of panic at the thought of him not being around.
And in that second, I make peace with the fact that I still want him. It just clicks in my head, and all the fight goes out of me. I’m only arguing with myself anyway.
Right or wrong, I’d rather see him every day and be miserable than not see him at all. And maybe I won’t always be miserable, because Caden and I aren’t finished. Suddenly I know that.
Not because he wasn’t wrong—because he was—but because I’m not done. I don’t have to make that the end of our story.
I wonder if this is how my mom felt. As quickly as the thought enters my mind, it vanishes. That’s her narrative, not mine. I can write a new, different story.
He pushes a lock of hair from my shoulder. “If you think I love you because you come with a farm, I’ll quit the farm so I can have you. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.” His navy eyes are intent, and more serious than I’ve ever seen them. “I won’t hesitate for a second. If it’s a choice between you and the job, I’m going to choose you every single time.”
Despite my fears and worries and anger, it’s happening. I’m thawing, and goddamn it, I want to believe. Just one time in my life, I want to believe without fearing something is going to reach out and snatch it away from me.
Not quite ready to fall into his open arms, I shake my head. “That’s not fair to Wyatt and Jackson.”
“I don’t give a fuck about Wyatt and Jackson.” He crooks a finger under my chin. “You, Catarina McKay, are my one and only priority, now and forever.”
My heart skips a beat. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you not to leave.”
“I know, and I hate myself for that.” He rubs a thumb along the line of my jaw. “It’s kinda a catch-22 though, you know? The only way for me to prove I won’t bail on you is for you to give me a chance to stay.”
And he’s right. The only way to know if I can trust him is to trust. There’s no other way around it. More tears spill over as I blink, and he brushes them from my cheek.
He whispers, inching closer. “What can I do to make you believe?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“I have an idea.”
The hope beats like the wings of a bird against my ribs. “I’m listening.”
He wraps his big hand around the nape of my neck. “Every day, starting tomorrow, I’m going to ask you to marry me. I expect to work for it, but I hope one day you’ll say yes.”
I blink, shocked at the words. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I need you in my life. And one day I trust you’ll let me know I’m worthy of walking by your side.”
“We haven’t known each other that long. You don’t want to marry me.”
“But I do.”
“How?” I need to know, need to understand so I can put faith in it.
“Because I miss talking to you.” He leans in. “Miss the way you try to bait me into an argument.” Closer. “Miss the scent of your shampoo on my pillow.” Close enough to feel the heat of his body. “Talking through the trials of the week over a pitcher of beer on Friday night.”
My head tilts.
Our mouths brush together.
“I miss the way you make me think.” He licks my lower lip. “And how you don’t care if your hair gets in the mud.” A scrape of teeth over my soft flesh. “You make me a better man.” His fingers tangle in my hair. “And despite my flaws, I think I make you a better woman.”
I turn, shifting toward him, nodding slightly. I don’t know if it’s right or wrong to give in. But I love him, and I want to.
His arm twines around my waist, and then I’m moving, climbing into his lap and straddling him. My dress pools around us.
I meet his eyes. “I’m not ready to forgive you.”
His hands slide up my thighs. “I miss the way you feel in my arms and the weight of your head against my chest as we go to sleep.”
I shiver under his touch and his palms settle over my hips. “Go on.”
“I miss the way you put too much syrup on your pancakes. And the way you close your eyes when you eat something delicious, like it will