Page 113 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Maybe it’s better to live in the moment.

Maybe the point isn’t guaranteeing my heart never gets bruised.

Maybe the point is letting it beat.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” I admit quietly. “But I don’t want to run from it either.”

His shoulders drop just slightly, like he’s been holding tension he didn’t realize was there.

Relief flickers in his eyes.

“So,” I say, forcing some playfulness back into my voice because if I don’t, I might start crying and that would be wildly inconvenient in front of a ring toss booth, “I say we stop trying to forecast the emotional climate and just enjoy the fair.”

His mouth curves slowly.

“You’re choosing the moment,” he says.

“I am.”

He reaches for my hand this time without hesitation.

His fingers lace through mine.

Warm. Solid. Real.

Not grabbing.

Not forcing.

Just holding.

We walk back toward the lights, toward the noise, toward the smell of fried dough and laughter and small-town joy.

A little girl nearly runs into us, clutching a stuffed bear twice her size. Teenagers shriek near the tilt-a-whirl.

And for once—I don’t feel like I’m curating an experience.

I’m not wondering how it photographs.

I’m not calculating how this looks.

I’m not performing.

I’m just here.

With him.

Alive in my body.

Alive in the night.

And tonight?

That’s going to be enough for me. For us.

Chapter 23

Greyson