Now, they own their home and the lot it’s on. Sunday brunch still spills into our yard, though, which is more than fine.
Every now and then, Clay is in the right mood, and he wanders down. I’ll find him in the middle of brunch, drinking coffee and talking shop with his friends from the carpentry crew. Whenever that happens, I know it will be hours more before he finally comes home.
The shop door swings open, and Finn hurries in. I can tell he’s in a rush today, so I quickly grab the custom bouquet that will adorn his ice cream counter.
“Busy day?” I ask as I hand it off.
He scrunches his nose. “I knew running a small business would include a lot of surprise challenges. I just didn’t realize how many of them would be heavily tattooed and bearded.”
I chuckle. “The new biker shop across the street is still causing a ruckus?”
Finn sighs. “I shouldn’t let it bother me. But it’s like those bikers are trying to find the worst possible moments to blast metal music or bang tools.”
He doesn’t usually get flustered like this, so I give him an encouraging nod. “You’ll figure it out. At least the noisy neighbors are hungry.”
“They do love a triple scoop,” he agrees before hustling back out the door.
Sometime after noon, Kavya shows up, relieving me so that I can run errands. Clay is ready with his truck, and I notice he must have cleaned up after his morning shift. His scruff is trimmed, his hair is damp and combed, and he’s put on his good jeans.
Even better, he’s topped it all off with my favorite worn T-shirt. I lean against the soft fabric, feeling the heat of his muscles as we share a quick kiss before loading in the truck.
“Starlight Fields,” he says. “I haven’t been by in months.”
“It will be a quick errand,” I promise him.
Clay shakes his head as he pulls onto the street, eyes ahead. “Let’s at least go for a walk around the place. I’d like to see how everything is going.”
I nod, pleased.
Before we got together officially, I was worried that asking Clay to stay here in Allentown meant that I was asking him to change who he is and what he wants. In truth, we’ve both grown together, and what we want has evolved, too.
I’m not looking for more over-the-top declarations of love, although those are nice sometimes, too. But what we enjoy is somuch deeper and bigger than that. It’s steady, consistent love. It’s caring for each other every day, making choices to make each other happy.
It’s understanding that every fixed shelf, every bouquet on the kitchen table, every little touch and compliment and crooked smile—that’s the good stuff. That’s the romance that matters most to me and to him.
And it’s why every night, when we cuddle up close in bed, I know that Clay loves me, just like I love my man.
At Starlight Fields, Clay takes my hand and walks me into the farm, purposefully leading the way. The sun is out, and the bees are buzzing, and although I’m surprised he remembers the farm so well, I decide to follow along.
“Ranunculus are looking good,” he grumbles.
I squeeze his hand. “Spectacular,” I agree.
We come to the dahlia fields, at the height of their bloom, and I pull Clay back. “Just look at this,” I tell him, my eyes above the splash of pastel colors. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
“Just you.”
I turn, smiling up at him, and notice a strange look in his eyes.
“Come on,” Clay says, squeezing my hand back. “I want to show you something.”
He takes off into the field, pulling me between rows of flowers. Surprised, I chuckle and follow along. “What’s this about?”
Clay doesn’t answer, but when we get to the middle of the field, he turns to face me directly.
“Nicholas,” he says, growling my name, and my heart skips a beat.
“Clay,” I manage.
