Chapter 61 Hunter
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.
How did I get this lucky?
She pulls back, slightly breathless. “You want to come over for dinner tonight?”
I shake my head. “Nah. You and Atticus come to my place. I’ll make dinner.”
She laughs. “Oh yeah? What’s on the menu?”
“I grill a mean non-grass-fed steak,” I tease with a wink. “Just ask the butcher.”
She swats at me, laughing that pretty laugh that always makes me feel like I’m the funniest damn man alive.
“I’ll see you at six o’clock,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says, eyes warm. “Can I bring a side?”
“Please don’t.”
We share a laugh that somehow feels like home and forever at the same time.
They leave not long after, but not without Atticus asking if he can ride the combine next time. I promise him he can—but not until harvest. I watch them drive off, my chest swollen with something I haven’t felt in too damn long—hope.
Whatever chapter comes next, I’m ready.
And truthfully, I’m really looking forward to letting her rewrite the story of my life.