I can still feel that sick twist in my stomach from years ago—watching all the other girls get flowers and limos and Instagram-perfect moments while I sat in my dress alone in the barn, crying because I hadn’t even been asked.
Will chuckles softly. “All the girls had dates, except for you.”
“I was always too shy for some people. Too ‘Sam’s sister’ for the rest.”
“I saw you,” he says gently. “Crying in the barn.”
I glance over at him, surprised.
“Up to that point, I’d only seen you as Sam’s little sister. But something changed that day. Your dad saw it too. He was out there with me. Saw the whole thing.”
A bittersweet ache forms in my chest.
“He told me I was too old for you, which I was. Still am, really.”
I snort. “That sounds like Dad.”
Will nods. “He was right. But that didn’t mean I stopped caring.”
I look at him slowly, the puzzle pieces starting to slide into place. “Wait. You’re the reason Dean asked me out, aren’t you?”
His smile is small and quiet. “We worked at the same ranch together. When I suggested it, he didn’t even hesitate. Said you deserved to feel special.”
I sit in silence for a beat. Remembering how I’d cried happy tears when Dean showed up with a bouquet and a shy smile. How I hadn’t even guessed someone else had been behind it.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Will glances at me. “I’m tellin’ you this because of what your dad said to me afterward.”
I turn to him fully now, heart pounding.
“He pulled me aside,” Will says, voice rougher now. “Said I was right to keep my distance but he knew you had a crush on me. And that one day, when you’d lived a little, if you still felt the same that I had his blessing.”
Tears spill down my cheeks before I even realize they’re coming.
“I wish he was here,” I say softly, voice breaking.
Will squeezes my hand, not letting go. “I know, sugar.”
And in the silence that follows—thick with memory, grief, and the ache of love finally lived—I realize something else.
Will’s been choosing me for longer than I ever knew.
That’s why I pull out my phone and hit speaker.
Sam answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hey. Are you and Charlie busy? I need to talk to you.” I glance at Will, then add, “Will and I need to talk to you.”
There’s a long pause. One of those heavy, charged silences that tells me he already suspects more than he’s let on.
“Is this about what Missy Jones put on Facebook?”
My stomach drops. “What did she say?”
“That her no-good ex was trash,” Sam says flatly, “and hooking up with someone fourteen years younger than him.”
I snort. “Well, that’s one version of it.”
