Page 200 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“That’s because nobody raised you properly.”

“My mother would disagree.”

“Your mother isn’t here.”

Beau glanced at me as if expecting help.

I lifted my fork. “You’re on your own.”

“Unbelievable.”

Meme smiled triumphantly and went inside to get the ice cream anyway. Beau muttered something about stubborn women before stealing a bite from my plate.

I slapped his hand.

He stole another.

His palm eventually settled against my bare thigh as naturally as if he’d been touching me that way for years.

I looked at it.

Then at him.

He was watching Meme through the kitchen window, probably preparing himself for whatever quantity of ice cream she planned to force upon him. Since we’d come inside, he hadn’t looked at my prosthetic once. It rested beside the porch bench where I’d left it.

Not hidden by denim for once.

For five years, I’d imagined telling a man the truth as standing at the edge of something and waiting to see whether he stepped backward.

Beau hadn’t.

He’d asked where I hurt. He’d waited for permission before touching me. Then he’d kissed me until I’d forgotten there had ever been anything about my body I was supposed to apologize for.

Nothing about tonight had magically erased five years of insecurity. I knew better than to expect that. There would probably still be moments when I wondered what he saw when he looked at me, because fear didn’t disappear simply because someone finally proved it wrong.

But sitting beside him beneath the orange festival lights, his hand warm against my skin while he waited for my grandmother to return with ice cream he didn’t want, I understood something I hadn’t allowed myself to consider before.

Maybe Meme had been right.

The terrifying part wasn’t telling Beau and watching him leave, I knew how to survive people leaving. The terrifying part was sitting here afterward and realizing that nothing between us had broken.

If anything, Beau felt closer.

The secret I’d spent weeks protecting had disappeared, and he was still beside me. He was still touching me. Tomorrow he would probably still drive through the gate after work and find another unnecessary repair to finish before the festival.

He was still Beau.

And I was still me.

For the first time, that didn’t feel like something I needed to apologize for.

Meme returned carrying the entire carton of vanilla ice cream, and Beau groaned. I laughed and leaned into his side while Meme piled a ridiculous scoop onto what remained of his pie.

His arm moved around me without thought, drawing me comfortably against him.

I rested my head against his shoulder and looked out across Marigold Ranch. Two days from now, the empty fields would be filled with people. The barn would glow. Hay wagons would roll past the pasture again. Children who had never known Pops would run across land he had spent his entire life building.

For years, I had thought moving forward meant leaving pieces of my old life behind.