Page 226 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

By the time we returned to bed, I was exhausted. I fell asleep with Beau wrapped around me, not a thought in my mind other than the happiness floating around us.

Morning light came through unfamiliar blinds. For several seconds, I didn’t know where I was.

Then I saw the prosthetic beside the bed. Beau’s pillow was empty, and my memory returned all at once.

The smell of coffee reached me a few seconds later.

I got myself situated, and put my prosthetic back on before leaving his room. He stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else, his back to me while something cooked on the stove.

I stopped. Maybe men cooking really was my weakness.

Beau turned and his smile appeared immediately. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning.”

He picked up a Halloween mug from the counter, the words Pumpkin Spice Promises etched into the white glass in orange writing, and handed it to me. I took a sip, surprised it was exactly how I made it at home. I looked at him over the rim, admiring morning Beau.

I took another sip as the morning sunlight danced across his shirtless chest.

A month ago, Beau had been a stranger standing in an automotive shop while I dripped rainwater onto his floor.

Now, I stood barefoot in his kitchen wearing his shirt, drinking coffee he’d learned how to make exactly the way I liked it.

Nothing about my life looked the way I’d once imagined it would.

Beau turned back to the stove. “Pancakes good?”

I walked closer and looked into the pan. “Perfect.” I kissed his shoulder as he flipped the pan and added the pancake to a stack I hadn’t noticed. While he waited for the next one to cook, he pulled me against his chest and kissed my head. I pulled away when it was time for him to flip the pancake again.

I drank my coffee and watched him cook breakfast like it was absolutely normal. That was when it struck me that I’d spent five years imagining what would happen when someone finally saw all of me and stayed.

Maybe staying wasn’t something people promised once. Maybe it was something they did in a hundred ordinary ways.

Beau glanced over his shoulder. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I smiled into my coffee. “No reason.”

Chapter 29

BEAU

By the second Saturday in October, I had learned three things about the Harvest Festival.

Darlene Pike couldn’t be trusted with a walkie-talkie.

Rosie Malone considered a schedule a legally binding document until she personally decided to change it.

And somewhere between opening weekend and this one, half of Georgia had apparently discovered Marigold Ranch.

I stood beside the entrance with a paper cup of coffee in one hand and watched as a line of cars crawled along the gravel drive toward the pasture we’d converted into parking.

“That’s a problem,” Jax said beside me.

“What?” I glanced at him in surprise. “People showing up?”

“The amount of happiness on your face.”

“Fuck off.”