We always will.
Loving Sean has been the most effortless choice I’ve ever made—as easy as taking a deep breath on a lazy Sunday morning, as natural as watching the sunrise, or listening to cicadas sing in the summer.
I always thought belonging was something you had to earn—like there was a secret handshake or a list of rules I’d never figure out. But I’ve learned it’s so much simpler than that. Belonging isn’t something you chase, it’s something you choose.
It happens when you’re finally brave enough to be yourself with people who make you want to be even better.
It happens when you love someone enough to wait for them, and they love you enough to take you with them, instead.
Sean’s in khaki slacks and a crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows, his tie already loose. I’m in a flowy white cotton dress that skims the top of my wedges. The sun’s long gone, but the air is still warm and sweet, carrying the scent of mown grass and the promise of fall. Just like at our wedding, string lights crisscross over the field, and old wooden picnic tables are covered in white linen tablecloths and mason jars of wildflowers.
We’re dancing to a slow song around home plate, where the dirt’s worn smooth and the air feels almost magical.
“So, how’s your night going, Boss?” Sean asks.
My head is on his shoulder, my arms around his neck as we sway. “Perfect now that you’re here.”
“You’re so cheesy, I could put you on my quesadilla,” he says.
“All I heard was that you think I’m delicious,” I say.
His laugh makes me smile. Flirting with my husband is one of my absolute favorite things about being married. As delicious as falling asleep in his arms. As exhilarating as waking up in them.
I kiss his neck, breathing in the scent of his beard balm—that woodsy, oak barrel scent that intoxicates me whenever I’m close enough to smell it.
I’m practically a drunkard at this point.
“I love you, Cap,” I tell him.
“I love you, too, Boss.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice says, and I look up to see Wes. “Any chance I could stay at your place?—”
“No,” Sean and I say in unison.
Wes frowns. “No need to be jerks about it. It’s not like you need the couch.”
Sean laughs against my temple. “No, we do not. But you’re still not staying.”
“Get a new house, already,” Wes grumbles as he walks away.
“You know, that’s a good idea,” Sean says as I put my head back on his shoulder. “It’s probably time for us to upgrade, don’t you think?”
I tut. “I don’t know. Think we can afford it?”
He laughs. His own contract is worth enough to make this question silly.
My net worth makes it absurd.
“It has to be in Mullet Ridge,” Sean reminds me, because even though I’m married to a resident, even though Serena’s petition was rejected, MiLB has accepted my ownership claim, and Aldridge has backed off completely (rumor has it he’s looking to sell the Outlaws, in fact), it’s not like the residency clause doesn’t exist.
Or at least that’s what we’re telling ourselves. Mayor Kent threw the first pitch in last night’s game. I don’t think that’s a bylaw he cares to enforce, no matter what his grandson’s wife wants.
“That’s fine by me,” I say. “As long as it has a lot of bedrooms.”
“For when your brothers want to crash at our place?”
“For when we start popping out babies,” I say, smiling.
