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My vinyl of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours plays from the living room, serving as our soundtrack of the evening.
I smirk to myself as I chop the last of the veggies on the cutting board while listening to Stevie Nicks sing her lines.
The blonde singer’s less-than-flattering feelings about her ex are relatable. She calmly reflects on their relationship and how she’s accepted it’s over. She’s better for it.
I can’t think of a better way to describe my failed marriage to Craig.
It’s been almost two weeks since he left town. His number’s blocked, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re no longer on speaking terms and won’t be ever again.
Should he come anywhere near me, I’m prepared to get law enforcement involved.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and Aunt Paula’s face fills the screen with a video call request. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and answer, propping the phone against the fruit bowl so she can see both of us.
“There she is,” Aunt Paula cries out. “And there he is! Let me get a good look at the young man who’s got my niece smiling like I haven’t seen in years.”
Rhett leans into the frame from behind me, spatula in hand. “Evening, ma’am. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Ma’am. Listen to him, so polite.” Paula fans herself dramatically. “Baby, you did not tell me he was this fine in person. Lord have mercy.”
“You’re on speaker, Auntie.”
“Good. I want him to hear it. Vivica, I’m proud of you for tapping that.”
I close my eyes. Rhett’s shoulders shake with laughter beside me.
“Please don’t encourage her,” I mutter to him.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, clearly delighted.
Aunt Paula spends the next several minutes asking Rhett a rapid-fire series of questions that range from the reasonable—what branch of the military, how long has he been at the ranch, what magic spell did he perform to break down her stubborn niece’s walls—to the deeply personal, delivered with the cheerful shamelessness of a woman who believes boundaries are suggestions.
Rhett handles every one of them with charm and patience, answering her honestly and making her laugh as the conversation goes on.
“Now, baby, I want to apologize again for that Facebook post,” she says, her expression sobering slightly. “I had no idea that trifling ex of yours was still on my friends list. I should’ve been more careful.”
“It’s fine, Auntie. Really. Craig’s gone and he’s not coming back.”
“Good riddance,” Paula declares. “And if he does come back, sounds like your man here’ll handle it.”
“We handled it together,” Rhett says confidently, sliding his arm around my shoulders.
The conversation drifts to the holidays, and Aunt Paula mentions she’s been thinking about making the trip out to Ironhaven for Thanksgiving or Christmas. She’d love to see the cottage and the ranch and meet this cowboy properly, face-to-face.
“There’s always room in Ironhaven for more Murphy women,” Rhett says, warmth in his tone.
Paula’s face softens. “I like this one, baby. I really do.”
“Me too, Auntie.”
We say our goodbyes, and I set the phone down, turning back to the cutting board. Rhett’s watching me with a look that’s become so familiar over our time together. It’s both tender and unguarded and makes me slightly nervous (in a good way).
He often watches me. I often pretend I don’t notice, though I do.
…though I enjoy that he does.
We sit down to dinner, both impressed by what we’ve created.
I’ll have to thank Miss Bee for whatever recipe she gave Rhett. The chicken came out perfect, and the roasted veggies have just the right crispness to them.
