My lips curved with a hint of a smile. ”I know that too."
He pulled back enough to look at me, and the heat in his eyes made my knees weak. "Tell me to back off. Tell me we need more time. Tell me something, Ivy, because I'm about five seconds from doing something that definitely isn't taking it slow."
Around us, couples swayed and turned, the town celebrated, and life went on. But in our bubble, time had stopped. The world had narrowed to just us—the heat between our bodies, the memory of every kiss we'd shared, the promise of what could be.
"I don't want slow," I whispered.
His hand tightened on my back. "Ivy..."
The words that had been on the tip of my tongue for weeks finally came out. ”I want you. I've wanted you since I came back. Since before that. Since always."
The song ended, but we didn't move. We stood there in the middle of the street, bodies pressed together, breathing the same air, trembling on the edge of something inevitable.
"Let's get out of here," he said, voice low and rough.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
He took my hand and led me through the crowd. I caught Maggie's knowing smile, Louisa's approving nod, but they felt distant, unimportant compared to the heat of Wyatt's hand in mine, the purpose in his stride.
His truck was parked at the edge of the festivities. He opened my door, helped me in with a hand on my elbow that lingered, burned. Then he was in the driver's seat, starting the engine, pulling away from the curb with controlled urgency.
The road out of town was quiet, empty. His headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the familiar path—past the Hendersons' ranch, past the old water tower, past all the landmarks of our shared history. Every mile felt like falling—not the terrifying plunge of our youth, but the deliberate choice of adults who knew the cost and were choosing to pay it anyway.
"Where are we going?" I asked, though I already knew.
"Where do you want to go?"
The sign for the Blackwood ranch flashed by, caught in the headlights for just a moment. Blackwood Ranch, established in 1892. Four generations of history, tradition, stubborn resilience.
I looked at him—this man who'd been my boy, who'd waited fourteen years, who'd built our dreams alone and lived in them likea ghost. His profile was sharp in the dashboard light, jaw tight with restraint, hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.
"Home?" I said, making it a question.
He turned to look at me then, quick but intense, and his answer rewrote our future with a single word:
"Always."
The truck turned down the ranch road, gravel crunching under the tires, headlights sweeping across the pastures where our story had started. But this time, we weren't running toward something we couldn't have or from something we couldn't face.
This time, we were simply coming home.
Together.
Chapter 20
Wyatt
I pulled off the main ranch road near the creek, tires crunching on gravel before finding the soft earth beneath. The spot was muscle memory—the ancient cottonwood whose roots dipped into the water, the flat stone that caught moonlight like a mirror, the bend where the creek sang loudest. I'd parked here countless times as a teenager, but never since she'd left. It had felt too much like visiting a grave.
The engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound besides the creek's eternal murmur and our breathing, which seemed too loud in the cab that seemed to grow smaller by the second.
"You kept our place," Ivy said softly, her voice carrying wonder and something that might have been grief for all the years we'd missed.
"Couldn't bring anyone else here. Couldn't come alone either." I turned to look at her in the dashboard's fading light. Her hair was coming loose from whatever she'd done to it for the dance, wisps framing her face like she was already coming undone. "It was always ours."
I got out, came around to open her door—old-fashioned maybe, but I needed to do this right. When she placed her hand in mine to step down, her fingers trembled slightly. The blue dress that had tortured me all evening rode up as she slid from the seat, revealing the smooth length of her thigh, and I had to close my eyes for a moment to maintain control.
"Wyatt?" Uncertainty colored her voice.
