And now, hearing it’s just being used to store busted generators and irrigation parts?
It stings.
I know it’s just a house. I know I shouldn’t care. But still—something deflates in me. Something small and dumb and persistent that had wanted to believe it could be more. That it could beours.
Or at the very least, someone’s.
That house could be a home. Not just a shell full of broken things no one wants to deal with.
I sigh without meaning to, the sound slipping out before I can catch it. Boone glances down at me, his brow creasing. “You alright?”
I offer him a quick smile as I nod toward Wren. “Yeah, just worn out. That ride kicked my ass.”
Wren grins, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “BecauseIkicked your ass. Don’t forget that part.”
I nudge Boone with my shoulder. “She cheated. Took a shortcut by the fence line.”
Wren shrugs. “I saw an opportunity and I had a fast horse. That’s called strategy. Sorry you’re slow and morally upright.”
I glare at her playfully and Boone presses a kiss to the top of my head, the heat of it sinking into me. I lean into him without thinking, fitting easily into the space he makes for me.
Still, the ache doesn’t go anywhere. I’d been hoping him fixing the house up for us was his way of saying he was ready for more. That he didn’t just want these brief, fleeting moments. That maybe he wanted alifewith us in it.
A place we could come home to instead of just passing through.
I know it wouldn’t be simple. Hudson would have to go a new school. I’d have to juggle the diner. There would be things to figure out, but we could do it if he wanted to.
Maybe he’s just not ready yet. Not all the way.
Maybe he’s not sure if there’s space for me in the life he’s built out here.
And honestly? I don’t blame him.
Letting someone in—it costs something. You don’t just make space and take it back when things get complicated. It’s a decision. A risk. And after everything we’ve been through—years of silence, a few fragile months of trying again—I get why he might be taking his time.
We’ve only just found our footing again. Something that feels solid. Real.
So maybe this is him being careful. With me. With us. With the version of himself and his life that he’s finally learning to live inside of.
And if that’s what this is—him trying to be sure—it makes sense.
But even so, there’s a part of me that still hopes that he’ll want to make room. That hopes I’m not the only one imagining what forever could look like.
Hudson’s voice cuts through my thoughts, full of that hopeful energy he’s mastered. “Can I spend the night again?”
He’s flopped across the couch now, half a brownie still in hand, eyes flicking between me and Boone like he’s already planning his victory.
I shake my head, smiling. “You know wedostill have a house, right? One I pay an actual mortgage for?”
Hudson groans, full-body, like I’ve suggested manual labor or math homework. “Who cares? It’ssummernow.”
He’s got a point. School wrapped up last week, his backpack already shoved somewhere in his closet. We’ve officially crossed the line into long days, late nights, and whatever freedom we can carve out of this season.
Boone looks down at me, eyes soft beneath the brim of that worn-out baseball cap. “I thought you were staying,” he says, his voice low, like he’s trying not to hope too hard. “Mom told me she’s making your favorite chili for dinner.”
My stomach practically growls on cue. Molly’s chili isn’t just good, it’s legendary—slow-cooked all day, rich and smoky with just enough heat to keep you sweating through every bite, topped with this sharp cheddar she swears by, sour cream, and cubed avocado with a side of homemade cornbread that could win awards. I’d do just about anything for a bowl of it short of selling Hudson off to the highest bidder…and even then, depending on the day, I might consider it.
I nudge Boone with my hip, pretending not to be swayed. “Aren’t you sick of us yet?”
