Page 47 of Sunday's Best
Logan sees himself out then, and the finality of the front door softly clicking shut eases an entire year of tension knotted deep in the fibers of my musculature. I breathe easier, and I think Holden does, too.
He leans back against the counter and pulls me to stand between his legs. His arms curl around me like a blanket, and as the adrenaline drains out of me, I tuck in tighter. I could burrow into him, live surrounded by his heat and scent.
“You’re falling in love with me,” he says into my hair. It’s a statement, not a question, thanks to his earlier eavesdropping.
“I’m as shocked as you,” I say. “I tried really hard not to.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” He kisses the top of my head. I can hear the cocky smirk teasing his words. “It was bound to happen, though. I’m irresistible.”
“Insufferable,” I correct, pressing my cheek to his bare chest so I can hear his heart beat.
“If you thought I was obnoxious when I was secretly in love with you, it’s about to be wild now that I can be loud about it.”
There are about a million things I want to say, but instead, I loop my hand around his neck and bring him to me for a kiss. Deep, intimate, and with every inch of my body. Our bodies naturally sway to the song faintly playing, and it hits me how quiet this life with him is. Peaceful.
Falling? No. I’m sinking blissfully into love with Holden Kearney.
This is how it’s supposed to feel.
Epilogue
Islow just inside the gate, eyes catching on the banner flapping in the breeze, the colors muted around the edges from years of weathering. Time has a way of softening a lot of things.
We haven’t been to a rodeo since this time last year, when everything blew up. And the grounds look the same as they did then—from the old ratty welcome banner to the line-up of food trucks filling the air with the aroma of fried foods.
Last time, my stomach was in knots. Today, Holden’s hand is steady in mine.
“Let’s grab your poutine before the lines get too long,” Holden says, moving our joined hands to steer me to the left. “Considering that’s the only reason you came, I’d hate for you to miss out.”
My hip bumps into his. “For the record, I’m here because I love you.”
He raises a brow. “And off the record?”
“Off the record… the poutine might’ve swayed my decision.”
He presses a kiss to the side of my head, and I can feel his smile down to my bones. The sun’s warm on my back, warmer in his bright blue-green eyes when he gives me a wink before stepping up to order our food.
It’s hard to believe how much I’ve changed since the day I climbed into Holden’s truck last summer. The type of love I thought I deserved is so far from the type of love I expect now.
Once the cheesy, gravy-covered goods are secured, we make our way to the bleachers and find seats halfway up. Close enough we can see, far enough away that my poutine doesn’t get flecks of dirt in it when the horses take a hard turn close to the fenceline—something I might have some experience with from last summer.
Holden stretches his legs out and loops a relaxed arm around my waist. “Weird to be watching a rodeo from this vantage point.”
I work to swallow a squeaky bite of cheese curd. Yes, I barely sat down before I was tucking into the scalding meal; I’m a poutine fiend, at the end of the day.
Once I’m finally able to speak, I ask, “Do you miss all this?”
“Sometimes.” Holden shrugs. “I mean… I don’t miss the drama, or being on the road constantly, or sharing a tiny living space with my brother, but it’s pretty fun being out there.” He juts his chin toward the arena.
“Maybe next year you should do a couple that are close to home.”
He rolls his lips together, seeming to consider it for a moment. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Am I going to have my good luck charm there?” He pinches my side, making me squirm and giggle against my will, with a devilish grin spread across his tanned face.
“Holden.” I swat at his hand. “If you make me drop this poutine, I swear—and as for your ‘good luck charm,’ I think it might be hard to rope cattle with your devil’s trident in the other hand.”
