A moment that if, six months ago, someone had told him he’d be living, he would have laughed in their face and walked away shaking his head.
But so much had changed since he met Fern. She hadn’t healed him—that was never her job. It felt as though he’d been standing with one foot in the past and one in some weird limbo, unsure how to step into the future.
Through her own display of strength and determination to move on from her own past traumas, Fern had shown him the way too.
The house glowed softly against the dark. She’d left the porch light on and a lamp that cast a butter-yellow glow through the window. She’d created a space much like the Malones’. Homey. Inviting. A place where everyone belonged.
He climbed out of the truck and shut the door quietly, aware of how much he wanted to get this right. Not the date. Not the night.
Her.
Fern opened the door before he could knock, already smiling like she’d been watching for him.
“Hey.” Her sweet tone carried the edge of a rasp, as if she was a bit breathless too.
“Hey yourself.” His chest loosened at the sight of her. Jeans. Soft sweater. Bare feet.
Gorgeous and real.
She glanced past him at the street and let out a gasp. “My car’s fixed!”
He gave her a single nod and held up the keys for her. She held out her palm, accepting them as she stepped aside to let him in. The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt like even the lock was setting the stage for their evening.
Her house smelled faintly like clean cotton and living plants.
“Thank you for delivering my car to me. What was wrong with it?”
“Loose hoses and wires. Things weren’t getting a good connection. Gabe thought it could happen from bumping around the back roads.”
She nodded, looking a little lighter, though the car issue still bugged him.
“You hungry?”
“Always.” He only partly meant his stomach. The other hunger he had to work harder to control.
She laughed and headed toward the tiny kitchen. “Good. Because I ordered too much Chinese food.”
He followed her, watching the way she moved in her own space, easy and relaxed, her bare feet padding across the floor. The kitchen boasted a tiny table for two that was absolutely heaped in takeout bags.
He chuckled. “You weren’t kidding about ordering too much.”
She sliced a look his way as she reached for one of the bags and began unpacking containers of rice, fried vegetables and egg rolls. “I’m used to eating a lot of leftovers, so I always cook a lotor order a lot.” She nudged a chair his way, and he pulled it out to take a seat.
They passed containers back and forth, sampling each other’s choices and sharing their day, talking about everything from her funny experiences at the greenhouse to his moments with Navy and the horses.
He caught himself watching the way Fern leaned in, how her fingers grazed his when they both reached for the same container, and how she didn’t pull away.
After they finished their meal, they packed up the leftovers and stowed them in the refrigerator. Eventually, they migrated to the couch that had memories he ached to relive, even as he was eager to create more. The TV murmured in the background, but neither of them were watching.
“So,” she said lightly, toying with a little tassel on the corner of a throw pillow, “what would you be doing if you were back at the ranch?”
He stretched out his legs, one arm riding along the back of the couch and his fingers inches from her thick hair he itched to touch. He considered her question for a moment. “Probably playing poker with the guys. If I didn’t feel up to that, I’d be watching whatever sports are on TV or reading in my room.”
Her eyes softened to warm green pools. “Are there any bets taking place at these poker games?”
“If you count snacks.”
“What kind of snacks are we talking?” Her throaty chuckle did things to his insides, and he couldn’t stop himself from brushing his fingers over her hair.
