Page 233 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

Then I saw her now.

She was riding her horse through her ranch and letting everyone see. She lifted one hand and waved at a group of kids.

A little girl near the fence screamed, “I knew she was the fast horse!”

Carson heard her and her smile broke wide. Beside me, Meme made a small sound. Her hand covered her mouth as a tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. Dad pulled her closer, his own eyes wet.

“James should see this,” Meme whispered.

Dad stared at Carson. “He does.” Meme leaned into him.

I looked back toward the path. Carson rode beneath the orange lights while leaves drifted around Blueberry’s legs.

I thought about James Rome. A man I’d known only for a short period of time. I’d gotten to know him through more stories than I could count in the last couple weeks.

His old truck.

A crooked J carved into a willow tree.

A ranch that had spent five years quieter than it was meant to be.

I wondered what he’d think if he could see it now. His wife on the porch. His granddaughter on Blueberry. Hundreds of people walking through Marigold again.

I had a feeling he’d be insufferable.

Carson’s eyes found mine across the crowd, despite the distance, I could see the happiness sparking in her green depths.

The crowd disappeared as she beamed at me.

I loved her.

God, I loved her.

By ten-thirty that night, everyone had disappeared, and the once noisy ranch had been reduced to silence. It was just Carson and I sitting in front of what remained of the bonfire, a blanket over both our legs as the chilly night wrapped around us.

We hadn’t spoken, just enjoyed the crackle of the fire and the crickets.

Eventually, Carson turned fully to face me like she was going to say something, but the words flew from my lips before I knew what was happening.

“I love you.”

I kept going before fear could turn the words into something heavier than I meant them to be.

“I’ve loved you for weeks. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you thinking you had to say it back. You don’t.”

“Beau.” The way she said my name always made my heart skip a beat.

“You don’t owe me anything because I love you.”

She stared at me. Then she laughed softly. “You really don’t know when to shut up.”

I stopped.

Carson scooted close to me on our shared seat, her fingers curling into my shirt as she drew impossibly close.

“I love you, too.”

For all the weeks I’d spent imagining what hearing it might feel like, it felt like something finally settling into place.