“Okay,” I say. “We did it.”
“We did,” Boone says.
I pull myself together. We spend the rest of the day in a daze of relief.
That night, we have a bonfire behind the barn.
The yard is clean. The lumber is covered. The trash is gone. We have to celebrate. We have to acknowledge that we survived. The storm. The heat. The inspection. The sabotage.
The fire crackles, sending sparks up toward the black sky. The stars are brilliant, scattered across the velvet darkness like diamonds.
Wellsy chases a moth, yipping happily. I sit on a blanket near the fire. Boone hands me a cup of hot cider. Knox sits on a log nearby, whittling a stick. Rhett leans against a tree, watching the flames.
“I have to say,” I start. My voice is quiet, but in the silence, it carries. “Thank you. For everything. For the heat. For the inspection. For... for taking care of me.”
Boone looks at me. The firelight catches the sharp angles of his face.
“We didn’t do it out of obligation,” he says. “We did it because we wanted to. Because this place is ours.”
He hesitates. “Because you are ours to take care of.”
I look down at my cup. “I don’t want you to go,” I say. The words slip out before I can stop them. “I thought I did. When I first got here, I wanted you gone. But now...”
I trail off. I can’t say it. I can’t explain the fear of losing them.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” Knox says. He stands up and walks over to me. “Unless you want us to. But we aren’t leaving. Not unless you tell us to go.”
“Of course I don’t want you to go,” I say. “But everything is so complicated. My job, my life... and the way I feel about you. It’s a lot.”
“We know,” Boone says. He nearly chokes on the words. He has to look away from me, staring into the fire, to compose himself. “We know it’s complicated. We know we’re asking for a lot.”
“We’re not asking you to decide anything right now,” Knox adds. “You deserve to choose freely, Saramaria. Not out of fear or debt, but because you want to.”
“We can wait,” Rhett says from the shadows. “We aren’t pushing. We won’t push you past what you can handle. We can wait forever if that’s what you need.”
My shields crack. The walls I built in Denver, the walls I use to keep people out, crumble.
“I’m not ready for bond talk,” I say. “I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I’m scared of the loss of control. I’m scared of losing myself.”
“It’s okay,” Boone says, his voice rough. “We can wait. We’re not going anywhere.”
“It’s okay,” Knox agrees. “We can take it slow.”
“It’s okay,” Rhett says. “We’re right here.”
I look at them. I look at the fire.
I shift on the blanket, making room. Boone sits down beside me. He doesn’t say anything, just offers his shoulder.
I lean my head against him. The smell of rosemary and mint and the warmth of his body are the only things that feel real.
Knox walks over and drapes his jacket over my shoulders. It smells of whiskey and black tea and his own distinct scent. It’s heavy and warm and comforting.
Rhett moves closer. He doesn’t sit, but he rests his hand on the blanket, right near my hip. A silent offer of support.
We sit there, looking at the fire. The scents of the three of us blend together in the cool night air. Vanilla and honey and rosemary and whiskey and cinnamon. It’s a complex, beautiful mix. It smells like home.
We don’t say anything. We don’t need to.
