Page 117 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

“But how do you even know what stories to tell?”

“It’s all in here.” Monty taps at his head. “The best stories always are.”

Tears threaten as memories of my dad saying those exact words come rushing back. That throbbing ache burns into a full fire.

I was an insecure girl and questioned everything I did. I always sought my dad’s advice because he seemed to always have the answers. When I’d ask how he knew he was right, he’d tap his forehead and mutter those exact words: “It’s all in here.”

One of the last conversations we had was right before I quit my full-time job at the library to open Bonfire and Bliss. I was so nervous and begged him to tell me whether I was making the right decision.

He tapped the side of my head then. “It’s all up here, Penny. You don’t need your old man to tell you the answers anymore.”

God, I wish he were here now to see how much I’ve grown, how much more confident I have become in my decision-making. I wish he could see me choose the right person for once. Because the right man—the one meant for me—is standing right in front of me, echoing my dad’s words, honoring his memory. And I didn’t even have to ask him to do it.

“That’s what my dad always said,” I rasp.

Monty leans in close, cupping my cheeks and swiping away a falling tear with his thumb. “I know. He used to say it to me, too, whenever I was at the farm. It was my dedication for my first book. I sent your father a copy and everything.”

The tears flow as I remember how excited my dad had been to receive a signed copy of the book. He’d paraded it around town then, told everyone who would listen that little Jake Montgomery had written a book. God, how did I forget all that?

“I hate seeing you cry,” Monty says now, concern etched on his face. “I won’t do it if you’re upset. I just—” He pauses and glances up to the house and then out at the fields. “I wanted to give something back to the man who gave me absolutely everything.”

His thumbs stroke at my jawline, and though he doesn’t say it, I know he’s talking about me. Maybe this is as real for him as it is for me. Maybe Jake Montgomery might love me, too.

“Okay.”

Monty smiles. “Okay?”

I nod as he presses his lips to mine. It’s quick—my sister’s hollering pulls us from the moment, and within seconds, we’re dragged in opposite directions. Me to help Billie hand out drinks and Monty to get settled on the tractor and ready for story time.

By the time I see him again, the haunted hayride is about to start. Tally is hanging back to welcome the next round of guests but my mom and I decide we wanted to do this first ride together. She squeezes my hand as we take a seat beside Monty and then leans across me. “Thank you for doing this,” she says to him.

“Hopefully Peter approves of my story.” He flashes her one of his beautiful smiles.

“He was always forgetting a line or two.” My mom laughs. “Don’t get it all right or he might come back and haunt you.”

“Do you have room for two more?” I hear Tally call from outside the truck.

I check the seats and notice two free spots in the back corner.

“Yup!” I holler. “There’s some space back here.”

“Great. You guys are all set,” my sister calls over to the tent where the ticket holders are relaxing. When they stand, I realize it’s Monty’s dad who is heading in our direction. I glance just past him and my eyes practically double when I see a woman who looks exactly like Monty’s mother by his side.

I turn my attention back to Monty, wondering if he knows they’re coming. Maybe he told them about the hayride and invited them. Maybe this won’t be an epic disaster.

Even as I think it, my heart knows that isn’t the case. And when I turn around and watch for Monty’s reaction to their arrival, I know with certainty that he had no idea they’d both be here.

And that he’s not happy about it in the least.

Chapter 35

Monty

My parents are eye fucking each other.

I’m trying to ignore it and focus on the story I’m telling. Trying to get it right for Peter, for Penny.

But focusing on anything other than the way I keep catching my father looking at my mother as if he’s seen her naked recently—or at least intends to see her naked very soon—is making it nearly impossible.