She leans her head on my shoulder and I close my eyes for just a second, pretending that all this is real, that this is our family.
When I open them again, Roan glances over at me, a thoughtful expression on his face as he slides his eyes back to the road in front of him.
I know I’m getting ahead of myself, maybe because I don’t have a lot of relationship experience. Being sentimental, especially with his kid, is exactly the kind of thing that will probably scare him away, if my friends’ talk about men is anything to go by.
But when I look over at him, there’s the ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth, and his blue eyes are warm and kind.
Tears burn my eyes for a second, and I turn away to watch the snowy mountain blur past so he doesn’t see.
On the radio, Mariah Carey starts singing “All I Want for Christmas,” and Meg sits up straight again to start belting it out.
Roan chuckles, and I find myself smiling too, and feeling more settled.
A few minutes later, we ease around a slow curve and a hillside of snow-frosted evergreens comes into view.
“That’s our farm,” Meg says.
“Oh wow,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”
“I like it best with snow,” Meg agrees.
“It looks like a Christmas card,” I say, nodding.
“That’s what Grandma says,” she laughs.
We continue around the mountain until we reach a gravel driveway between two big concrete orbs and Roan pulls onto it.
“This is the way to the house,” he explains as the truck bumps down a tunnel of bare-branched oaks toward a white farmhouse with black shutters. “There’s a separate entrance for customers.”
“It’s so beautiful back here,” I say. “But you’re actually not too far from town.”
“It’s great, right?” he says, looking pleased.
“That’s our house,” Meg says, pointing to the whitefarmhouse. “It used to be Grandma and Grandpa’s house, but they moved to one-floor-living.”
“Dad had a rancher built,” Roan explains.
“Grandma has…” Meg pauses, her brow furrowing as she tries to think of what her grandmother has.
“Rheumatoid arthritis,” Roan says gently. “She gets around just fine, but Dad wanted to make things more comfortable for her.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but I seem to remember that being a condition that can worsen over time. My own grandmother’s friend Wanda has it, and she uses a walker sometimes when she has a flare-up.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “But it’s great that your dad could have a house built.”
“He would do anything for her,” Roan says fondly. “We all would. Right, Meg?”
“Right,” Meg agrees firmly. “Grandma’s the best.”
The driveway curves after the farmhouse and sure enough, there’s the cutest little ranch house against the backdrop of the evergreen-lined mountain.
“We’re here,” Meg says, her hand clutching her seatbelt, but not unbuckling it until the truck engine is off.
I unbuckle too, and by the time I’m done Roan is opening my door and offering me a hand.
He’s such a gentleman.
I take it, and funny little tingles fill my chest.
