"You abstained."
"Conflict of interest." The corner of her mouth moves. "But for what it's worth." She looks at my boots, my hat, my hands. Back at my face. "I would have voted yes."
Something warm moves through my chest.
Remy raises his water bottle. "To Money Bags. The man who cowboyed up. Five months in the making."
Silas raises his coffee.
Laney raises hers.
I look at the three of them sitting at the tailgate in the Texas noon sun, this crew that has become something I didn't know I was looking for when I drove all night from San Francisco with a daughter who wanted cowboy boots and a ranch I'd never seen in person.
I raise my water bottle.
"I'm still not a cowboy," I say.
"Sure," Remy says agreeably.
Nobody believes me.
Including me.
The public couple thing happens gradually and then all at once.
Not an announcement. Not a conversation where we decided anything formally. Just the natural accumulation of small things that stop being subtle because neither of us is pretending not to see them anymore.
It starts at Magnolia Diner on Saturday morning.
We go as a group, same as we sometimes do on weekends, Remy, Silas, Maisie, me, Laney. Jolene seats us in the big booth and brings coffee without being asked and moves back behind the counter. Standard Saturday morning.
Except this time Laney slides into the booth beside me instead of across from me.
One booth side instead of the other.
Remy watches this happen over the top of his menu with eyes that are doing considerable work. Silas doesn't look up from his menu at all, which means he noticed immediately. Maisie slides in on my other side and picks up the children's menu and says nothing.
Maisie has been waiting for this exact development since approximately week three and is not going to do anything to disturb it now that it's arrived.
Jolene comes back for our order.
She looks at the booth configuration.
Looks at Laney beside me.
Looks at me.
Sets a hand on my shoulder briefly, the warm maternal gesture she reserves for things she approves of, and takes our order without comment.
Her approval rating in this town is such that by Monday the news will have moved through Silver Ridge the way all Silver Ridge information moves. Quietly, completely, without anyone being able to identify exactly how it traveled.
It's a good breakfast.
At some point my arm is along the back of the booth behind Laney and neither of us marks the moment because there's no moment to mark.
It just is. The way things between us just are now without requiring navigation.
Remy eats his eggs with the focused contentment of a man watching an investment finally pay off.
