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“You guys are a riot,” Bryce said with sarcasm. “So I miss my fiancée, is that so terrible?”
I smiled. “No, no. It’s good. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t miss her. So, what are we at now? Four weeks to the wedding?” I looked at Krystal for the answer. I was pretty sure Bryce would know, but I wasn’t going to be the one to get him in trouble if he was wrong.
“Three,” Krystal corrected me. “I’m sure it’ll be here before we know it. I’ve got a meeting next Friday with Lily and Bloom’s Farm to make sure everything is all set. Actually, Monica, you should come!”
“Sure. I can do that. I have to work on Thursday–and I’ve never been so excited to say those words–but Friday works.”
I loved seeing how happy she was to get back to work.
“Perfect. I’m supposed to go Friday morning, and Bryce will be on shift.”
“Sounds good. I haven’t been to Bloom’s Farm in ages. That’ll be fun.”
The rest of the evening was full of laughter, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I parked my truck in front of the hardware store to drop her off at home. “You know, I really love your family,” I said, turning toward her to say something I hadn’t since before the accident. “But not nearly as much as I love you.”
There was a hint of surprise in her eyes, and then they crinkled with a smile. “That’s good. Because I really love you, too.”
Relief flooded through me. Two-and-a-half months ago, I’d been worried that I’d never get to hear her say those words again.
At her declaration, I leaned across the center console and kissed her. With every beat of my heart during the kiss, it drummed out the promise to never choke out the love between us with negativity or criticism. My lips danced against hers, the soft and sweet give and take between us eventually overtaking my thoughts and replacing them only with thoughts of her. My love for her was fire, all-consuming heat and warmth.
I kissed her knowing I would gladly sacrifice myself in the flames for just a second more of the intense pleasure of being loved by her. Somehow, despite impossible odds, our relationship had been rekindled from the barely burning coals locked deep in her memories.
And I wasn’t ever going to let it be extinguished.
We pulled apart, panting slightly as the radio filled the silence with soft country music.
She touched her lips gently, her eyes slightly unfocused. I wasn’t the only one who’d been lost in the kiss.
“Good night, my love.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Good night.”
ChapterTwenty
JAKE
The bitterness started to leak out of me before we even reached the cemetery. I did my best to rein it in, knowing that Mom needed me. I didn’t know why she even bothered coming back here, but I didn’t understand a lot about her feelings for my dad.
I pulled the truck under the wrought iron archway that adorned the entrance of Galloway Valley Cemetery. I rolled down the window, hearing the crunch of my tires on the crushed stone of the narrow two-lane road that wove through the cemetery.
The grass was neatly mowed and grave markers of all shapes and sizes stood in neat rows stretching toward the trees to the west. This particular cemetery was about ten miles west of Minden and had been around for hundreds of years. I could remember coming out here with buddies while we were in high school, horsing around and telling spooky stories like we thought we were tough.
I also remembered sneaking in late after one of those nights to find my dad waiting up for me in the living room with a look of disappointment and a fountain of angry words that left no room for apologies.
Shaking off the memory, I parked the truck close to Dad’s plot and walked around the truck to help Mom out.
“Can you bring the flowers?” she asked as she started down the row.
I sighed. I had been hoping she’d let me just wait by the truck, but I knew that was just wishful thinking. Mom had a bag of silk flowers I had tucked behind the seat when I picked her up. I grabbed it and walked through the grass, scanning the unfamiliar names and dates of the people buried here. As I got closer to Dad’s grave, the dates grew more modern and the grave markers less worn.
Mom was brushing grass clippings from the gravestone when I caught up. She pulled the faded silk flowers from the built-in vase on the side of the marker and held them out to me.
Without a word, I took them and handed her the new ones she had brought. I watched as she arranged them, carefully spreading the stiff stems in an artful display. When she finished, she knelt at the front of the grave, where her own name and birthdate were already etched into the stone.
When he died, I tried to talk her out of the double headstone. She had an entire lifetime ahead of her still, but she’d been adamant that she’d never remarry.
“Why do you still care, Mom?” I asked, unable to hold back my questions any longer.
