“That’s what happens when I have to deal with these feral little fucks in the summer.” He sat down on the stool across from me and took a long pull of his beer. “One asshole asked if I wasretiredretired or just old.”
I snorted a laugh. “I’m sure Laurel’s never gonna let you live that down. Was that her murder glare I saw on the field this morning?”
He grunted in acknowledgment. “When she’s not working at the farm, I’ve been dragging her with me to help keep the kids from getting too cocky. Five minutes in, she had a whistle around her neck and was assigning suicide sprints.”
“I thought public-facing Laurel was a no-go?”
“Any other instance, I’d say that’s true. But scaring the shit out of mouthy twelve-year-olds is her love language, apparently.”
“Explains why she and Willa get along so well.” I tossed a rag over my shoulder and braced my hands on the bar. “She’s been a lot of help at the farm. Not that Willa’ll say it, but Laurel’s been good for her. And me. That little shit isn’t afraid to tell my wife to sit her ass down and shut up so she doesn’t fuck up her back more. And tattle to me when she doesn’t listen. Didn’t think I could love that kid any more, and yet…”
Atlas grunted. “If you could keep her a few late-night evenings to give Sutton and me some time to ourselves, I wouldn’t say no.”
I snorted, crossing my arms over my chest. “Sutton’s mini-me has already shared just how few fucks you give about, well, fucking, no matter who’s home. Something about making you buy her the most expensive noise-canceling headphones she could find?”
“Whatever. They’re worth it.”
“Speaking of…” I reached under the counter and grabbed a jar before setting it in front of Atlas. Willa’s newest recipe I’d gotten to sample this morning.
“You going soft on me?” He stared at the jar, looked up at me, then tried to swipe it off the counter.
I snatched it back and held it out of his reach. “Not quite. How much would you pay for this?”
Atlas didn’t miss a beat. He glanced at Willa’s hand-lettered label for the blackberry cardamom jam, then reached for his wallet and pulled out a wad of hundreds. Without counting, he dropped all of them on the bar.
“Everything I’ve got on me,” he said, making a gimme motion with his hand. “Now hand it over before I do something desperate.”
Raising a brow, I slid the jam to him and began slowly counting the stack. “Well. That’s a good start.”
“Gimme a spoon,” Atlas said, cracking open the jar like a fucking animal.
I passed one over, and he didn’t waste any time, scooping out a spoonful. His eyes rolled back at his first taste, a grunt of appreciation leaving him.
After his fourth bite, he finally asked, “A good start for what?”
I folded my arms on the bar top and leaned toward him, a familiar spark of excitement stirring in my chest. It had been a flicker of a thought at family dinner when Atlas had eaten the last of Chloe’s supply. Then that flicker had sparked and grown when he’d offered to buy out our supply at the festival five minutes after we’d opened the booth.
But now? Now, I was seeing it all a bit clearer. Seeing the future and everything it could hold. Not a fluke or a pipe dream. It was a business. With my wife’s dream printed on every single jar. With me in the background, making sure everything ran smoothly and she took breaks and got the help she needed. Making sure she never again had to choose between breaking her back or keeping her farm.
She built the dream. I just wanted to help her fulfill it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
WILLA
Beau:
You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right? Or if something was wrong?
Willa:
Nothing’s wrong and I’m not in trouble. But ily for caring.
Beau:
You answered that text awfully fast considering you completely ghost me when I ask for an update on your life. Wtf is going on over there?
I was exhausted.But for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t the kind of exhaustion that came with crippling pain or delusions brought on by sleep deprivation. This was the kind of tired that came after a long day’s work—one where I gave as much as I could but no more.
