Theo is silent for a long moment, and then, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It’s a rehearsed answer. Something you just say.
“But it’s not,” Theo disagrees, and it has me pulling my gaze up to meet his in the dark. “You shouldn’t have lost your mom so young. It’s not fair. And I’m sorry.”
I stare at him for a long moment. His response feels odd, simply because I’ve never had anyone say that to me. But the more it sinks in, the more it feels right. “Thank you,” I breathe.
He nods, staring down at his hands intertwined in front of him as he leans back against the counter.
“You know, the dream isn’t just about her,” I find myself saying, both to fill the silence and also because Theo feels safe enough to share with. In fact, he might be the safest person to share anything with. “I mean, yeah, it’s about her dying and how shitty that was but … the dream always ends with her dying and then everything is gone.” I swallow. “Like, normal people have family to grieve with. Another parent, siblings, even cousins or aunts and uncles. But … it was just me.”
Theo’s eyebrows crease. “I know your dad wasn’t around much, but—did he try to support you at all through that?”
I shake my head. “Once I turned eighteen, we just didn’t have a relationship. It was like I was just an obligation for him, and then once he wasn’t legally bound to send me money or anything, he was just out. I don’t know if he even knows Mom died. Or that I live in the US now.”
Theo’s eyebrows dip lower.
“I think that’s why Thatcher Ranch means so much to me,” I go on. “It’s the first place since Mom that feels like … home.”
Theo nods slowly, and even though it’s dark, I can still feel his gaze pinning me to the spot.
I stare down at my hands wrapped around the mug in front of me. “I think that’s why I agreed to this whole … crazy thing, you know?” I say quietly.
Silence stretches between us for a moment before Theo slowly spans the distance between us in the quiet, dark kitchen. It isn’t until he reaches out to gently brush a tear from my cheek that I realize I’m crying. I suck in a quick breath of air, about to apologize, but he beats me to it.
“You willalwayshave a home here, Cora,” he says, his voice low but steady, his dark blue eyes boring into mine. “I’ll make sure of that,” he whispers, his gaze flicking to my lips and then back to my eyes. Or maybe I just imagined it.
His eyes are on mine for just a few more heartbeats before he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. My breath hitches in my throat, my skin practically on fire. His lips are only there for a split second, his thumb still resting on my cheek, but it’s enough to yank the breath out of me, like I’m drowning in an ocean.
And then he pulls back. He smiles. “Enjoy your tea,” he says. And then his hand is gone, and he’s gone, and I’m alone in the kitchen again.
And my dream has faded completely—no more flashes of the nightmare. All I can think about is the feel of Theo’s lips against my skin.
Chapter ten
Theo
Isettheglassofwhite wine down on the coffee table in front of Cora before taking a seat beside her, my glass in hand. It feels strange to sit directly beside her, close enough to touch, but also weird to take the opposite end of my large, plush couch. So I opt for an in-between option, about a foot of space between us. Thankfully, Cora seems oblivious to my internal struggle, picking up the glass with a grateful smile and taking a small sip.
The setting sun shines through the living room window. The days are getting longer.
The immigration paperwork is already pulled up and mostly filled out on my laptop on the coffee table. The only thing left is the immigration interview. I lean forward to scroll through the forms, mainly because it gives me something to do. Something to keep my mind off of last night—Cora sitting in the dark kitchen, oversized T-shirt, bare legs tucked up on the stool, telling me about her nightmares.
And if I think about that too long, I’ll start thinking about everything else I shouldn’t want.
Because last night only cemented the fact that I absolutely cannot tell her about my feelings. Thatcher Ranch is the first place since her mother died that feels like home. And I’m not about to ruin that home for her just because I happen to be in love with her.
I’m just going to have to shove those feelings deep, deep inside of me and hope that … they go away some day? Although that seems unlikely.
“We should start with the timeline,” I say, grabbing the laptop and resting it on my thighs. I pull up a blank Google Doc. I’ll take notes here and share it with her later. “How long we dated, when we got engaged, wedding details … that kind of thing.” We need to make sure we go into our immigration interview on the same page.
Cora absentmindedly swirls the wine in her glass. “Right. Our totally normal, Hallmark-approved courtship.”
I smirk. “Six months for the dating timeline?” I offer.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Six months is fast.”
“We got married in forty-eight hours,” I remind her. “This actually makes us look like we exercised restraint.”
