She nods knowingly. “That well, huh?”
I laugh a little, shaking my head.
Her voice softens just slightly, just enough. “Did you see Lark?”
I keep my hands moving, rolling my shoulders like the answer’s no big deal. “Saw her, yeah. Barely. She bolted the second she laid eyes on me.”
Mom presses her lips together, nodding slowly.
My mom’s always loved Lark the same way she loves Wren and Sage. Back then, she wanted us together. Wanted me to stay, to build a life with her, to put down roots where she thought I belonged.
But I had to get out. It wasn’t about Lark. It wasn’t about not loving her. That was never the problem.
Hell, I don’t think I could’ve stopped loving Lark if I tried.
And maybe Ididtry, in my own way. Tried to push her to the back of my mind, to let the years put distance between us, to convince myself that first love is just that—first. Not forever.
But love like ours doesn’t just disappear. It lingers. It burrows into the spaces between who you were and who you’ve become. It settles deep, gets into your bones. It creates a home in you and stays there no matter how far you run.
Lark was my best friend before she was anything else. My shadow, my anchor, the one person who felt like home before I even understood what that meant.
And I loved her. God, did I love her.
Not just how teenagers think they love each other—the big, sweeping, all-consuming love that feels like it’s the only thing that matters. But in small ways, too, creeping in when you’re not looking.
I loved her so much it scared the hell out of me—because if I’d stayed, I would’ve never left.
And back then, I needed to get away from my dad, from this ranch, from the weight of it all pressing down on me—telling me exactly who I was supposed to be before I even had a chance to figure it out for myself. Iwanted space. I wanted freedom. I wanted something—anything—outside of Summit Springs.
I was eighteen. Young and fucking dumb.
I clear my throat, keep my head down, keep picking through the leaves. “You talk to Lark much while I was gone?”
Mom lets out a sigh, flicks her fingers at a beetle crawling too close to her lettuce. “I tried,” she says. “Whenever I was in town for feed or seed, I’d swing by the Bluebell. See if I could catch her.”
She shakes her head. “Most days, I couldn’t. And when I did, it was short. Real short.”
She tugs at the cuff of her glove, mouth tight. “I miss her.”
That hits harder than I expect it to. Low in the chest, sharp.
Then she elbows me, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You missed out, you know. She only got prettier. Not sure how, but she did.”
I huff out a laugh. “Jesus, Mom.”
“What?” she says, grinning. “I’m not blind. She’s always been something.”
She’s not wrong. But I don’t need to hear it from my mother.
She watches me, eyes narrowing like she’s picking up on more than I want her to. Then her voice goes softer, nudging again. “You gonna fix it with her?”
I let out a slow breath. “Don’t know how.”
Shetsks, like that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever said. “You sit your ass down and talk to her. That’s how.”
I snort. “Sure. Based on her reaction today, I’ll get right on that.
Mom shrugs, unfazed. “She’s just not ready yet.”
