I call. He’s available. Crisis averted.
At lunch, we grab tacos from the food truck by the courthouse. Nash makes me laugh so hard I snort, and I’m not even embarrassed until I realize the deputy at the next picnic table is staring like he just witnessed a miracle.
“What?” I ask, wiping my mouth.
The deputy nods at Nash. “Didn’t think Hawthorne had it in him.”
Nash lifts his cup in a lazy salute. “I contain multitudes.”
The deputy chuckles and walks off.
I stare at Nash. “You’re… normal today.”
He looks at me like I said something dangerous. “Normal?”
“Like, you’re still you. Watchful. Serious. But…” I gesture vaguely. “You’re laughing. You’re teasing. You’re?—”
“Here,” he finishes, quiet.
I swallow.
“Yeah,” I say, softer. “Here.”
We finish lunch, then head to the print shop for posters. Nash insists on carrying the boxes because apparently I’m a delicate flower now, which is hilarious considering I once threw a hay bale at him out of spite.
When we finally get back to the ranch mid-afternoon, the vendor list is tighter, the sponsor calls are handled, and the knot in my chest has loosened for the first time in days.
We step out of the truck and Nash pauses, scanning the property line automatically.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… measuring.”
“Measuring what?”
“Risk,” he says simply.
That’s when it hits me—hard and sudden.
This easy day… it’s sitting on top of something sharp. A threat that hasn’t stopped just because we got tacos and confirmed a funnel cake truck.
Nash is always holding the edge of it, even when he smiles.
Later, while I’m sorting sponsor packets at the kitchen table, I catch myself watching him through the window. He’s out by the barn with Daddy, lifting something heavy, joking with him like they’ve been friends forever.
It’s… too easy.
I didn’t expect easy.
I expected hard conversations and awkwardness and old pain flaring like a sunburn.
But with Nash, it feels like sliding into a groove that’s been waiting for us all along.
Which is exactly why my brain starts doing what it always does when I’m happy:
It panics.
Because I live in Saint Pierce.
