Page 194 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

Mom.

Dad.

Pops.

Men who disappeared once dating me became more complicated than they’d expected.

“If Beau leaves after you tell him, you’ll be devastated,” Meme rubbed her thumb across my knuckles, “and I’ll hate him until the day I die. But you’ll survive it because that’s what you’ve taught yourself to do.” She paused. “If he stays, you might actually have to let yourself be happy.”

I stared at her.

“And that means you have something to lose again.”

I hated when she knew me better than I knew myself.

Meme stood and kissed the top of my head. “Now go take that leg off for an hour before I remove it myself.”

I laughed wetly. “That’s threatening.”

“I raised your mother. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

She started toward the sink.

“Meme?”

She looked back.

“Do you really think he’ll stay?”

For once, she didn’t tease me.

“I think he’s already staying, honey. You just haven’t trusted it yet.”

By the time Beau’s truck appeared at the end of the driveway that evening, I’d talked myself out of telling him at least a dozen times.

It was surprisingly easy to find reasons why tonight wasn’t right.

The festival was two days away. We were both exhausted. Beau had worked all day before coming to Marigold, and I could tell myself it wasn’t fair to drop something this heavy into his lap when he probably hadn’t even eaten dinner. I could wait until after the festival when there weren’t hundreds of unfinished things competing for my attention. I could wait until my leg wasn’t irritated from spending too many hours inside the socket, because showing him for the first time when my skin was angry and sore felt like introducing him to the ugliest version of something I already struggled to accept.

But there would always be a reason to wait.

That was the problem.

I had been waiting for five years.

I watched his truck travel down the long gravel drive, disappearing briefly behind the row of oak trees before emerging near the barn, and the nervous flutter in my stomach became something heavier.

And what if he stays?

Meme had made it sound so simple.

I didn’t know why staying frightened me almost as much as leaving.

Maybe because I knew what to do with rejection. I’d survived it before. I knew how to take that particular kind of hurt and tuck it somewhere nobody could see. I’d tell myself the man wasn’t worth having if something as insignificant as a missing leg could make him stop wanting me. I’d cry somewhere private, swear off dating for another year, and return to the life I understood.

Beau staying would require something entirely different from me.

It would require believing him.