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“So, why the costume?” I asked when we pulled back to grin at each other. “Not that I’m complaining,” I added, taking in the sight of his muscular thighs encased in thin tights. “Not even a little.”
Hunter shrugged. “I had you wear the costume to prove a point to the town, right? Only seemed right for me to wear it now.”
I ran my hands through his messy hair. “Is it gonna be this way forever, then? Whenever one of us screws up, there’s a turkey walk in our future to make amends?”
His lips widened in a satisfied grin. “Does this mean you plan on staying with me forever?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I was done hiding my feelings for Hunter Jackson once and for all. “I can’t think of anything I’d like better,” I told him and kissed him again… just because I could.
“Now, that,” Lurleen said with a sniffle, “is the most majestic sight in all of Tennessee. Dolly Parton would be proud.”
“Get a room, boys!” Amos shouted. Then, a second later, “No, wait, don’t go anywhere yet. Emmy, run me over to the Rite-Quick. I need to see if that deal’s still running.”
“It’s not too late,” Hunter whispered roughly against my cheek. “Maybe we could both move to Chicago. Or New Zealand. Or the North Pole.”
“Afraid not,” I said mock-sadly. “Nutters belong in the Thicket, baby. And from now on, I’m not going anywhere.”
Epilogue
HUNTER
Christmastime - A Year Later
“I thought you were only here for nine pallets. You sure the manifest is correct?” I asked the semi driver as I kicked a clump of mud off my boot and watched it skitter over the gravel lot in front of our new plant warehouse.
The woman nodded, sending her thick gray ponytail swinging. “According to my information…” She looked down at the screen and frowned. “Wait. Maybe this isn’t right after all. It says here it’s a pickup arranged by a Charlton Heston Nutter. Somebody’s pulling a prank on me.”
I sighed and held back a smile. “Nah, that’s right, then. He’s my head of distribution and logistics. If he said we’re sending eighteen pallets, we’re sending eighteen pallets. Hang on, and let me get someone on the forklift. They’ll bring everything out, and we’ll get it loaded.”
After catching Larry’s eye and waving him over, I put him in charge of pulling the poinsettias out of the warehouse and helping me load them onto the truck. I watched with pride as the most gorgeous, pet-safe variation of poinsettias on the market wheeled their way from our warehouse to parts unknown. Now that Charlie had taken over distribution, our business reach had grown like kudzu vines in an abandoned lot. It seemed like Jackson’s Organic Blooms were sold everywhere, and just this week Charlie had been out of town negotiating a new distribution deal with a company in Chicago to supply organic, pet-safe plants to several boutique stores in the metro area.
We were so busy Alana had called an emergency family meeting to beg our parents to make me stop using her event barn for overflow storage space between events.
My parents had agreed… and then invested the money needed to build a new warehouse right next to the one already half built with the company’s own money. Now we had room to grow even bigger, and until the second warehouse was full, Charlie and I had a place to invite our friends over for impromptu roller derby parties.
It was working out fine.
When the dust from the departing semi finally began to fade, it was whipped up again by an unfamiliar gray SUV with a ride share logo placard in the front windshield.
Fucking finally.
I moved away from the warehouse door and toward the drive that led to the house, waving my ball cap in the air to get the vehicle to stop here instead of heading all the way up the drive.
Larry muttered, “He’s been gone less than forty-eight hours, Hunt. Have some dignity.”
I didn’t take my eyes off the slowing vehicle as I replied. “No dignity needed, Lar. And don’t make me remind you of the time Leela got back from her girls’ weekend at Dollywood and you asked for a half day off to, and I quote, get reacquainted with one another.”
As Charlie pulled his overnight bag out of the car, I could hear him talking to the driver. “And be sure to stop at Wisteria Cafe on your way out of town—they donate half the profits from every coffee sold to the local schools, which really adds up. Tell Penny that Junior Nutter sent you.”
“Thought your name was Charlie,” the driver said in confusion.
Charlie shrugged. “Hometown nicknames have a way of sticking sometimes. You learn to get used to it. Drive safe, and thanks again!”
He turned to me just in time to catch me against his chest. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed tight, inhaling the familiar, delicious scent of him, buried under the layer of airplane smell.
