My fingers itch to grab her and hold her, but I fight the urge like I always do when we’re together. I can do this for a year. I can keep my hands, and heart, to myself. I’ve survived pretending I don’t love her for so long that I can pretend for twelve more months.
And at least I’ll get to see her every day and make memories that I’ll never have a chance to do otherwise.
“This is surreal,” she says, laughing softly.
“You think?” My laughter joins hers. “I feel like I’ll wake up and it’ll be a dream.”
“It’s more like a nightmare.”
Well, damn.I grimace, hoping she doesn’t notice.
“Except for the you part,” she says, looking up at me through her thick lashes. “You’re the only reason I think I might be able to do this.” She takes a quick breath, almost as if she’s second-guessing saying what’s on her mind. “As long as it doesn’t affect anything between you and Lora …”
Lora?“Uh, no. Lora and I are not a thing. She just sits by me at church.”
“But she clearly wants it to be a thing.”
The side of my mouth lifts. “But that doesn’t make it a thing.”
“Well, okay. I just wanted to be sure.”
I stare into her sparkling eyes and feel a breath finally reach the bottom of my lungs. I’m not sure if she’s jealous of Lora or just concerned about hurting another woman. Either way, I like it.
Finally, she sighs. “To be honest, I don’t trust myself to be in Sugar Creek for very long without losing my mind. The memories, the comparisons—the looks in people’s eyes when they see me. It’s pity. I hate it.”
“If there’s anyone who understands that, it’s me, Mira.”
Because I do. I know what it’s like to be compared to your parents by someone every day, or to be reminded of something they did or didn’t do. I hear stories weekly about my father, receive condolences to this day from people who I haven’t seen for a while.“It’s terrible your father isn’t here to see you.”
No shit.
“I know that,” she says. “And that’s why you’re the only person I’ve ever admitted that to.” She sits up, pulling the blanket off her lap and draping it on the back of the swing. “So this marriage thing …”
“It’s up to you. I’d never pressure you into anything.”
She smiles.
“But, yeah, it’s up to you,” I repeat because I don’t know what else to say. Anything more would feel like I’m trying to lead her in a certain direction.
“We’d need guidelines,” she says, standing. “If we’re going to get through this next year without complicating things between us, we definitely need some kind of a blueprint.”
I force a swallow. She’s right. Things between us have never been easy to begin with, and under these circumstances—a marriage of convenience—they could get messy. And that’s the last thing I want for her … or me.
“I agree,” I say. “We can hash out whatever makes you feel safe.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Feeling safe with you is never the problem, Hart.”
It feels like I’ve been punched in the chest.She’s gonna destroy me. And I’m gonna let her.
“Want to meet up tomorrow and work things out?” she asks.
“I’ll be out working on Betsy Barn most of the day, if you wanna come out. Or call me, and I’ll meet you somewhere.”
“Okay.” She blows out a breath, a grin flirting with the corner of her mouth. “I guess that’s it then. We’re gonna get married.”
My chest rises, trembling as it moves.“We’re gonna get married.”
I never imagined hearing those words from her lips—not directed at me, anyway. And hearing them tonight, on my porch, with Mira wearing her cute pajamas and no shoes, it’s ridiculous and hard to believe. But it’s true.
