Something in me must have known even then.
And as she rested her body on mine, her head on my chest, I wrapped my arms around her and felt an overwhelming sense of peace and warmth and gratitude that I was alive and well and here with her.
“I love you,” I said out of nowhere.
She went completely still and then picked up her head. Her eyes searched mine and saw I was serious. “Jack,” she whispered.
“Those are words that have never come easy to me, and I probably won’t say them nearly as often as I should, but I want you to know that I do.”
Her eyes filled. “I know. And I love you, too.”
Margot didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t say the words much, even though I thought them—felt them—all the time. In fact, she told me she liked that it wasn’t something I threw out there casually. It meant more to her when she heard them, she said, knowing that they didn’t come easy.
And maybe the words didn’t, but the feeling sure as hell did. I’d only loved one other woman, and I’d known her so long I couldn’t remember falling for her this way—fast and hard and head over heels. I’d loved Steph deeply, but I loved Margot with a kind of intensity that shocked me. I hadn’t known I was capable of it.
It made me want things—a ring on her finger, my last name on her driver’s license, a house full of kids.
I’d never be rich, never be able to give her all the things she’d grown up with, never own a vacation home in L’Arbre Croche or a Mercedes Benz. But I knew Margot well enough by now to know that she didn’t care about those things as much as she cared about me. About us. Oh, she was still a city girl, even when she wore her jeans and boots, but dammit, she was my city girl, and I loved her beyond words.
I smiled as I let myself into the chicken coop and slipped my hand into my pocket.
I didn’t like surprises, but Margot did.
I wanted to give her the surprise of her life.
Margot
I woke up and reached for Jack. He’d promised me he’d stay in bed a little longer this morning, since it was kind of a special day—the anniversary of the day we met.
Sometimes we looked back on that day and laughed at the way we’d stood there staring at each other across the kitchen, him broody and mean, me trying to be charming. “Was it love at first sight?” people sometimes asked us.
“Hell, no,” Jack would tease. “I didn’t want any rich city girl hanging around.”
“And I couldn’t stand him,” I’d say. “He was dirty, sweaty, and rude.”
But we belonged together, and it hadn’t taken us that long to figure it out, all things considered. I’d gone back and forth for a while, but I’d been thrilled when he’d asked me to move in. Farm life was a bit of an adjustment at first—the smells, the early mornings, the never-ending list of chores to be done—but I grew to appreciate things about living in the country. I loved the quiet mornings, the lack of traffic, the charm of the small town, the sun rising over the lake and setting over the trees, the skies full of stars at night. When I missed the shops or bars or salons or restaurants, I’d zip down and meet my friends for an afternoon or evening. But I found I didn’t miss city life too much, and I loved being around horses again.
The hardest thing had been leaving Jaime and Claire and our weekly Girls Night Out, but I saw them at least once a month, and they were happy for me. At first, I kept my job at Shine but cut back my hours, spending a lot of time helping Georgia with the new house, preparing to open the Valentini Farms Bed & Breakfast, and making sure the new marketing push went as planned. Once the B & B opened in May, I left Shine and dedicated myself completely to marketing duties at the farm and inn. I also volunteered for the Fair Food Network, reaching out to farmers and families in the region and continuing to help spread the word.
I’d never been happier, which befuddled my parents a little bit, but they seemed content to focus on my father’s political career—he’d won his election—and give me a break.
Jack seemed happy too, and we’d grown infinitely closer since I’d moved in. His moods and silences grew easier to understand, his anxiety easier to manage. His nightmares were infrequent but terrifying, and I always wished there was more I could do for him, but he swore just having me there was enough. He loved me—I felt it, even if he didn’t say it too often.
I sat up in bed and looked around. He’d left the blinds down, so it was still pretty dark in the room, but sun peeked around them. I glanced at the clock, which told me it was just after eight. “Jack?” I called.
Nothing.