Page 110 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

Sutton stood under the shade of a sycamore, a paper cup of lemonade sweating in her hand while shrieking five-year-olds ran in feral circles. Lynlee’s pony—now covered in glitter stars and hair bows—looked one meltdown away from demanding hazard pay.

Five.

The number settled in Sutton’s chest with a strange mix of pride and disbelief. Five years ago, Lynlee had been small enough to fit against her heart, all broken cries and soft breaths, and now she was out there in the sun, loud and laughing and utterly certain the world would meet her joy halfway.

Five birthdays. Five years of figuring it out as she went. Five years of choosing joy where she could, and holding things together with love and sheer stubborn will. Whatever else the day held—glitter, noise, or impending pony rebellion—this part she’d gotten right.

Vivi adjusted her sunglasses. “I swear to god, that pony is going to unionize.”

Jo snorted. “Same. If it were me, I’d demand benefits and PTO.”

The three women went quiet as the Callahan brothers came into view—sun hitting them like a spotlight. They were loading coolers off the back of a side-by-side, all shoulders and hands and unapologetic testosterone.

Vivi made a low sound of pure, female appreciation. “That should come with a warning label.”

Jo didn’t bother with subtle. “Look at them. Sun-kissed, ranch-raised prime rib.”

“They are men, not entrée specials,” Sutton said but her eyes were glued to the scene like they were the finale of the Bachelor.

Jo lifted her lemonade. “Well, I’d like mine medium-rare with a side of reckless decisions.”

Vivi nodded like she was swearing in testimony. “Ladies, I’d climb Boone like a hayloft ladder.”

Sutton choked on her lemonade. “Please don’t climb anyone.”

“Why not?” Jo asked. “Colter in those jeans? They were stitched for ascending.”

Sutton tried—really tried—to keep her gaze off Colter. But there he was, hauling a folding table with Boone, jaw tight with focus, biceps flexing under a T-shirt that had no moral reason to fit that well.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Jo crossed her arms. “They’re objects. Sexy, manly objects. This is our reparations era.”

“They’re also good men,” Sutton muttered before she could catch herself.

Both Vivi and Jo snapped their gazes to her like she’d just confessed to murder.

Vivi’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? Good men?”

Jo grinned slowly. “That sounds like someone who had a successful date.”

Sutton stared into her lemonade like she could drown in it. “It went well. Really well.”

Jo slapped a dramatic hand over her heart. “She admits it.”

“I’m not admitting anything,” Sutton said, committing to lie number nine. “I’m just—acknowledging stuff.”

Vivi bumped her shoulder. “Did the stuff involve kissing?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Says the woman who moaned her way through the memory,” Jo countered.

Sutton felt heat climb her cheeks. “Maybe a little kiss.”

“Under the porch light,” Vivi corrected.

“How do you know?”