“Put that on my tombstone, please.”
She takes a step toward me, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me tight. “Serious talks are always best followed with a laugh.” When she releases me, she takes a step away from the door. “Now go get your happily ever after.”
And she closes the door on me with a grin.
41
RYDER
I’m used to being in control.
And while there’s a lot in this situation that Icancontrol, there’s one big variable that I can’t.
Evie Harper.
I know she’s prone to running. I know that her first instinct when things go sideways is to remove herself from the situation.
But I’m going to trust that she’ll come back around to me. That she’s going to freak out and question everything and maybe even run to Izzy—which will definitely be in my favor because something tells me Izzy is on my side—but ultimately, she’s going to show up here at midnight and let me introduce her to her future.
I want her to learn to trust me in those moments she’s never trusted anyone else.
Meanwhile, I’m going to trust that she can. That she’s not so stuck in this narrative of abandonment she’s been repeating to herself since the moment her mom stepped out that she can’t see just how ready I am to abandon everything else for her.
I don’t think either of us are the type to put forth ultimatums. She doesn’t want me to give up everything I’ve worked for, despite it putting us at odds, and I would never ask her to give up the farm. We work so well together, in spite of all our differences.
All I want is for her to see that. To take comfort in who we are together and make that decision to trust me because for once, that voice in her head that encourages her to run away is wrong.
But I can’t force it.
I spend the day pulling together everything I need to show her what her future might look like, and as I compile my materials and arrange everything just so, I take the occasional glance down at the sunflower farm. Maybe I’m hoping I’ll see her storming up toward me. Maybe I’ll catch her eye through the window.
Maybe as much as I know she’ll like this, I’m scared I’ve gone in the wrong direction. That she’s going to show up here in an hour or two—or maybe at midnight, like I asked—spitting fire and cementing me in my place, six feet under.
Or worse, maybe she won’t even show up at all.
I want nothing more than to march back down there and smooth things over. To make sure we’re aligned or on the same page or any other colloquialism people use in relationships that really only belong in corporate emails.
But I’m taking a leap of faith too. I’m betting that in the worst moments—the ones where she thinks she doubts me—she’ll come out on the other side and realize I only ever had her best interests in mind. I’m betting that she’ll know I’m working for everything she wants, and if she decides she doesn’t want it, it can all go in the trash.
I’m betting that she’ll trust me despite herself.
Because over the past few months, we’ve grown together.Feet in the mud, under the late autumn sun while the flowers swayed and danced around us. We became fast enemies like others become fast friends, but somewhere along the way that spitfire nature of hers charmed me.
My way to Evie was complicated. But now that I’m here, I know that this is where I belong.
Maybe not this exact square of earth where my shoes are coated with a crusty layer of mud and twigs snap and crackle with every step I take, but this relative place on earth where she’s just over the hill, doing her own thing while her existence hums through my veins like the magnet she’s become.
I’ve spent my life straddling the line between Sunflower Hill and Manhattan, struggling to maintain the values my own grandmother instilled in me when I was young while simultaneously steering my father’s business toward something respectable that I can be proud of. I thought maybe one day I’d live in a borderline modest apartment and look out over the city thinking,I’ve done it. I’ve taken my father’s less-than-savory legacy and spun it into something that does good for the world.
But as I lay my last two-by-four on the ground in front of me and stare out at the sunflower farm below, I realize I’ve done something better.
I’ve forged my own path. Twisted my future in just the way I saw fit.
It looks a little bit different now. Full of rolling fields and the vestiges of a successful sunflower season.
But most of all, it looks like a powerhouse of a woman with wispy golden hair blowing around her face and dirt swiped across her forehead.
Overalls. Sunshine and storms. Mud and the rush of astream running by. The creak of a water wheel coming to life.
