BEAU Where love lives #2
"She told me she got off in an hour, and if I promised not to throw up from all the sugar, I could walk her to her truck. So I waited. And we talked for three hours. About everything. Dreams, fears, what we wanted out of life. She told me she wanted a big family and a porch to grow old on. I told her I wanted to stop chasin’ things that didn't matter and build something that lasted. "
"And you did," I said. "You built this."
"We did. Together." He ran a hand over the top of the headstone. "Bought the ranch a year later. Married that same year. It was hard work, Beau. We nearly lost the place a dozen times. But we did it together. That’s the important part."
"Did you always know?" I asked quietly. "That she was the one?"
"'Knowing' and 'accepting' are different things," Pops mused. "I knew she was special that first night. But knowin’ you’re in love? That happens in the quiet moments. It’s her leaving me notes in my lunch pail. It’s her rubbin’ my shoulders after a sixteen-hour day. It’s building a life brick by brick until one day you wake up and realize you can't imagine drawing breath without her. "
He paused, his voice thickening. "And then... I had to. When she died, it felt like someone reached into my chest and ripped the heart right out. Still feels like that, some days. That’s why I come here. Keeps the memory solid."
"Do you..." I hesitated, fear coiling in my gut. "Do you regret it? Loving her that much, knowing how much it would hurt to lose her?"
Pops looked at me sharply, his eyes fierce.
"Not for a goddamn second. Yeah, losin’ her nearly destroyed me.
But havin’ her? Those forty-four years? Worth every single second of pain that came after.
You don't avoid love because it might hurt, son.
You chase it because it's the only thing that makes the hurt worth surviving. "
The words settled heavy in my chest. I thought about my parents—their marriage was a merger, a contract signed in ink and maintained by separate schedules. I thought about the girls I’d dated in Dallas—fun, fleeting, forgettable.
And I thought about Winnie. The way she challenged me. The way her skin felt under my hands in the barn. The way I wanted to crawl inside her and stay there.
"I don't think I know how," I admitted, the confession scraping my throat. "To love someone like that. My parents... they aren't like you and Nana. They’re business partners who share a roof. And I’ve never let anyone close enough to risk it."
"Why not?"
"Because what if I’m like them? What if I can't do it? What if I—" I looked down at my hands. "What if I hurt her?"
"You will," Pops said bluntly. "You probably already have. That’s part of it. You hurt each other, you forgive each other, you grow. Love isn't about being perfect, Beau. It’s about showing up. It’s about staying when it’s hard.
" He looked at me pointedly. "You’ve been here three weeks, and you’re already different.
Stronger. More yourself. That’s what love does.
It makes you want to be the man she thinks you are. "
"I don't know if the real me is good enough for her."
"For Winnie?" Pops snorted. "Son, that girl has been carryin’ this ranch on her back since she was eighteen. She’s tough as nails. You think she doesn't know what she wants? If she’s lookin’ at you—and trust me, she is—it’s because she sees something worth keepin’.
The question is: do you see it in yourself? "
Did I?
I thought about the way I felt when I was with her. Not the rich kid, not the disappointment. Just Beau.
"Yeah," I said, the realization quiet and sure. "Yeah, I do."
"Then stop overthinkin’ it. Love ain't a business deal you logic your way through.
You just... jump. And you hope to God she catches you.
" He stood up, wincing as his knee popped, and brushed the grass off his jeans.
"Come on. Let's get home. Winnie’s probably pacing a hole in the floor wonderin’ where we went. "
I stood too, touching the headstone one last time. "Thanks, Nana. For the advice. Even if Pops did all the talking."
"She heard you," Pops said. "She always hears."
The drive back was quiet, but the silence wasn't empty anymore. It was full of resolve.
I had spent my whole life terrified of turning into my father—cold, transactional, distant. But Pops was right. I didn't have to be him. I could be the man who bought cotton candy he hated just to talk to a girl. I could be the man who stayed.
When we pulled up to the ranch, the porch light was on, a beacon in the dark. Winnie was standing there, arms crossed, looking out toward the road. When she saw the truck, her shoulders dropped, relief washing over her face.
Pops parked and looked at me. "Go on. Talk to her. And Beau? Don't spin it. Just be honest."
"What if honest scares her off?"
"Then she wasn't the right one. But I don't think that’s gonna happen."
I climbed out of the truck. The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked toward the porch. Winnie stood at the top of the steps, watching me come. She looked beautiful, even in her worn t-shirt and jeans, backlit by the warm glow of the house.
"Where'd you go?" she asked as I stopped at the bottom step. Her voice was tight.
"Cemetery. With Pops. We visited Nana."
Her expression softened instantly, the defensiveness melting away. "Oh. That’s... that’s really sweet, actually."
"Yeah. We talked. About a lot of things." I looked up at her, heart hammering against my ribs. "About risk. About jumping."
She bit her lip, and God, I wanted to do that for her. "Oh?"
"Can we talk?" I asked. "Just you and me?"
She searched my face, looking for something—hesitation, maybe? Deceit? But I held her gaze, open and raw.
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Let's talk."
I walked up the steps, and for the first time since I arrived in Oklahoma, I didn't feel like I was running away.
I felt like I was arriving.