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From the edge of the field, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear they were failing miserably to communicate.

The urge to rush in and translate was almost overpowering. I knew I could get them to understand each other better, but I doubted they’d welcome my help. The day before, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But I couldn’t stop seeing Art stomping out of the store, intent on getting away from me.

When Viv’s face crumpled, I stopped fighting the urge.

“Can we all just stop for a second and take a really deep breath?” I asked, clambering over the fence and stepping into the field.

They watched me trudge over to them with twin perplexed expressions that would have been funny in other circumstances. I waited until I was closer before continuing.

“Viv, your dad is only angry because he’s worried about you.” She glared at me, and I threw up my hands defensively. “Hey! I’m trying to help. What if you tried telling him what’s going on?”

“And Art?” I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart and fisted my hands in my pockets. It took far more courage than it should have to meet his gaze. The cold expression from before was gone, and in its place was the one he usually reserved for when I was doing something endearingly baffling. I’d take it. “Maybe you could set aside your anger for a minute to listen to what she has to say.” I suggested in my least judgmental voice possible. Not entirely sure of the reception I would get, I took a step closer to him anyway to slip my hand in his and squeeze it, so he’d know I was on his side. His answering squeeze came without even a beat of hesitation, and he leaned his shoulder gently into mine. Some of the panic roiling inside me eased, and with a grateful sigh, I leaned back into him.

“Fine. I’ll tell you if Dad promises not to yell until I’m done,” Viv said, shooting a challenging look at her father, who only nodded once I squeezed his hand again. “This is Rory.” Viv scratched the baby cow between the eyes. As if it had never experienced anything more delightful, it wiggled its massive head from side to side, its tongue sticking out comically. I almost expected it to start purring. “His mom abandoned him, so he needs a lot of hands-on care. But Mr. O’Shea is too busy, so he was going to send him off to… Well… You know…” Her voice cracked a little, and she lowered her forehead to the calf’s. She gulped. “So Davie and I and some of the other kids made him a deal. If we all take turns taking care of Rory, then he’ll let him stay on the farm.”

“This is what you’ve been doing when you go out for a walk in the afternoon?” I asked, letting go of Art’s hand to sink to my knees so I could run my hand over the baby cow’s soft nose.

Viv looked a little sheepish. “Well, yeah. And I went out a few times during the night to check on him. We’ve been taking turns.” She looked up at her dad, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to lie. But I knew you’d say no if I asked, and I was really worried about Rory.”

“Aw, kiddo.” Art sank to his knees next to me, but instead of reaching for the calf, he pulled his daughter into his arms. She buried her face in his chest and released a shuddering sob. “I’m sorry you didn’t think you could talk to me about this. I’m not always the best listener, huh? I’ll try harder, I promise.”

He looked over her head and looked me straight in the eye as he made the promise, and I felt it settle in me like the peace offering he intended.

We left Viv in the field with the calf, waiting for Davie to relieve her. She promised she’d come straight back to the shop as soon as he arrived so she could help with whatever remained of the grand opening festivities.

Art and I walked side by side, not really touching or talking, a little uncertain with each other after our first real fight. The silence dragged on until we both spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” Art said.

“No,” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry. You asked me to be honest, and I agreed without considering just how hard that might be. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you everything, but I’m still getting used to being able to share things without worrying about the fallout.”

“And then I did the exact thing you were scared I’d do. I really flubbed it, huh?” Art grimaced. “It was an unfair request given your history. I’m sorry I pushed you into something that made you uncomfortable. And I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you earlier today. It was inexcusable. I said some truly awful, entirely unwarranted things.” He stopped and turned me to face me. He cupped my face in his hand and lifted my chin so that we were looking into each other’s eyes. “The promise I made to Viv goes for you too. I will try my best to listen more and judge less going forward.”

“Thank you,” I said, relief making my legs wobbly enough that I had to hold on to him to stay upright.

“I also need to apologize for taking your help a bit for granted, which I never intended to do.” He slipped his arms around me and pulled me in closer so he could kiss me gently. “You are so important to me and to the kids, and I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for us since we got here. But I want you to know that’s not why I care so much about you. You could never lift another finger to help me or the kids, and I would still love you.”

I froze, staring into his eyes, wondering if the word had slipped out accidentally, and he would recall it. Catching sight of my wild-eyed expression, he laughed.

“I mean it, Meg MacIntosh. I love you. I love everything about you. I haven’t said it yet, because I didn’t want to freak you out, but it’s true.”

My heart thumped so loudly, it drowned everything out around us. The words shaped the affection I felt from him and for him and transformed the nebulous feeling into a tangible thing I could point to and name.

It wasn’t just gratitude that I felt for this man who wasn’t afraid to show up every day as his most vulnerable self, and who saw all of me—the pretty parts and the sadder, darker parts I usually hid from people—and asked for more. It wasn’t just appreciation that I felt for this man who held space for all my emotions and for me to safely explore who I wanted to be. It was love. Pure and simple.

“I love you, too, Art Winslow,” I said, stretching up to meet his lips.

He kissed me back tenderly, then pulled back, caressing my cheek with his thumb as he gazed lovingly into my eyes. “While I would gladly stand here kissing you all day and all night if it helped you understand all that you mean to me, that would be horribly selfish of me. You’ve already been gone from the store for way too long because of my nonsense.”

Reluctantly, I unwound my arms from around his neck and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, leaning against him as we resumed our walk.

I felt weightless as we meandered back, arm in arm, leaning against each other for the sheer joy of the contact, stopping every few feet for another quick kiss.

“What I don’t understand is how you knew Viv was in a field with a cow,” Art said after we stopped for one last kiss when the shop came into view in the distance.

Everything in me stilled, bracing for what I’d see when I glanced at him. There would be no better moment to break it to him that there was a lot more to me than met the eye. But he’d been so casually dismissive of my certainty. How would he take it if I told him that yes, in fact, I did know because I was a witch?

The fear holding me back was a familiar, comforting thing. It had kept me safe for decades. Or at least, it had lulled me into a false sense of safety.