Chapter Forty Seven
His Name, Her Words, My Undoing
I ’m practically running across the pasture, heels in hand, wind knotting my curls, the final Honey Bea Bash meeting still buzzing in my chest.
We’re two weeks out from the event and everything’s falling into place—no, soaring into place.
Everyone’s locked in. Vendors are confirmed. The Honey Bea products we’ll be selling are labeled and ready to go. Kade, Ridge, Hazel, and all the farm hands managed to keep the fields gorgeous despite everything that’s happened, and the west meadow is a rainbow right now.
This week alone, we finished organizing flower cutting stations for guests, scheduled back-to-back meet-the-animal tours, and set up a tasting tent near the front gate where Bea will personally walk people through every single variation of Archer honey—wildflower, alfalfa, orange blossom, clover.
There’ll be food trucks from Wildwood, music from that Langley bluegrass band everyone loves, pop-up booths from just about every local shop I could talk into showing up.
The twins are running a face painting booth and Hazel’s organized horse rides. And tucked into the middle of it all, the real surprise —Aurora’s first birthday bash, built into the main event.
I ordered her a confetti cake, decorations, and the sweetest little crown I could find on Etsy. Everything’s bee themed, including our matching dresses, which is insanely stupid on my part, but I can’t find it in me to care anymore. Of course, she has no idea, but it’ll mean something big to Kade.
Sort of hope he cries.
Grinning, I skid up the porch steps, already unbuttoning my blazer. My cheeks are flushed from the run and the fact that, for once, things feel... good .
Like mine. Like I belong here.
The moment I hit the bedroom; I head straight for the dresser, his dresser, and open the second drawer without thinking. My clothes are folded neatly inside. A mix of farm gear, soft tees, and a few pairs of my favorite jeans.
I slip into a tank and one of the Archer Farm tees Bea gave me, then pull on jeans and boots before tucking my work clothes into the hamper.
It’s weird. I don’t even pause anymore. I sleep here every single night.
Between Bash planning and life with Kade and Aurora, it’s just easier to crash at his place.
Besides, being here feels as easy as breathing.
Bea’s expecting me at the main house to show me how to harvest honey—something I’ve been weirdly excited about for weeks. There’s a whole art to it. The frames, the uncapping, the spinner. I’ve watched countless videos so I can impress her, but really, I’m just happy to spend time with Kade's mom.
But first, I need my checklist.
I jog into the kitchen, scanning the counter, the table, the messy coffee table. No sign of it, so I start opening drawers.
“Where did I put you?” I murmur, tugging through the silverware tray, a pile of notepads, rubber bands, and tiny Post-its that say things like “ Georgia’s gluten-free ” and “ DO NOT FEED HER THIS OR SHE’LL DIE ” in Kade’s handwriting.
The corner of my mouth tips up and a chuckle slips free.
Sweet, over the top, wonderful man.
God, I love him so much.
Spinning, brows furrowed, I move to the living room.
My cardigan’s draped across the back of the couch next to Aurora’s. My sneakers are by the front door, between one of Aurora’s sandals and Kade’s mud-crusted boots. Gluten-free flour is still on the counter from the waffles I made this morning beside her sippy cup and a plate I forgot to rinse.
My chest tightens and I freeze.
There’s a mug beside the sink— mine . A scrunchy on the doorknob. Robin’s quilt I brought from my place is tossed over the arm of the couch, now part of our nightly movie routine.
Signs of me are… everywhere .
My heart skips, then twists. And not in a sweet way.
In a spinning room, can’t catch your breath, you’ve let it happen again kind of way.
Day by day , he said.
And day by day, I fell. Deeper and further into the kind of life I never believed was meant for me.
I haven’t told him I love him.
And he hasn’t told me, either.
For all his you’re mine and stay with me . His this is our home , and I hope you get knocked up… he hasn’t said I love you .
Not once.
And maybe I didn’t realize how much I needed that until now. Until I’m standing in the middle of this kitchen that feels more like mine than my actual apartment and realizing we skipped a few steps.
We got lost in kisses and laughter and Sunday breakfasts and sex so good it makes me forget my name—but I don’t know what any of it means if the one thing that proves he’s different never made it out of his mouth.
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, forcing the thoughts out.
No. That’s old wiring talking. Old pain. Old patterns.
But still... it simmers.
I walk toward the entry table, needing to find that list, needing anything to anchor myself again instead of the emotions clawing at my insides.
The stack of mail is thick and untouched, most of it ads or junk.
I sigh, grimacing. Damn, we really have been swamped, haven’t we?
A large manila envelope slips free from the pile and lands on the floor with a soft thud.
I lean down and pick it up, flipping it over—and my heart stutters.
Kade Archer
Regarding: Aurora Grace Vernal-Parker
Holy shit.
It has to be about the adoption. We’ve been waiting for this for weeks.
Kade’s been lowkey panicking, trying to hide it behind his usual gruff, steady front, but I know him.
He’s been bracing himself for bad news. I tried to reassure him.
These things take time. Processing backlogs, courthouse delays. It’s normal. But this…
Bet it’s been sitting here this whole time.
I drop my phone and keys on the table and rip open the seal, already picturing how I’ll tell him. I bought Aurora a tiny T-shirt that says Officially an Archer the day we submitted the paperwork, but it might be too snug now—she’s grown so fast.
The Honey Bea Bash will be perfect. I’ll announce it there. A family surprise. He’ll cry. I’ll cry. It’ll be beautiful.
I pull the papers out of the envelope, smile stretching wide—
Then faltering.
It’s not from the court. It’s from the Vernal’s probate attorney. A sticky note is slapped to the top in the same messy handwriting I sifted through those first few weeks.
Sorry, I was out of state. This got lost in the chaos and I found it in my paperwork when I returned. Hope it clears things up. Good luck.
My mouth pulls tight. Fuck this guy.
He’s been a disaster since day one—late emails, missed forms and a vacation that dragged on way too damn long.
I peel off the note and start flipping through the paperwork, confusion bubbling.
It’s not a ruling. It’s a copy of the will. And a letter. A letter addressed to Kade.
I skim the heading, the first few lines, my pulse rising. Then I see the signature and my heart drops. My gaze flies to the door, hands shaking, eyes blurring. I know I shouldn’t read it. Know this isn’t mine.
But… how can I not?
It’s from her.
My stomach churns, fingers curling tightly around the page.
My legs barely hold me as I move to the couch and drop into the cushions, the letter trembling in my grip. I swallow hard and tell myself whatever’s in here won’t change anything.
But I’ve always been a great liar.
Especially to myself.