Page 32 of Smoked

"I don't want to step back. I don't want to be big enough to let you go. Whatever you want, however many kids, however that looks, let me have that with you. I’ll be the most active older dad you’ve ever seen." My throat is raw. "You and a full house, whatever shape it takes, is bigger than any dream I've chased. Including the one on that table over there right now."

"Wade…"

"I love you," I blurt out. "I don’t care if it’s too soon. I needed to tell you.”

She steps closer and jumps into my arms, putting us face to face. "I love you, too," she says. "You big, sexy, silly man."

I kiss her, the fairground noise falling away.

When we break apart she's smiling, and I'm not going to let go of her ever.

The sun is dropping by the time they call everyone to the grandstand for awards, and every pitmaster is on edge pretending to be relaxed.

Tess is next to me, her knee against mine. My hand is on her thigh and I don't have any intention of moving it.

They start with individual categories. Chicken goes to a team from Missoula. Ribs—a crew from Helena, four-time competitors, good for them. I clap, and my palms are numb.

Pork goes to us.

Tess grabs my arm. I nod like it's normal and my heart is trying to leave my body through my ears.

Then the Grand Champion.

The announcer says Wade’s World and anything else might as well be underwater.

I don't move. Tess's hand is on my forearm, squeezing, and I can hear her saying my name, and the people around us are clapping, and I stand up because my legs seem to know what I need to do.

I pull Tess with me and we walk to the front. Somebody puts a trophy in my hands. It's really heavy. They give the plaque to Tess, and see our team name on it and the words Grand Champion and a date I'll remember for the rest of my life.

Behind the stage, the sponsor rep in the branded polo shakes my hand and puts a card in my palm and says he'll call Monday. He says the word season and something about entry fees and equipment and I nod and put the card in my back pocket because I can't process anything right now.

I'm holding the trophy and smiling at Tess.

“You did it, Wade!” she says, grinning up at me.

“We did it, baby girl,” I say.

The best prize isn’t the one in my hands, it’s the this woman who has my heart.

EPILOGUE - TESS

Wade's kitchen smells like brown sugar and hickory.

Well, our kitchen now, technically.

My toothbrush showed up in September and the last box from my apartment arrived in October just in time for Halloween.

He's at the counter bursting out of a flannel with the sleeves rolled up to show off his sexy forearms. He’s rubbing a pork shoulder for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.

Outside the window, snow is falling thick enough to turn the backyard into a postcard. The smoker is hidden under its decorative tarp, the multicolored string lights Riley and I hung last weekend are blinking in time with the Christmas music we’ve got going on the sound system.

The side yard is now empty of the Peterbilt. Wade sold the semi in November, two weeks after the official sponsorship contract came through. It’s a hardwood company, full season—covering entry fees, travel, equipment, and enough to hire Ben and Marco, two guys from the circuit who'd been looking for this kind of gig. Wade said signing the papers felt like his dream finally coming to fruition. He even teared up a bit.

Now he's home…a lot. He's at Riley's soccer games, every one, standing on the sidelines yelling things about spacing that make the other parents stare. He listens to the books I assign my juniors on audio so we can discuss them (or sometimes argue) about the themes and the metaphors. He makes breakfast on school mornings and has found he enjoys cooking in all forms, not just the kind that involves fire and smoke.

"Are you staring at my ass?" he says without turning around.

"Indeed. It’s such a nice view from here."