Page 128 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“You love me?” I ask.

I already know the answer. We have said it before. But this feels different, and I ache to hear the words again.

“Yes, angel.” He pulls me a little closer, not all the way, still enough space between us that I don’t have to crane my neck to look at him. “I love you.”

My heart does that annoying thing where it forgets how to function properly when it comes to him. But despite that, I don’t hesitate when I say, “I love you too.”

Wade closes the remaining distance fast, both hands coming up to my face, warm and steady, thumbs at my jaw. And when he kisses me, it feels like everything has clicked back into place.

Behind us, Colt clears his throat with considerable theatrical energy.

“Still weird for me,” he announces. “Just so that's on record.”

We pull apart laughing.

“Sorry,” I manage.

“Yeah,” Wade adds. “Sorry.”

Colt nods solemnly. “I'm going to go process this over there.” He takes several steps to the left. “Carry on.”

Wade's hands are still on my face. His thumbs move slowly across my cheekbones. His eyes move over me, unhurried and careful, the way they did from the very first moment we saw each other, even when we were both trying our hardest to refuse it.

“So,” he says. “You coming home or what?”

I smile at him, both of us already knowing my answer.

Wade’s hands fall from my face, sliding down to my waist as he reaches back and unties my apron for me, letting it drop to the floor without even looking at it. My eyes, too, are focused on him.

I turn, grab my bag from the hook, and head straight past the queue of waiting customers, all of them mid-complaint, not sparing them a second glance as I make for the door.

Wade takes my hand the moment I’m within reach, Colt drifting into place on my other side as I walk out of this stupid coffee shop for the very last time.

God. Fucking. Riddance.

I’m going back to Wildbrook Hollow—where wildflowers grow, whiskey is shared, and cowboys love with all their hearts.

Back where I belong.

Epilogue

Maeve

Six months later

The Texan sun starts to set behind the Wildbrook Hollow mountains, transforming the sky with shades of gold and deep rose that blanket the fields, making everything feel soft and calm. I'm standing by the kitchen window, not long after dinner, in that quiet that settles over the house once everyone's gone their separate ways for the evening.

I catch myself doing this often, standing here to take everything in. Often needing the reminder that is real, that this place is my home now, because even now, some part of me still expects to blink and wake up to return to that bloody awfulcoffee shop back in London.

This time of year might be my favourite so far. After the pour-down of April showers, the landscape seems to transform into something brighter and warmer. The temperature climbs, the bluebonnets start to disappear—though there are still a good few clinging on along the fence line like they don't want to leave, something I can relate to on a spiritual level. I find myself being able to recall the names of the thousands of types of flowers that this part of the world has to offer, something I'veunintentionally learnt through the persistent questioning of a driving curiosity during long horse rides with Wade. I've still not been able to tame it, even after everything that has happened. Like the black-eyed Susans—who comes up with these names?—scattered across the hillsides. The coreopsis catching the last of the evening light, each one looking like a tiny sun. And then, the Indian blanket, dominating everything around them with that fiery colour that pulls your eyes straight to it whether you mean to look or not.

Where April feels dramatic, May feels settled.

I never thought I'd relate to a month, but here I am. Because I feel it too—settled. In a way I began to think was never in the cards for me.

It wasn’t that long ago when I was sat in the same tree house that is still tucked safely away in the branches of the tall oak tree at the far end of the back garden, the wildflowers spilling around it, thinking I needed to leave this place. Just me and Colt next to each other, in the dark before everything unravelled, crying because I had already planned the exit I never wanted but thought had to happen.

I still sit up there sometimes. On the evenings when I need a minute to myself, which is a rarity these days. Not that I am complaining. It's just that having people around who love me and show up is still something my nervous system is quietly learning to trust. It can be overwhelming, in the best and most disorienting way. Something I’m still working on.