Marshall steps close. “I’m not confused,” he says quietly. “I’m in.”
Wyatt’s voice is calm, but there’s a fierceness underneath it. “I’ve been in. I just didn’t want to push.”
My eyes burn again, but this time it’s not grief. It’s relief.
“I don’t want to choose between you,” I say softly. “I want to choose this. Whatever this is. Right now.”
Jesse’s smile turns slow and tender. “Good. Because I don’t think any of us are interested in half-measures.”
Marshall nods. “We’ll go at your pace.”
Wyatt meets my gaze, unwavering. “Together.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jesse
THREE WEEKS LATER
Three weeks is nota long time.
I know this because my kids still think three weeks ago was “basically yesterday,” and because I still haven’t figured out how Abilene Kentwood managed to become such a fixed part of our days without ever announcing herself.
She just… showed up.
Just coffee on the counter some mornings. Clean jars lined up by the sink. Her laugh drifting down the hall while she helps Eliza braid her hair, fingers gentle and patient.
Her boots by the door. Her apron hanging on the hook.
And the honey…
“Daddy,” Caleb says, peering into the pantry with the seriousness of a man checking inventory before winter. “Are we out of Jewel Honey?”
I glance over my shoulder. “We are not out. We’re low.”
Eliza gasps as if I’ve just announced the apocalypse. “Low is basically out.”
“Low means you’ve been putting it on everything,” I say. “Including macaroni.”
“It makes it better,” she insists.
“You’re not wrong,” I mutter, reaching past them to grab a jar. “But this one is for toast only.”
They watch me intently as I drizzle it, amber and thick, catching the morning light just right. Jewel Honey. The name still makes a warmth settle in my chest every time I say it.
Everyone loves it.
The market sold out in under an hour last weekend. The bakery down the street already asked if she’d consider a small batch partnership. Even Red, who thinks flavored anything is suspicious, asked if there was “more of that calming one.”
Abilene tries to play it off as if it’s no big deal.
It is a big deal.
It’s her.
She’s sitting at the table right now, sleeves rolled up, hair escaping its braid same as it always does when she’s relaxed, while Wyatt reads quietly and Marshall pretends he’s not listening but absolutely is.
This is my life now.
