“I’m glad you’re here, Leigh. Really glad. And I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Me too,” I said, and meant it.
#
The drive to Trace and Delaney’s farm felt shorter this time. Familiar. Several cars were already parked in the gravel drive when we pulled up, and my stomach did an uncomfortable flip.
“Ready?” Mom asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Inside, the house was organized chaos. Kids running between rooms, adults congregating in the kitchen, the smell of something delicious in the oven. It felt lived-in and warm and welcoming in a way that made my chest ache.
This was what family was supposed to feel like.
“Leigh!” Delaney appeared, flour on her apron, a genuine smile on her face. “You’re here. Come in, please. We’re just finishing up dinner.”
Blake waved from the kitchen, Amelia on her hip. Reece was setting the table with Cade’s help. Billie was chopping something at the counter. The women moved around each other with the ease of people who’d done this a hundred times.
I wanted that. Wanted to be part of the rhythm instead of standing on the outside watching.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Delaney said. “Come grab plates.”
And just like that, I was folded into the preparations. Blake handed me silverware to set out. Cade showed me where everything went. The conversation flowed naturally, including me without making it feel like an effort.
The men were outside, I could see them through the window. Trace at the grill, Booker beside him, Gage and Xander talking while holding what looked to be a sleeping Barrett.
And Jasper, standing with them, part of the group in a way that seemed natural now. Not tentative anymore. Real.
But no Dex.
Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d bailed, avoiding the awkwardness of seeing me again.
I told myself I was relieved.
I was absolutely lying.
Then I heard a truck pulling up outside, and my whole body tensed.
Through the window, I watched Dex get out. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t been sleeping well. He stood by his truck for a moment, staring at the house like he was gathering courage, before finally walking toward the porch.
Our eyes met through the window.
For a second, neither of us looked away. Then he disappeared from view as he reached the door, and I heard Trace’s voice greeting him.
“Dex! You made it. Come on, grab a drink. Beer? Water? Soda?”
“Water’s fine.”
His voice. God, his voice. Rough and familiar and making my stomach flip in ways I absolutely did not want to think about.
I focused on the plates in my hands, arranging them precisely, trying to look busy. Trying not to look at him when he walked into the kitchen.
But I felt him. Felt the moment he saw me. Felt the tension spike in the air between us.
“Dex,” Delaney said warmly. “Perfect timing. We’re about ready to eat.”
