Chapter 34 #3
Would he regret it? Would he look at me one day, years from now, and wonder what he gave up by choosing someone who can’t give him everything?
Would he start to feel like he settled for something smaller than what he really wanted? Like I was a placeholder for a life that could’ve been bigger?
Would he wish he’d chosen someone else?
Someone whole?
Someone who isn’t already coming up short?
A knot starts to form in my throat, thick and hot and impossible to swallow down.
I twirl my champagne flute between my fingers just to have something to do, then glance at Nova and force a smile. “So,” I say, trying to clear the static in my brain, “how’d you and Joel meet?”
She perks up instantly. “Back in college. I was planning this benefit for my sorority, and he came to give a guest lecture about animal sciences or something—honestly, I barely remember because he walked in and I was like, yup. That’s my person.”
I laugh. “Just like that?”
She shrugs, sipping her champagne. “I wish I were exaggerating. I stalked him for like two weeks before I accidentally-on-purpose ran into him at a coffee shop and asked him if he remembered me from the lecture. He didn’t.”
That makes me laugh harder. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes. He was embarrassed and immediately tried to overcompensate by asking me to dinner. And then—well, we just sort of stuck.”
I glance across the ballroom at Joel, who’s talking about something while Sawyer nods along, amused.
“You two really balance each other out,” I say, and I mean it.
Nova nods, soft and a little dreamy. “He’s my favorite person.”
We both smile, and I’m just about to ask another question when she says, “And guess what? We’re moving up to Bozeman soon.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
She nods. “Yeah, in a couple of months. Joel’s expanding his clinic—he’s opening a second location up that way and wants to be more hands-on. And I figured since I can plan weddings and events from anywhere, it made sense.”
“That’s a big move.”
“It is. But it feels right. We’ve been wanting to build a house somewhere up there anyway, so why not now?”
She leans forward and squeezes my knee gently, like she means it. “It also means my new best friend is gonna be a whole lot closer.”
I blink. “We’re best friends now?”
She gives me a look. “Uh, duh. I like you too much not to be. You’re stuck with me now, Hart.”
I let out a quiet laugh, but it sneaks up on me. The truth is…it actually feels nice to be wanted like that, to have a friend. To be claimed by someone who doesn’t have to.
I don’t have a lot of friends outside of my family. Not the kind who text just to check in, or sit with you at a gala like they’ve known you for years.
I glance over at Joel and Sawyer, and now there are even more men surrounding them. They’re all talking over each other, laughing like they’ve known each other since birth. Sawyer’s standing in the middle of it, relaxed and easy, like he belongs there.
Nova follows my gaze, then leans in and says, “You married a good one.”
The words land softly, but my cheeks still flush. I drop my eyes to the napkin in my lap and smooth the edge with my thumb.
“Yeah,” I say. “I did.”
It comes out quieter than I meant it to.
He really is good. Not just with me, but with Joel. With Hank. With everyone, really. The kind of man who remembers your favorite coffee order and shows up on the side of the road when your trailer breaks down. Who fixes things quietly, without ever needing you to notice.
It feels good to hear people talk about him this way. People who’ve known him longer than I have. People who genuinely admire him. Everything they’re saying just confirms what I’ve already been learning on my own.
Nova tilts her head. “So, how’d you and Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Veterinary meet? Sawyer hasn’t told me.”
I clear my throat, eyes still on the napkin. “Our families have…known each other a long time.”
Nova raises a perfectly arched brow. “Known each other a long time,” she repeats slowly. “So what—you just woke up one day and decided to love each other?”
I let out a small laugh. “No. Not exactly.”
She waits, curious.
I lift one shoulder. “He helped me with something at the feed store once. That’s kind of where it started.”
That part’s true. The rest—the years of family tension—I leave out.
“After that,” I say, “we just…kept talking, I guess and now here we are.”
Nova smiles like she can see the rest anyway, even if I didn’t say it. “Well,” she says, sipping her champagne, “thank God for the feed store.”
I decide right then that I really like Nova.
She’s got this warmth to her—like she could host a dinner party for fifty people and somehow make each of them feel like the guest of honor.
She reads a room in seconds flat, but not in a calculating way.
More like…she just wants everyone to feel comfortable.
Like she was born knowing how to make space for people.
She’s striking, too—glowing caramel brown skin, those wild curls, the kind of smile that makes you smile back before you realize you’re doing it and big green eyes the color of sunlit leaves. It’s not hard to see how she landed someone like Joel. Or why she’s good at what she does.
Our conversation is interrupted by a sudden flurry of movement—waiters with white gloves weaving through the tables with polished trays. Silver domes are lifted, one after the other, and I blink down at the plate in front of me.
It’s beautiful.
Pan-seared sea bass resting on a bed of wild mushroom risotto made with cashew cream.
Asparagus spears charred just enough to still have a snap.
Edible flowers scattered across the plate like confetti.
A tiny dish of citrus-dressed micro-greens on the side and what looks like a gluten-free brioche roll beside a ramekin of dairy-free herbed butter.
I blink, pleasantly surprised. “Oh wow. I can actually eat all of this.”
Nova leans in, her eyes skimming my plate. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”
I sip my water. “Food allergies. No dairy, no gluten. Usually I just push the food around and hope nobody notices.”
Her brows shoot up. “Oh! It all makes sense now.”
“Makes sense?”
She sets her fork down and nods. “Someone from Sawyer’s clinic called me a few days ago, asking for a recommendation for a new caterer.
He told them that the old one wouldn’t work this year and I remember thinking it was weird—he’s used the same one for, like, four years and then suddenly wants one that’s twice as expensive.
I figured he was just on a weird health kick or something. ”
I pause. “Wait—he changed the caterer?”
“Yeah. He said he needed one that could handle dietary restrictions.” She shrugs. “I didn’t realize it was for you until just now.”
I stare down at my plate. The perfect, allergen-friendly plate. The one I didn’t ask for. The one I didn’t even think to ask for.
He didn’t say anything about it—not once. No mention, no quiet hint that I should notice or feel grateful. He just changed the entire menu, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like taking care of me didn’t need to be acknowledged.
No attention drawn. No credit taken. Just this beautiful, thoughtful thing he did so I wouldn’t feel like an afterthought.
So I’d feel like I belonged at this table.
I pick up my fork, my throat tight. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me love him just a little bit more.
Joel and Sawyer are still laughing as they shake hands with the last of the men, parting ways with a few shoulder claps and promises to catch up again soon. Joel slips into the chair beside Nova, nodding toward the food. “Damn, this looks incredible.”
Sawyer drops into the seat beside me and lets out a breath. His hand lands on my thigh under the table—warm and familiar—and he gives it a gentle squeeze as he leans in a little.
“Sorry I left you alone so long,” he says, his voice low, just for me. “Nova didn’t scare you off, did she?”
Nova hears it anyway. She narrows her green eyes at him, feigning offense. “Excuse you! If anything, I’m the reason she stayed!”
I smile, and Sawyer turns to me like he’s waiting for confirmation.
“Don’t look so surprised,” I say, nudging his arm. “Nova’s great.”
Nova lifts her glass, smug. “Told you.”
Sawyer chuckles.
The conversation picks back up around us—Joel asking Nova about the flowers on the table, Nova telling Joel to text her mom to check in on Lottie, Joel saying he’s already texted her six times in the two hours—and for a moment, it feels like we’ve always known these people, like we’ve always had this.
Sawyer leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “Are you sure the food’s okay? I wasn’t totally sure about the risotto, but—”
I kiss him.
It’s not long or cinematic. Just a press of my lips against his, my hand finding the side of his neck. He stills for half a second, and then I feel him smile into it.
“Thank you,” I whisper, close enough that only he can hear. “For thinking of me.”
His hand slides back to my thigh, his palm grounding me right to the spot. “I’m always thinking of you.”
He says it as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s not this massive, life-altering truth that makes my ribs ache in the gentlest, most impossible way.
And my heart—my always-cautious, always-guarded heart—just…settles. Because that’s what he does. He settles me.
And maybe that’s the difference between this and everything else.
With him, I don’t feel anxious. I don’t feel like I’m balancing on a wire, waiting to fall.
My heartbeat doesn’t race in warning when I’m around him—it softens.
Like it knows it’s safe here, with him—that it’s finally been given permission to slow down.
There’s no falling in love with Sawyer Hart.
Falling sounds terrifying. Falling implies panic.
It implies a loss of control. It sounds like something you survive, not something you choose.
It sounds like losing your footing, like crashing into something sharp.
And this …this isn’t that. This is steady.
This is warm hands and quick kisses and risotto I can actually eat.
This is a man who doesn’t say things for show, who never makes me feel like too much or too little.
This is a hand on your thigh under a linen-draped table while laughter echoes across the room.
This is my pulse softening under the weight of his palm. This is the way he never asks me to be anything I’m not.
This is me, slowly understanding that I’m safe with someone who’s never once made me feel like I wasn’t.
There’s no falling here. No edges to brace for. No bottom rushing up to meet me.
Just this quiet love that opens up like a kaleidoscope—all shifting light and steady color, something beautiful every time I turn toward him. It’s slow and certain and meets me exactly where I am, like it’s been waiting to find me all along.
It’s love, not as a freefall—but as a place. Lived-in and light-filled. With creaky floors and sun-warmed windows. Where nothing has to be earned to be kept. A place I can walk into without knocking.
A place that opens its door and says, you’re home.
It’s a love that stays.
Quiet and constant and mine.