“He is,” I agreed, my voice still thick with emotion.
Sean came over and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, giving me a side hug. “I’m really happy for you, you know. Both of you.”
“Happy for who?” I wondered if he was talking about me and Simon or about me and my Secret Santa. Even if Sean and Atticus probably knew everything that happened on this ranch, I needed some clarity.
Sean paused for a minute, his gaze assessing. “You and Simon, of course. There isn’t much that happens here I don’t know about.”
I laughed wetly. “You’re a meddler.”
“I prefer ‘helpful matchmaker,’” he said primly. Then his expression turned more serious. “But really, Tanner. Simon’s been alone for a long time. And you’ve been alone too, in your own way. I think you’re good for each other.”
“I hope so,” I said quietly. “I really hope so.”
“I know so.” Sean squeezed my shoulder. “Now come on. Harlan made cookies earlier, and I’m not supposed to eat them all by myself, though God knows I’d try.”
I followed him into the kitchen, tucking the note carefully into my breast pocket where I could feel it against my heart.
The rest of the day passed in a pleasant blur. Simon came back from the barn, and we spent time in the living room with some of the other guys, playing cards and talking about nothing in particular. It was easy, comfortable—the kind of lazy afternoon I never allowed myself during my normal life.
Every so often, Simon would catch my eye and smile, or his hand would find mine, or his knee would press against mine where we sat together on the couch. Small touches that reminded me I wasn’t alone anymore.
That evening, as we were cleaning up after dinner, Simon leaned close and murmured, “How are you feeling, bud?”
“Good,” I said honestly. “Really good.”
“Not too overwhelmed? Not having second thoughts?”
I shook my head firmly. “No second thoughts. This feels right.”
The smile that spread across his face was brilliant. “Good. Because I have plans for tomorrow.”
“Plans?” I asked, curious.
“Mm-hmm. But it’s a surprise.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Think you can be patient?”
I wanted to protest, to demand to know what he had planned. But the look in his eyes told me he was testing me—seeing if I could trust him with this too.
So instead of pushing, I nodded. “I can be patient.”
“That’s my good boy,” he said softly, and the praise washed over me like warm honey.
That night, as we climbed into bed together—my bed, our bed for now—I pulled out the note and read it again by lamplight.
“What are you smiling about?” Simon asked, settling in beside me.
I showed him the note. “This. I found it in my coat.”
He took it from me, reading it. “It’s true, you know. Every word.”
“I know.” I curled into his side, resting my head on his chest.
His arm came around me, holding me close. “You’re already loads better since you got here. I can see how relaxed my boy is.”
His boy.
I was his boy.
The thought should have terrified me, should have sent me spiraling into panic about moving too fast or losing the little bit of peace I’d found. But instead, it settled over me like a blanket—warm and secure and exactly right.
