Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
Abigail
Iblink against the light that filters through the curtains as I rouse from what feels like a coma.
My arms stretch out across the mattress to find it empty.
“…Okay,” I mumble into the pillow, voice rough with sleep. “Rude.”
I push myself up on my elbows, hair falling into my face as I scan the room properly now.
In the corner of my room, I spot something draped over my chair. My brows lift slightly as I swing my legs out of bed. The hardwood is cold against my bare feet as I make my way over.
It’s a dress and one of my favorite sweaters.
And on top is a note.
My name is written across it in handwriting I know far too well by now.
Beau.
A smile tugs at my mouth before I even open it.
Come outside when you’re ready, Darlin’.
I exhale a slow breath through my nose, warmth blooming in my chest.
“So mysterious,” I whisper to no one but myself.
Still smiling, I pick up the dress first. It’s a soft, light cream fabric that catches the evening sun when I lift it up. Simple in the best way. Elegant without trying. The sweater is oversized, knitted, and soft enough that if I could live in it year-round, I think I would.
Putting them both on, I glance at myself in the mirror and run my fingers through my hair quickly, fixing the loose strands that sleep left behind. I don’t overthink it. I don’t need to.
Once it’s as good as it’s gonna get, I roll up the sleeves of the sweater a few times and head downstairs.
As I reach the bottom step, I notice that the front door is wide open. Evening air drifts through the main living space, carrying the scent of the fading sun and cool grass. A soft sound reaches me. “10-90” by Muscadine Bloodline floats through the air, drifting in from outside.
My steps slow, and my pulse picks up as I spot the white candles.
What looks like hundreds of them. Like the stars that are due to paint the night sky are rising from the ground itself.
They line the front steps and the driveway. Flickering gently as the breeze moves through them.
My breath catches.
My hand presses lightly to my chest as I step forward.
One step.
Then another.
The house disappears behind me until it feels like all that’s left is candlelight, the setting sun, and the soft hum of music growing clearer as I follow the path laid out in front of me.
And then I see them.
All four of them.
Standing in the yard beyond the candles.
Waiting for me.
Lawson is the first I notice. Dressed in a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His dark eyes shine as he looks at me, and the sunlight highlights the scar beneath his stubble. I find myself wanting to run my tongue along it.
Lincoln stands beside him in a simple fitted shirt, sleeves pushed to his forearms, posture calm but focused. He looks as put together as he always does, and yet… he looks more him than I think he ever has.
Jasper looks like the cowboy of my dreams. He has since I saw him riding toward me that morning on Dezzy. Dark shirt. Boots. Dark hat. Hands tucked into his pockets as he nervously rocks back and forth. Like he’s nervous for the first time in his life and doesn’t quite know what to do.
And Beau—
He’s just so… happy. He’s practically beaming, his dimples—the same ones that almost took me to my knees when he picked me up from the airport all those months ago—visible even from here.
His chest heaves in excitement beneath his white T-shirt.
He’s got his usual backwards cap on and light-wash jeans.
I’ve never been happier to see him than I am right now.
Tears blur my vision as I step forward, one hand lifting instinctively to wipe at my cheek.
I close the distance between us slowly, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
And when I finally reach Beau—like he can’t handle not touching me—he bounces forward.
He does his best to wipe away my tears, even though they continue to fall, before placing a quick kiss to my lips and rejoining the others.
My voice barely works when I finally manage to speak. “What is all this?”
None of them answers right away.
Instead, they wait as my eyes finally land on what’s in their hands.
Each of them is holding a small green velvet box.
My eyes flick between them, confusion and excitement tangling together in my chest.
And then… Lawson takes a step forward.
“So,” he says quietly, watching me carefully, “about that word?”
A broken sob slips out of me before I can stop it. “What word?” I whisper.
His mouth curves.
Wide.
Certain.
Like he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, how this is about to end.
“Wife.”
THE END