Above me, the sign for Will's Steakhouse buzzes softly in the dark.
Tyler is going to kill me.
I didn't know exactly when. But eventually, he was going to come home, and he was going to see this. See us. And whatever happened after that, whatever conversation was waiting at the end of that collision, I wasn't going to be hiding when it arrived.
I am choosing her.
I get in the truck beside her and start the engine, reaching over the console to grab her hand, and the whole drive back, I’m not worried. What would come would come, and I would be here when it did.
Chapter 20
Melodie's Gentle Push
Falon
The beef tips had been in the crock pot since seven in the morning, and by four in the afternoon, the smell throughout the whole farmhouse made my mouth water. I love beef tips. It is one of my favorite meals.
I do not feel like I have my life together. But the house smelled like I did, and on a day when my parents and Bo were all coming to dinner at the same time, I was willing to take the win where I could find it.
I'd spent the better part of the afternoon fussing over the meal and cleaning the house, as much as one could when it was still in construction.
It wasn't the cooking. The mashed potatoes were done and only needed warming, the rolls were rising, and the drinks were in the fridge. It wasn't the house either. The chandelier was up, the new flooring in the living room was solid, and it actually had furniture in it now, rather than the collection of boxes and beanbag chairs.
It was the combination. My parents. Bo. The same table. For the first time since he'd moved intothe guest house.
Frank had been crowing since five, but Frank was a horrible alarm clock.
Rowdy had been following me around since noon like he knew something was up. Every time I moved a dish or straightened a chair, he'd trot after me and sit and watch with his ears forward. Bo had done most of the chores today, but there wasn’t much to do, so I didn’t feel too guilty, kind of.
Rowdy takes that moment to knock a dish towel off the counter.
"Rowdy."
He looks at me, panting and drooling on my floor.
Mom and Dad pull up at five-thirty exactly because my mother has never been late to a single thing in her life and considers it a character flaw in people who are. Dad comes through the door, stops in the entryway, and looks up at the chandelier.
He doesn't say anything for a second.
"You hung that yourself?"
"Bo braced the ladder. But I did the rest. He walked me through a few things." I conveniently forget to mention the fact that I’d almost killed myself in the process.
He looks at me. Then at the chandelier. The last time he was here was before he broke his leg. It’d been too dangerous for him to come since then because of all the work I had going on. Ladders, cords, tools, everything that spoke the language of accidental death to a man on crutches, and my dad didn’t do crutches well. I’d done quite a bit of work since the last time Dad was here. I’d finished the walls, the trim, the staircase, the floors, and a new subfloor in the bathroom, but I didn’t know it needed it. For the most part, I’d done most of the work on my own until Bo got here.
Dad does that slow, evaluating scan dads do when they are deciding if your work is good.
"You and Bo did good, baby girl," he says, and there it was. You and Bo. He didn’t even realize I’d done most of it. This house is my work. My sweat and blood. My baby.
“Mom,” I call out, following her into the kitchen. She’d already lifted the lid off the crock pot and is tasting the sauce. She does this every time she comes over. No matter what I cook, it could be water, and she’d be in the kitchen checking and adding who knows what. I don't know why I'm surprised.
She hums approvingly, puts the lid back, turns around, and looks at the table.
“Oh, good, Bo’s coming.”
“How do you know it’s Bo? What if I’d invited Daisy, Millie, or Joe from Carl’s?” I sass as only an only daughter could.
“Mhm, we all know Bo’s coming. He went by Blooms and Stuff earlier and got flowers. My guess is they are for you,” she adds by running her finger along the counter.
