For a second neither of us speaks. The crowd flows around us, a warm river of strangers who have no idea they’re walking through the middle of my life.
“I quit,” I blurt.
He blinks. “The paper?”
I nod, tears burning again in a way that’s humiliating and weirdly freeing.
“I told them what they did. I posted the draft. I did a livestream. I?—”
“I saw.” His mouth curves, something like pride and relief and awe tangled there. “We all did.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, words tumbling over each other. “I should’ve never trusted Patti. I should’ve?—”
“Hey.” He reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, the gentlest, oldest gesture in the world. “You told the truth. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“I wanted you,” I say, breathless with how much it matters to say it out loud. “I want you.”
He breathes out like a man who’s been holding it too long. “Good.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s not scandalous. It’s not the kind of kiss people slow down to watch. It’s simple and sure.The crowd keeps moving. Somewhere behind us Pumpkin barks like he’s been waiting to cue this exact moment.
When we break apart, he presses his forehead to mine. “Stay,” he says softly. “Please. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.
He pulls back, grin crooked. “You know, I did promise you dinner part two.”
“After you do another hayride,” I say, glancing at the line of families waving and the kids already clambering onto the wagon. “Go be a hero.”
He squeezes my hand. “Meet me at the forest when the lights come on.”
I glance toward the wooded area behind the ridge where the fairy lights are already blinking. It’s always a magical place, made even more incredible because of the man who built it. “I’ll be there.”
