“I’m sorry for the incident with the feed bucket,” Boone says to the photo. “And for trying to ride you that one time. And for suggesting you’d look good in a sweater.”
“Are you apologizing to a photo of a goat?” I ask.
“I’m practicing. Rita deserves a proper apology.”
“She’s a goat.”
“She’s Callie’s goat. She has feelings.”
“She has stomach acid and a criminal record.”
“And feelings.”
Wyatt throws his hammer down, making us both jump. “We’re idiots.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“Thirty years of fighting over nothing.”
“Less than nothing. Negative nothing. Anti-matter nothing.”
“Our families destroyed relationships, friendships, and business partnerships over expired mayo and a counting error.”
“Don’t forget the sick bull,” Boone adds. “That’s my favorite part. Someone’s bull got food poisoning and instead of calling a vet, they started a war.”
Wyatt picks up his hammer, stares at it, then sets it down gently. “We let this stop us. We let made-up history dictate our future.”
“To be fair,” I point out, “Callie also let it stop us.”
“We didn’t question it,” Wyatt counters. “We just accepted it. Accepted that Thompsons and McCoys could never get along.”
“Ok. Here’s something to think about. What did we have Callie have with us guys?” Boone asks, and it’s a real question, not rhetorical.
I think about it. Really think about it. Beyond the sex, which was incredible. Beyond the sneaking around, which was thrilling. Beyond the rebellion, which was satisfying.
“Something,” I finally say. “Maybe not love, butsomething that could have been. Something real. The way she laughed at Boone’s terrible jokes. The way she and Wyatt could communicate without words. The way she’d steal my coffee and claim hers tasted wrong. That’s... something.”
“Something we threw away because no one could count or check expiration dates,” Wyatt adds.
“She’s done with us,” Boone points out.
“Is she though?” I hold up my phone, showing her texts about her mom. “Does this sound done?”
“It sounds like she discovered our families are idiots.”
“Exactly. Which means the reason for staying apart is gone. It’s all bullshit. Always has been.”
Wyatt picks his hammer back up, but instead of swinging, just holds it. “So what do we do?”
“We go all in,” I say, surprising myself with the certainty. “No more sneaking. No more pretending. We show up at that festival and make it clear we want her.”
“All three of us?”
“All three of us.”
“Publicly?”
“Publicly.”
