Emmett nudges me lightly.
“Dude,” he whispers. “You’re staring.”
“I’m observing,” I mutter.
“That’s what ranchers say about cattle.”
“Shut up.”
He snickers.
Dakota follows my gaze and grins. “You should go say hi.”
“I say hi all the time,” I protest.
“Uh-huh,” she says. “From thirty yards away, while pretending to inspect a fence post.”
Reid lifts his sunglasses just enough to look at me. “If you stare any harder, you’re gonna set her on fire.”
I groan into my tea. “Everyone, please stop talking.”
But they’re not wrong.
I watch as Abilene finally reaches the end of the lawn where the food tables sit. She places her casserole down like she’s afraid it might explode, smooths her skirt unnecessarily, then steps back with her hands clasped in front of her, trying to make herself smaller.
Millie from the bakery says something to her, and Abilene gives the softest, sweetest little smile, the kind that flickers quickly then hides itself again.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, glances around…
…and her eyes briefly meet mine.
But it’s enough to knock everything loose inside me.
Her gaze jumps away almost instantly, cheeks flushing pink as she fusses with the hem of her dress.
Adorable.
Absolutely, devastatingly adorable.
CHAPTER FIVE
Abilene
Sunday
Sometimes I wonder how other people walk into a crowd and just… belong. How they move through space like they already know their place in it.
I’ve never felt that way, especially not at the Sunday potluck.
Maybe it’s the number of people. Maybe it’s the noise.
Maybe it’s the pressure of small talk, the kind that feels like I’m wading through wet sand.
Standing here on the edge of the churchyard, fingers curled around a paper cup of sweet tea that’s already gone lukewarm, I feel like an outsider peeking through a window at someone else’s life.
From my little corner under the shade of a pine tree, I watch the world unfold.
Children dart between tables fast as sugar-fueled hummingbirds.
