Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I love your fire. I love that you’re independent. That you don’t need me. But I also love that sometimes it feels like you might want me anyway.
After reading your notebook, after trying to understand where you were coming from, I realized I’d be a damn fool to let you go. Because you’re still the same person I thought you were.
No one’s ever fought for you, Wren. But I will. Because that’s what you deserve.
I’ve lost a lot of things in my life. A lot of people I can’t get back. But I can’t lose you. Not when it took me 42 years to find you.
You’re a one-in-a-billion woman—the kind that doesn’t come around twice in one lifetime.
A few months ago, I didn’t know you existed. Now I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I want to do this with you. I want a relationship. I want all of it. I want the next forty years to be the best ones yet—for you, for me, for Atticus.
You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.
Yours,
Hunter
I have to blink through the tears clouding my vision, my hand covering my mouth as my chest caves in under the weight of it. This rough, reserved, emotionally cautious man just bared his heart in scribbled handwriting on seed company stationery, and I’m sitting here like some lovesick teenager, crying over every word.
I press the letter to my chest, closing my eyes.
Because my god, I wanted to hear this.
Because my god, I wanted him to feel this.
Because somewhere deep down, I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to say something like this to me and actually mean it.
This man has done nothing but show up for me, fight for me, and claim me—with his hands, his body, his actions, and his words.
I always thought moving back home was one of the biggest plot twists of my adult life.
But it turns out that Hunter McCrae is the biggest plot twist of all.
61
Hunter
The shop is extra quiet this morning, the air usually thick with the sound of tools clanking and the low hum of an old radio playing something twangy and familiar. I crank some music so I don’t have to sit alone with my thoughts again. I’m in the middle of cleaning chemicals out of a sprayer tank when I hear the door creak open, little footsteps pattering across the concrete.
Then I hear his voice.
“Whoa! Cool!”
I look up just in time to see Atticus scampering across the shop floor, climbing in and out of tractors like he’s in a playground built just for him. He’s already found a combine ladder and is halfway up before Wren strolls in behind him.
Wren’s radiant today—lighter, brighter, like a flower that’s finally been placed in the sun and is starting to bloom. Her shoulders aren’t so tense. There’s color in her cheeks. She looks like she finally got a decent night’s sleep, and seeing her like this?
It does something to me.
“Hey,” she says, sidling up to me, her arms crossed but her eyes soft. She looks at me through the dark fringe of her lashes with that look—the one that makes me feel like I’m standing there naked, exposed in ways that have nothing to do with clothes. She looks at me like she sees me.
“Hey,” I say back, wiping my hands on a rag.
She watches me a beat longer, and then: “So you really want to do this?”
I blink, the question catching me off guard. “What kind of question is that?”
She shrugs, but there’s a sly grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “Just making sure.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “You really asking me that? After everything? Did I not make myself clear or . . . ?”
She holds up a finger. “Some rules first.”
I cross my arms, nodding. “Okay.”
“No games,” she says.
“Agree.”
“No breaking promises.”
“Easy.”
“And no silent treatment.”
I grin. “That was one time.”
She arches a brow. “One time too many.”
“Fair.” I smirk. “Anything else?”
She shakes her head. “That’s all for now.”
Before she can say more, I pull her into my arms, pressing her close, her softness fitting against me like we were made to slot together. She doesn’t fight it. She leans into it.
Over her shoulder, I catch sight of Atticus watching us through the window of a tractor cab, his little face squished against the glass, grinning so big he looks like he might explode.
Kid’s having the time of his life, I think to myself. And he hasn’t even experienced the fun stuff yet.
I could give them the best life. And I want to give them the best life. It’s the least I can do, considering they’ve given me something I didn’t know I was missing—purpose. Love. Appreciation. A family to come home to every night.
I kiss Wren—deep, long, hard. My hand cups her face, my thumb brushing her cheek like I need to memorize it all over again.