12. Luca
Luca
When the plane lands and we make it to baggage claim, Sarah lets go of my hand and takes off running.
I follow her gaze until I spot the man waiting for us.
He’s at least six-foot-four, impossible to miss in a black Stetson, flannel button-up, worn jeans, and cowboy boots.
If someone asked me to picture a Montana rancher, I’d probably come up with exactly this.
The moment Sarah reaches him, she throws herself into his arms. He laughs as he scoops her up, spinning her around before setting her back on her feet.
Then she turns toward the woman standing beside him.
There’s no denying who she is. It’s Sarah in thirty years, right down to the auburn hair, freckles, and smile. They even stand the same height.
She wraps her arms around her daughter, and Sarah melts into the hug. When they finally pull apart, they’re both wiping tears from their eyes.
Sarah turns, searching for me. The moment her eyes find mine, she smiles.
“Luca, come here,” she says, waving me over.
I close the distance between us, and her dad immediately extends his hand.
“Ford.”
I shake it. “Luca, sir.”
His smile never fades as he gestures to the woman beside him.
“This is my wife, Adele.”
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say.
On instinct, I lean in, giving her a light hug before pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.
“What a gentleman,” she says as she steps back, her cheeks tinged pink.
Sarah laughs and smacks my chest.
“Don’t be impressed. He’s just Italian. They all do that.”
Adele laughs. “Well, I like it.”
“Of course you do,” Sarah says.
Ford laughs and holds up his hand. Sarah high-fives him. Adele sticks her tongue out at both of them, and I glance between the three of them.
“I feel like I missed something.”
Ford and Sarah exchange a look.
“Mama loves the attention of handsome men,” Sarah says.
They both burst out laughing.
“You two hush. That happened one time, and the waiter started it.”
She pauses.
“And I’m a happily married woman.”
Ford and Sarah lose it.
“Come on, happily married woman,” Ford says, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get these two home.”
I follow behind the three of them with both suitcases. Sarah has her backpack—one she refused to let me carry—slung over one shoulder.
Ford has his wife tucked against one side and his daughter hooked through the other. It’s obvious he’s been the center of their world for a very long time.
It suddenly makes the black velvet box in my pocket feel a whole lot heavier than it is.
The tires hum against the highway as Ford points out another stretch of land Sarah insists I have to see before we leave.
Adele laughs at one of his stories while Sarah eagerly fills in details he’d left out.
Every few seconds, she points out another place she used to ride horses or hike with her dad, and every time she does, I catch myself smiling.
Her hand settles on my thigh. I don’t think much of it until her fingertips begin slowly drifting higher. I glance down before looking over at her. She’s staring out the passenger-side window like she’s completely captivated by the mountains rolling past. I know that look. She’s full of shit.
I give her one warning glance. She doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, her fingers creep another inch. I casually wrap my hand around her wrist, stopping them in their tracks. The corners of her mouth twitch, but she keeps her eyes fixed outside like she has no idea what’s happening.
“Behave,” I murmur in her ear.
“I am.”
“You’re really not.”
She finally looks at me, blinking with the most innocent expression I’ve ever seen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I hold her gaze for another second before letting go of her wrist. She waits all of three seconds before her hand starts wandering again. I catch it without looking this time, lacing my fingers through hers and holding them firmly against my leg.
She lets out the quietest, most dramatic sigh. “That’s cheating.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “No, Baby Girl. That’s self-preservation.”
She giggles under her breath, clearly pleased with herself, and finally leaves my hand alone. For almost an entire minute. Then I feel one finger begin inching upward again.
I don’t even have to look at her this time.
“Sarah.”
She smiles sweetly.
“Yes?”
“You’re a menace.”
“You love me.”
I glance over long enough to catch the smug grin she’s trying—and failing—to hide.
“Unfortunately.”
“Everything alright back there?” Ford asks, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, Daddy,” Sarah says sweetly. “Luca was telling me how excited he is to ride a horse for the first time.”
My head snaps toward her. The corners of her mouth twitch.
“Was he now?”
“Absolutely, sir. I’ve heard so much about them.”
I pinch her side, and she squeals.
I frown. “You okay?”
Adele turns around.
“Everything alright, baby?”
Sarah nods quickly.
“Yep. Just a random cramp.”
The drive eventually turns onto a long gravel road lined with split-rail fencing. Ford eases the truck over a cattle guard, and the tires crunch against the gravel as the ranch comes into view.
I understand immediately why Sarah talks about this place the way she does.
The white farmhouse sits at the end of the drive with a wide front porch wrapping around two sides.
It’s nothing extravagant. Just a home that’s clearly been loved for a long time.
Beyond it, cattle graze lazily across rolling pasture while a handful of ranch hands move them on horseback beneath the backdrop of snow-capped mountains.
Sarah reaches over and grabs my hand.
“Home,” she says quietly.
I smile.
Ford parks beside an old red barn. The second he kills the engine, a handful of chickens scatter across the yard, clucking their complaints as they dart out of the truck’s way.
Ford climbs out first, followed by Adele. I grab both suitcases from the bed of the truck before Sarah can protest. Sarah reaches for her backpack, shooting me a look when I automatically reach for it too.
“I can carry one thing,” she says.
“It’s your emotional support backpack.”
“Exactly.”
We follow Ford and Adele through the front door. The inside of the house feels exactly like I’d imagined it would—warm, comfortable, and lived in. Family photos line the walls, the smell of fresh coffee lingers in the air, and somewhere down the hallway an old clock quietly ticks.
Sarah slips her hand into mine.
“We’re gonna take our suitcases upstairs.”
Adele smiles.
“Go ahead, honey.”
“We’ll be down in a minute,” Sarah says.
Ford nods. “Take your time.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re halfway up the stairs.
“This way.”
She leads me down the hallway and pushes open the last door on the left.
The room is unmistakably hers.
A quilt covers the bed. Books line overflowing shelves. Horse ribbons hang beside framed photographs, and an old acoustic guitar rests in the corner beneath the window.
I barely have time to set the suitcases on the floor before the bedroom door clicks shut behind us.
I turn just as Sarah grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me into a kiss.
I laugh against her lips.
“Baby Girl…”
She kisses me again.
“I missed you.”
“We’ve been together all day.”
“I know.”
Another quick kiss.
“I still missed you.”
My hands settle around her waist as I smile into the next kiss.
“I noticed.”
She hums happily before stealing one more.
I finally pull back enough to look at her.
“So…”
She tilts her head.
“So?”
“Your parents are okay with us sharing a room?”
For a second, she stares at me.
Then she bursts out laughing.
“What?”
“Luca.”
“What?”
She reaches up and cups my face, still smiling.
“Honey…”
“What?”
“We live together.”
“I know, but…”
“They know.”
I blink.
“They know what?”
She laughs even harder.
“They know we have sex.”
“Sarah.”
“What?”
“Stop saying it.”
“Sex?”
“Baby Girl.”
“Sex.”
I point toward the floor.
“Your parents are downstairs.”
She nods.
“Mhm.”
“They could hear you.”
“You think they believe we’re playing Scrabble every night?”
I snort before I can stop myself.
“Probably not.”
“Definitely not.”
She watches me for another second before a grin slowly spreads across her face.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
“I’m not flustered.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Luca.”
I sigh.
“I’m a little flustered.”
She beams like she’s just won something before sliding both hands up my chest and kissing me again.
I kiss her back, my hands finding her waist, but after a few seconds I force myself to pull away.
“Baby Girl…”
“Hmm?”
“Your parents are downstairs.”
“They are.”
“And we’re in your childhood bedroom.”
She smiles innocently.
“We are.”
I narrow my eyes.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe.”
She steals one more quick kiss.
“Later…” she says, smoothing a wrinkle from the front of my shirt, “you get to see me naked in my childhood bedroom.”
I stare at her.
Her smile grows.
“Sarah.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
“I’m just giving you something to look forward to.”
I take another slow look around the room.
Horse ribbons hang beside framed photographs. The bookshelves are packed so full the shelves bow beneath the weight. An old acoustic guitar leans in the corner beside the window.
Sarah steps over to the bookshelf without saying anything. Her fingertips trail absently across the worn spines.
I wander to the wall of photographs.
Most of them are horses.
Some are of Sarah, all long legs and wild auburn curls, grinning beneath a riding helmet. In another, she’s covered in mud from head to toe while Ford laughs beside her. One picture catches my attention longer than the others.
Sarah can’t be more than ten. She’s asleep across her father’s chest on the porch swing while he dozes with his hat tipped over his eyes.
I smile.
“You found that one.”
I glance back. She’s watching me with an embarrassed smile.
“I forgot Mama hung it in here.”
“It suits him.”
She laughs quietly.
“He fell asleep first.”
My eyes drift to the guitar.
“You play?”
She gives one shoulder a shrug.
“A little.”
She lifts it from its stand, brushes her thumb across the strings, and a few soft notes drift through the room before she sets it back exactly where it had been.
“Been a while.”
I look around once more.
“They kept everything.”
“They always said this would still be my room whenever I came home.”
She smiles, loops her fingers through mine, and tugs me toward the bedroom door.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To introduce you to the horses you’ve apparently been dreaming about for weeks.”