call me after. I need everything. I mean it. EVERYTHING.
also…are you okay? like actually?
I looked at that one for a moment. The way she'd tucked it in at the end, after all the jokes—that was pure Daniela. The humor first, always, and then the real question hiding underneath it.
I typed back honestly.
MILLIE
yeah. I really am.
DANIELA
good. he better deserve you.
I looked at the note still sitting on the pillow beside me.
I smiled.
MILLIE
I think he might.
Then I got up to find the coffee.
I called my mother on the way over, and she asked all the requisite questions—how’s the ranch, were you comfortable, how’d you sleep? I didn’t have nearly the level of detail in my answers for her as I did for Daniela…but I assured her that the place was beautiful, that I was comfortable, and that I’d slept wonderfully.
She asked if I'd met the family yet and I said I was headed to do that right now, actually, and she made a sound that was half excitement and half warning.
"Be yourself," she said. "But also…be a little bit of your best self."
"That's contradictory advice, Mamá.”
"No it isn't. Your best selfisyourself. Just without the nervous rambling."
"I don't nervously ramble."
"Millie."
"Occasionally," I said. "When prompted."
She laughed. "Call me later. And eat something."
"That's what I'm going to the main house for."
"Good." A pause, warm and familiar. "I'm glad you're okay, mija."
"I'm really okay," I said.
And I was.
The morning was already warm, that thick Hill Country warmth that settled over you like a veil. The path to the main house wasn't long—maybe a few minutes' walk across the property—and I'd pulled my hair up and found a clean sundress in one of the boxes I still hadn't unpacked, pale blue this time, and done approximately nothing else to prepare for meeting Gage's mother.
Which was probably fine.
Probably.
Dolly fell into step beside me about halfway across the yard, materializing from somewhere without announcement.
