Harleigh stands with Shelby.
She shrugs and tilts her head toward the bonfire in invitation.
I sigh quietly.
Then I reach over and shut off the ignition. “Might as well.”
Charli grins and claps as I step out. “That’s the spirit!”
She spins around and starts walking toward the party.
I follow.
Harleigh falls into step beside me.
“You don’t have to stay,” she says quietly.
I glance at her. “I am hungry. Granddad didn’t offer to share any of his dinner with me.”
She giggles. “Fair warning: my family can be … a lot. But I’d put my grandma’s food up against any of your Michelin-starred chefs. She has a secret family recipe for barbecue sauce you wouldn’t believe. And Daddy’s brisket melts in your mouth.”
I look toward the fire, where at least twenty people seem to be gathered now.
“That’s an awful big statement.”
She laughs as she turns toward me and walks backward toward the crowd.
“Oh, that’s a fact, Mr. Garrison.”
That laugh makes staying feel like a very good decision.
Lanterns sit along the porch railing. Mason jars glow along the wooden folding table. Classic country music drifts from a speaker balanced on the top porch step, and the bonfire crackles steadily in the firepit Daddy and Uncle Boone built years ago when we were kids.
It’s a beautiful, clear night. Peaceful in that way only the ranch can be. And it’s a welcome sight after the crazy week I’ve had.
And somehow … Porter Garrison is standing right in the middle of it.
In the middle of my front yard with my friends and family.
I can’t quite believe it.
He stands beside me now, near the edge of the yard, tall and composed in faded dark jeans and a navy-and-green plaid button-down flannel. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, and an intricate ink design covers his skin from his right wrist and disappears under the fabric.
Guess I know where some of his hidden tattoos are now.
It’s jarring to see him dressed so casually. Like he belongs here.
Which I wouldn’t have said this morning.
His eyes are scanning the surroundings, like he’s studying everything.
“You okay?” I ask, nudging his arm lightly.
His gaze shifts down to me, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“I’m good,” he says. “This is … nice.”
Nice.
