“Take your time. I’m not in a hurry.”
Jett takes the empty chair in the corner, pulling out his phone as I turn back to the desk.
I roll my shoulders and take a sip of cold matcha. The news of Elias’s death has been front-page coverage on all of the tabloids and celebrity gossip accounts. It was hard to relive the events of that night every time I went to the store and saw a magazine. Thankfully, there’s always another celebrity doing something stupid to become the new talk. I’ve still been fighting with the network, they don’t want to let me out of my contract because my story will boost the ratings. Since I continue to refuse, they’ve paused filming stating it’s due to Elias’ death, but it’s not. They’d pick cameras up immediately to capture the drama.
But all of that doesn’t matter right now as I stare at the mess of papers. At the top of the stack sits the new business name. It’s surreal seeing it in black and white. I shuffle around the finalized documents, slipping them into a manila file folder and securing them in a desk drawer. Then I type out a quick reply tomy contractor, thanking him for the update. There was a little hiccup with the delivery of fixtures, but Tom has it handled. I can’t believe we're in the final stretch.
The calendar is starting to fill, and I haven’t even begun advertising. It goes to show the power of a small-town community and word of mouth. The events aren’t on a wedding level, but that’s okay, we’ll get there. On top of the renovations, I’ve been planning a market to celebrate the ribbon-cutting in October.
Some mornings, I need to pinch myself that this is actually my life.
I smile to myself. Mom would’ve loved this part, seeing her dream come true.
“God, I love your smile.”
“I’m happy,” I say proudly.
“Good, don’t stop.”
I close out of my email and shut down the computer. Flipping off the lamp, I push to my feet.
“I’m ready.”
I follow him out of the office and into the evening sun. His truck glimmers, freshly washed without a speck of dirt, which is unheard of for a farmer.
“Got a hot date?” I ask, reaching for his hand.
Jett twirls me in a circle, and my dress flares around my knees. “With the hottest woman in Silo Bay.”
Reaching past me, Jett opens my door. I climb into the passenger seat and stare at the man who possesses my heart. Wranglers hug his thick thighs, worn from hours in the sun. An olive-green t-shirt with Riggsby Cattle’s logo on the chest. I can see it clearly, since he’s no longer wearing a sling.
“What?” Jett questions, tipping my head up to meet his eyes.
“Just appreciating you.”
“Feeling okay?”
I nod, and he searches my face for any lies. Satisfied with his observation, he winks before closing the door and rounding the front of the truck.
I start to buckle my seat belt when he tsks.
“Are we no longer…”
My words trail off as he pats the center seat. I scooch across the leather as he hands me the lap belt. With the truck in drive, Jett guides us down the gravel driveway. He flicks a few buttons on the radio and Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop” begins playing as he wraps his arm around me. Kicking my feet to the side, I rest my boots against the seat as the wind blows through the cab.
I can’t explain the feeling washing over me as the song plays. Yesterday’s gone, but good times are still to come, and I’ve never believed in lyrics more than I do at this moment.
Over the last three weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time with my dad and brother. After the bomb was dropped about what happened in LA, and the whole kidnapping, we all needed time to process. They carried a lot of guilt, but I reassured them it wasn’t their fault. Since then, they’ve been helping me get Hannah’s Haven ready for the fall’s opening day and helping oversee construction on the old barn. We’ve even spent a few early mornings fishing down by the river like we did growing up.
I’ve attended more group therapy sessions, but I also found another therapist to work with me one-on-one. As much as I appreciate the work Margo puts into each group session, my pile of trauma rivaled a mountain. It’s going to take a long time to sort through this mess.
Jett’s been with me every step of the way. He sits beside me in the group, holding my hand and encouraging me to talk. As twisted as it sounds, that night made us stronger. Without a doubt, I know I was put on this earth to love Jett Riggsby.
The drive into town goes by quicker than normal, or so it seems, as Jett guides us into the parking lot at Sunset Shores. Tonight, we’re meeting our friends for the first time since the incident for a relaxing night of pizza in the courtyard. It’s not without their doing, but we’ve been living in our own bubble. A near-death experience will have you hunkering down andfocusing on anything to take your mind off it. Or at least that’s how I chose to cope outside of therapy.
The resort hums with late-summer energy as August heat clings to our skin, but it doesn’t deter Jett from reaching for my hand. We walk together up the stairs, entering the marketplace from the back. Sunlight glints off the water as country music plays from the speakers.
“There they are!” Heath shouts, waving us over.
