grabbed another cracker without a hint of remorse. “Still invited to the wedding though?”

“That depends,” I muttered while flipping through another bridal magazine. “How emotionally supportive are you prepared to be during seating chart discussions?”

Dominic’s face fell instantly with genuine horror. Ryan laughed beside him, leaning further into the sofa like he was enjoying this far too much. “She had more bridal magazines delivered today.”

Dominic looked between the two of us slowly before shaking his head. “I knew I should’ve stayed home.”

“You say that every Friday,” Ryan pointed out.

“And every Friday I’m proven correct.”

I smiled to myself as their voices filled the apartment so naturally it almost blended into the music still playing softly in the background. Somewhere along the way, nights like this had become routine for the three of us, wine for me, beer for Dominic, Ryan stealing food off every plate within reach, the kind of easy familiarity that made the apartment feel lived in instead of just expensive.

Ryan reached over absentmindedly, his fingers brushing against my knee while Dominic continued complaining about weddings like he hadn’t already agreed to be Ryan’s best man months earlier.

“You know,” Dominic continued, “normal people just elope.”

I immediately looked offended. “I am not eloping.”

Ryan didn’t even hesitate. “She considered it for like three days after visiting venues.”

“That was stress-induced,” I defended quickly.

Ryan smiled against the rim of his wine glass. “Baby, you made a spreadsheet ranking flower arrangements.”

“And it was color-coded.”

Their laughter filled the apartment so easily it blended into the music still playing softly in the background, warm and familiar in a way that made the entire evening feel settled and safe. Nights like this had quietly become my favorite part of adulthood, Ryan stretched beside me on the couch with his arm wrapped loosely around my waist, Dominic complaining dramatically from across the room while still showing up every single Friday anyway, the Dallas skyline glowing outside the windows like the city belonged to us too.

I loved this life. I loved the apartment we had built together, loved the future waiting for us in neatly stacked bridal magazines and half-finished wedding plans, loved the way Ryan still looked at me after four years like he couldn’t quite believe I was real. Everything felt steady in a way my life never really had before, as though somewhere between falling in love and building routines around each other, I had accidentally found the exact version of happiness people spent years searching for.

Then I remembered the smaller envelope that had arrived buried beneath the bridal magazines and fabric samples earlier that afternoon.

“Oh, this came for you too.”

I handed the cream-colored envelope across to Ryan, watching him glance down at the return address before a surprised laugh escaped him. “No way.”

Dominic looked up immediately. “What?”

Ryan opened it, already grinning to himself as he unfolded the card. “You have got to be kidding me.”

I leaned closer against his shoulder while he held it up between us. “Bellview High School reunion?” I laughed softly. “Next month?”

Dominic let out a loud laugh from the couch. “Oh my God.”

“I forgot reunions were actual real-life events.” Ryan shook his head, still smiling like the entire thing was ridiculous.

The invitation looked painfully southern, all elegant script and gold detailing like somebody’s aunt had designed it after two glasses of wine.

“I can’t picture you at a reunion,” I admitted.

Dominic snorted. “I can. Teenage Ryan definitely flirted with cheerleaders.”

Ryan looked deeply offended. “I still flirt with cheerleaders.”

I raised an eyebrow at him immediately.

Ryan’s smile softened the second his eyes landed on me. “Relax, baby,” he murmured easily. “You’re my favorite one.”

Heat warmed my face despite myself while Dominic groaned loudly from the couch. “You two are disgusting.”

Ryan only laughed, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me closer against him while the invitation sat forgotten between empty wine glasses and bridal magazines, another piece of our future already folding itself naturally into place.