“I do. But I think you might do the same for her. You kind of weirdly balance each other out. How is she doing?”
I pause, watching the sun dip behind the trees. “She’s tired. Trying to help Ella. Trying to navigate the minefield that is her mother.”
“That makes sense,” she nods. “Last night she looked like she’d gone twelve rounds with emotional exhaustion.”
I don’t mention that there was an unfortunate incident with a cold front, the town fountain, and Ella. It’s not my story to share, but it shook Laila up pretty good. The stakes keep rising, and now there’s a magical edge that didn’t seem to exist before. That’s something the Jacksons seem to want to keep to themselves for now.
“That’s an accurate observation,” I mumble. “She feels responsible for the whole world.”
“But who’s responsible for her?”
When I say nothing, Kenna blows out a breath. Understanding dawns in her eyes, and she takes another bite. Then, just as quietly, we walk again. For a few beats, the scuff of our boots on dirt joins the music of the cicadas in the trees. It’s late in the season for them, but Enchanted Hollow rarely follows seasonal rules.
I don’t think Enchanted Hollow follows any rules but its own.
My family likes to embellish stories, so without doing the research, I’m not entirely sure what the truth is about how we all came to be here. Supposedly, Mom’s ancestors came to Texas in the late 1800s, missing the Civil War and joining already established families in South Central Texas. We’ve got farmland, like a lot of people, but it’s nothing like what the Jacksons have. It’s not used for tourism. It’s just home.
Most Czech families chose cotton or corn as a cash crop, and then grew whatever else they needed out of necessity. Mom’s family hose corn. We also grow vegetables and have a few colonies of bees, so we have easy access to honey. It’s a secret—or not so secret—staple in a lot of our recipes.
She and Dad met at one of the many events Enchanted Hollow likes to throw, and that was it. The Czech woman fell in love with the Texas farmer. We’re a blend of both cultures, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I love her—the mix of old and new, roots and adventure. Laila’s the wild bloom that grew where no one expected it, and somehow, she still feels like part of the same soil.
It’s the only life I’ve ever known.
I gaze over the cornfields and wonder if Laila could ever actually be happy in one place. My mom and sister are excellentgardeners. We try to grow as much as we need ourselves. But that’s not Laila’s thing.
Would she fit here?
Absolutely.
But would she ever stay? That’s the question that keeps me up at night.
Laila fills my imagination, her face tilted up toward the sun, spinning through the giant stalks. Her voice soothes me as she spouts off facts about corn and our family history, because it’s what she does. I can almost hear the hum of bees in the distance and smell cinnamon on her skin, like she’s already woven herself into this place. There’s a pride in sharing about people, especially families, that most people don’t even know exists.
Laila’s got a quiet zest for life that matches everyone in my family. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her back down from a challenge. Which is exactly why she’s running on empty, she should back down from a couple.
“So…how’s it going having her back? For more than a weekend.”
I don’t know how to explain it without it soundingexactlylike what it is.
“The ticking clock still exists because of the wedding, but I’m not sure how serious she is about it. She’s cooking sometimes, baking, falling asleep on the couch in the middle of a movie…”
“It feels like a life,” McKenna supplies for me. “Likereallife.”
“It does.” I sigh.
She hums as she takes another bite. “I always wondered what would happen if you two got more than a weekend.”
“I think you’re watching it play out.”
She tips her head away from me. “Kolaches aren’t a bad snack for this movie time.”
“We’ll figure it out. I think we’ve managed pretty well so far.”
Her laugh floats in the air, and she playfully smacks me in the arm. “Except that you’re both running yourselves into the dirt. Please tell me you’ve got a spa day planned for her when this is all over?”
I reach up and rub my neck. I haven’t let myself think about what comes after the wedding. My focus has been on the present, with occasional peeks into the distant future.
