Page 154 of The Difference Between

I grin before firing back with, “Just paying you back for all the times we heard you and Dad.”

“My God,” Remy says. “What’s gotten into you?”

“She’s besotted,” Mom hollers.

“I am not besotted,” I argue.

Rue snorts gesturing with the coffeepot. “Mom loves that word. You want coffee?”

I fully judge her. “Do you even care about egg quality?”

She rolls her eyes and returns the pot to its home before taking a slurpy sip. At my look, she gives me a too-wide smile. “It’s no London Fog, but it’ll do.”

“Who cares about that?” Remy says over her mug. “What does this mean?”

“Means he screws better than he mows,” I tell her. “I almost applauded. What would your weird author call that?”

“A damn good time,” she says instantly. “But I don’t mean the sex, I mean everything else.” She sets her mug down and runs a hand through her hair. “Does this mean you’re—” Her eyes bounce to Rue then back to me. “Staying?”

I take a sip of my beetroot juice; it’s fucking gross. “I don’t know.”

My I don’t know makes it sound much simpler than it really is. It’s been one week since the bed breaking. On the surface, it’s business as usual. He’s mowing, I’m at the vineyard. Nancy has settled in nicely to her new house. Eventually, Addie will start taking a bus to her after school, but since she loves the vineyard so much, she’s still coming there for me to take her home on days she doesn’t have rehearsal. Only we don’t go home until Gavin gets off work and comes by the shop. Then we have dinner together with my mom and play a board game.

Starting next week, the tasting room will be open on Thursdays and Fridays for the rest of October to test business without Nash being the sole driver of the customer base. I’ve been working to get that ready, finally finding two people I could hire in good conscience: two housewives looking for something to do now that their kids are grown. They reminded me of Mom, though I’ll never tell her that.

With me in there working alone midday all week, Gavin has stopped by on his lunch breaks to check on things at the shop or push my panties to the side.

Usually both.

Only on Wednesday, it was us out at the shop, him telling me he was working on the house side again. He showed me two sample slabs of marble he was debating between for the kitchen counter and asked for my opinion.

“Why now?” I asked, tracing the white slab with my fingertips. I knew it wasn’t the money.

“Timing’s right.” He kissed me, setting the slab off to the side. “And maybe I need to start thinking about the future.” His hands wrapped around my waist. “Or found someone who reminded me this is what I want.”

It was the perfect time for me to tell him I still don’t know. For me to say we’re moving too fast, and I haven’t figured out how this works or where his barndo fits into all that. Only instead of saying any of that, I wrapped my arms around him and we dropped to the unfinished concrete floor. It wasn’t a bed-breaking fuck; he made love to me right there in the middle of construction debris with concrete scraping my back and dust clinging to my hair.

“I lava you, Reese,” he whispered as he rocked me.

I dug my fingernails into his back and cried as I came.

Followed by the unfortunate sound of the ocarina and a nasally, “I love it when I’m right.”

With Gavin’s bare ass up and me naked beneath him and nothing hidden by the midday sun filling the room, I glared at Banyan. “Do you knock?”

He cocked his chin, staring at us—interlocked—and said, “Door was open and the sweet song of euphoric pleasure called my name, Fire Lady. No knocking required.”

Gavin simply laughed, told Banyan to get the hell out, and when he obliged, finished what he started.

It was after that I realized that even though on paper none of this makes sense, for reasons I don’t have the words for or a proven formula to support, this is where I want to be. Despite the money I’ll lose and how uncertain it is, I can’t walk away from this. Him. He is the thing I didn’t believe existed but does.

I’ll run the vineyard and make it thrive and turn Nancy’s house into an inn or short-term rental, then I’ll raise my kids—our kids—in the place I imagined I would when I was teenager.

And if the vineyard goes south, I could consult. It’s a way to stay in the PE world without staying in the PE world. I can do that work from anywhere, travel as needed. Hell, the Rutledge Group would likely keep me busy enough I wouldn’t have to market myself at all. Like starting a business from scratch where the scratch is a gold-plated foot in the door.

But Gavin called it when he said I needed to keep my appointment—I need to hear all my options—about everything—before I decide, even if I already know my decision. I’ll go to the appointment next week, then I’ll go back to Chicago and tell The Family I’m done. I want to leave on good terms, and I want to do it in person. And, fine, I kind of want to see if there’s any regret over sending me on this little hiatus flashing across Trish’s face when I share the news.

“What about the baby?” Remy asks, pulling me out of my head and back to the kitchen.