“What are you doing, Cowboy?” she asks from her new position.
I tug her back to my chest, swaying us to the music. “Dancing with my girl.”
“Is this practice for the Spring Fling?”
No, I think,it’s practice for the rest of our life. But I can’t tell her that. Can’t tell her that every moment with her feels like a test. Like I’m trying to prove to her that she should stay here, in Hope Harbor, with me.
So I don’t answer her question, but when one song changes to the next, and we continue dancing until the sky turns an inky blue and the stars start to twinkle, I think it’s obvious that I have no interest in letting her go.
—
Later that night I’m still out on the porch, staring at the land I’ve come to consider my home. In the house behind me is the woman I know is my home. She’s showering off the excitement of the day, and I’m looking forward to sinking inside her tonight to remind her, once again, how precious she is to me. But first, there’s something I need to take care of.
It’s clear that Tally is nervous to take the leap. But I want her to have the choice. So I take out my phone and start a new group chat with Fletcher, Eli, and Rayna McGovern.
ME:Hi, I think I might need another favor.
I’m smiling as I wait for the messages to roll in. I can only imagine how shocked they’ll all be.
My phone buzzes and I glance down, but my smile falls the second I see the message.
FRANK SEYMOUR:You screwed up. Looks like the farm will be mine after all.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 46
Tally
HOPE HARBOR TOWN CHAT
RAYNA:Did you all see this? Our Tally Darling is FAMOUS!
BABS:I remember when she was just a little girl, working in Mabel’s Bakery. Rest in peace, Mabel.
RAYNA:Sweet Mabel.
MINDY:How did she die again?
RUBY:I think in her sleep?
BABS:In bed for sure.
ROSIE:Why does that sound dirty?
BABS:It’s a talent of mine.
STEW:Please make it stop.
FLETCHER:LADIES!
* * *
I’m not sure I’ve ever been as out of sorts as I feel sitting in Babs and Mindy’s salon, and for once it’s not because of the inappropriate comments Babs likes to make. It’s because the eyes of everyone in the salon are on me, and I don’t like to be the center of attention.
“You need to reply to these, too.” Penny points to the comments on her phone beneath the second post Hannah Hall made, which features all the vendors and designers for her ceremony. She tagged me personally for the cake. I swallow hard as I think about how lucky we were that Hannah was so agreeable to switching out cakes after we told her what happened. Another bride might have lost her mind. And it seemed it worked out for the best; a ton of people who attended the vow renewal ceremony have commented that it was the best cake they’d ever tasted. Aiden Langfield—the freaking star center of the Boston Bolts—shared it on his story, too, and now I’ve been tagged in hundreds of comments asking how to order from me.
I nibble on my lip, trying to not fall victim to the over-whelming sense of imposter syndrome that threatens to take over. Yes, the cake was gorgeous and tasted delicious. But it was one freaking cake. Eventually people will find out that I was just a fill-in. Like I am in so much of my life, helping during the seasons but never actually a part of the kitchen. Pitching in at the farm until Billie arrives and takes my place.
