“True.”
We’re all laughing now, throwing out increasingly ridiculous suggestions for theoretical ranch combinations. It’s silly and impossible and completely impractical, but sitting here together, it doesn’t feel that far-fetched.
“You know,” Callie says quietly, “my mom would have loved this.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“She always said the feud was ludicrous. That life was too short to waste on old grudges. She would have thought this was hilarious. Three McCoy boys and a Thompson girl eating pie by a creek, planning to overthrow decades of tradition.”
“We’re not overthrowing anything,” Wyatt says carefully.
“Aren’t we?” She looks around at all of us. “Aren’t we kind of demolishing everything our families built their identities on?”
“Maybe it needs demolishing,” Boone suggests.
“I think you’re on to something,” she agrees.
She’s smiling now, this soft, genuine smile that makes her whole face light up. She’s beautiful always, but when she smiles like that, really smiles, she takes my breath away.
Corny to say that, but fuck it.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing. Well... you look happy.”
“I am happy,” she says, sounding surprised. “That’s weird, right? My reputation’s trashed, my dad may stop speaking to me, the whole town thinks I’m scandalous, and I’m happy.”
“Why?” Wyatt asks.
She looks at each of us in turn, then shrugs. “Because this feels right. Probably doomed, but right.”
“Doomed is a strong word,” I protest.
“Realistic,” she says with a shrug.
“Pessimistic,” Boone adds.
“Can we just call it an accurate word and move on?” Wyatt asks.
“No,” Callie says. “Because I’m tired of being accurate. I’m tired of being realistic. I’m tired of doing what’s expected.”
“What do you want to do instead?” I ask.
She grins, and it’s wicked and wonderful. “Everything we’re not supposed to.”
“That’s a long list,” Wyatt points out.
“Good thing we have time,” she says.
“Do we?” Boone asks.
“We have right now,” she says simply. “That’s enough.”
She’s right. Sitting here by the creek, sharing a three-thousand-dollar pie, planning impossible futures, right now is enough. More than enough.
“Hey,” she says suddenly. “Thank you. For the auction. For the statement. For... all of it.”
“You already thanked us,” I remind her.
