We’ve been together ever since.
So loving him isn’t the issue. Wanting him isn’t hard. Wanting a life with him isn’t hard.
It’s marriage.
Marriage makes the edges of my breath catch because I know what happens when two people rush into forever without understanding what forever feels like in the long run.
My parents married young, and then my mother left town when I was three because this place suffocated her. She never came back.
Sometimes I’m afraid the part of her that needed more is hidden somewhere inside me too, waiting to wake up one morning and ruin everything.
I’m only twenty-three. I haven’t even figured myself out completely yet. But he’s looking at me with those blue-gray eyes that always see more than I want to admit, and I can’t stand how much my chest aches from wanting to give him a yes I’m not ready for.
I realize I’ve been staring at him for way too long instead of actually finishing my paperwork. I clear my throat and slide the last folder shut, forcing a smile as I stand.
“I’m done. We can head out for dinner.”
Billy rises from the little waiting room chair, and even after five years together, he still surprises me with how tall he is, how his presence fills a room without him trying.
He waits while I tidy up, adjusting bottles on the counter, leaving notes for tomorrow, locking up supplies. I’m always making mental lists, always thinking ahead, always making sure nothing gets left undone.
When everything is finally in place, I lock the door, and he threads his fingers through mine as he guides me toward his truck. He opens the door for me—because he always does—and I climb in, breathing in the familiar mix of him that lingers in the cab.
Pine smoke. Leather. A hint of sweat from whatever he was doing before he came by. All of it makes something low in my belly clench.
He settles in beside me and turns on the radio, soft country humming through the speakers. “Ready?” he asks.
I nod and rest my hand on his thigh, the way I always do when we drive anywhere. He brings my hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of my fingers, and there’s a little sting of emotion behind my ribs.
I love him. I love him so much it scares me.
So why can’t I just say yes?
The drive to Daisy’s Diner doesn’t take long under the late evening sky. The neon sign glows outside the big windows, and Daisy Mae herself is at the counter pouring coffee for a pair of truckers.
She’s retired, but she refuses to close down the diner because she says people fall apart when someone stops mothering them. She’s probably right.
We slide into one of the corner booths. Daisy walks over with menus and sets them down with a knowing little smile.
She’s been watching us since we were kids. She probably sees the storm sitting between us before we even open our mouths.
We order meatloaf plates because that’s what everyone orders at Daisy’s after a long day. After she heads back to the kitchen, I realize Billy hasn’t said much, and it tightens something inside me.
“You’re being a little quiet.”
“I’m fine,” he says, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that gives him away. He’s trying to be strong for me, but the silence isn’t protecting either of us. It’s choking the air around us.
He starts to speak right when I do, and we both stop, then laugh under our breath. The laugh helps. It doesn’t fix anything, but it helps.
“You go first,” I tell him.
He leans back slightly and runs a thumb along the side of my hand. “Seth wants to see if we can get into team roping.”
I blink. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin. “Not as dangerous as what Joey’s doing with those bulls. And I’ll be careful. I promise.”
He’s smirking now, and the corner of his eyes warm. “What?” I ask. “Why’re you smiling?”
