Chapter 19
Vivian
I hum quietly along to the music drifting through the speakers, the soft strum of acoustic guitar blending into the hush of the evening. Outside, the sky burns gold and blush-pink, the kind of sunset that feels like it’s wrapping the whole world in a warm exhale.
I glance in the rearview mirror and smile.
Riley’s out cold in the backseat, her tiny body curled up, one hand tucked under her cheek.
Her curls are wild, still damp, sticking up in every direction like she’s been caught in a storm of joy, and her dress is wrinkled and clinging slightly to her from the lake water.
She looks peaceful in that way only kids can after a perfect day. It’s been a long day for someone her size.
“You’re humming,” Mindy says from the passenger seat, narrowing her eyes at me like she’s trying to solve a crime.
“So? I’m humming to the music,” I reply casually, keeping my gaze on the road.
“No. That’s not casual humming, that’s post-kiss humming.” She leans toward me with a knowing grin.
I give her a flat look, but my face betrays me.
“Oh my god. Viv!” she shrieks, slapping her hand to her mouth. “You kissed!”
“Shh! You’re going to wake Riley,” I hiss, glancing back to make sure our little lake monster is still asleep. “Yes, okay? We kissed.” I try to keep my tone even, but my cheeks are burning, and the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me—yeah, it’s all coming back way too fast.
Mindy practically vibrates with excitement, hands clasped in front of her like she’s praying for juicy details. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
“Not while Riley’s in the car,” I say, shooting her a look. “You know she hears everything, even in her sleep.”
Mindy groans dramatically but nods. “Fine. But the second we get home, I’m grabbing the wine, and you’re spilling every steamy detail.”
I can’t help it—I laugh.
“So…” I glance at Mindy with a little smirk. “How were things with Greg today?”
She raises an eyebrow like she’s not going to give me anything, but I see the smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Seemed like you two were hitting it off,” I add, keeping my tone casual. “I mean…the banter alone could power a small town.”
She snorts. “Yeah, well…it’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” I reply, glancing briefly at her before turning my eyes back to the road. “Why complicated, though?”
She’s quiet for a beat, picking at her thumbnail like she’s figuring out how honest she wants to be.
“I don’t know, really,” she finally says. “We kind of just like how things are right now. We’re not trying to label anything or make it a thing. No expectations.”
In other words, she’s still afraid of commitment. And so is he.
I nod, understanding more than I let on.
She leans her head back against the seat and lets out a sigh. “I think I’m just…tired of rushing things. I’ve done that before. Gotten my hopes up too soon. It never ends well.”
“That’s fair,” I say. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could actually be good.”
“I could say the same to you,” she shoots back with a pointed look. “You’re humming because of a man, Viv. And not just any man—a hot, swooning cowboy who adores you and your kid.”
She’s not wrong, I see how he is with me and how he acts with Riley, he’s been nothing but kind, sweet, charming and caring. But still. It’s not the right time. It was only just a kiss.
A moment of weakness.
A moment of hunger.
Because in that moment, I wanted a taste of him, I wanted to feel him all over me.
I don’t know what that makes me but in that moment I was living and not thinking at all.
It felt peaceful.
“Yeah, Mindy, I know,” I tell her firmly, giving her a look that says drop it…for now.
She shrugs but adds, “I won’t push. Just…don’t let fear stop you from something that could actually be good, Viv.”
Her words settle between us as the car rolls into the driveway, the fading sun casting a soft orange glow over the front of my house. My dad’s already outside, standing on the patio with a mug in hand, waving at us like he’s been waiting all day.
“Honey, look,” I say gently, reaching back to rest a hand on Riley’s leg. “Grandpa’s here.”
Her lashes flutter as she stirs, then her eyes pop open and lock on the familiar figure ahead. “Really?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.
I nod, and just like that, she’s out of her seat belt, swinging the door open and running barefoot across the grass.
“Grandpa!” she squeals, crashing into him with a hug that nearly knocks his mug out of his hand.
“Looks like our girl’s up,” I say, turning off the ignition. I glance at Mindy with a raised brow. “Guess you’ll have to wait an extra day for the juicy details.”
She groans dramatically. “You’re killing me, Viv. You know that, right?”
My dad’s eyes narrow as we step out of the car. “Why are you three looking like that? And why do you smell like horse crap?”
Riley gasps. “Bad word, Grandpa!”
Mindy grins and jumps in, always ready to stir the pot. “Yeah. Bad word, Grandpa.”
He points a stern finger between the two of them. “You, missy,” he says to Mindy, “are just as bad as she is.”
I let out a laugh, shaking my head because it’s true. Between Riley and Mindy, it’s like raising two wildly chaotic children. Sometimes I catch them arguing about glitter or snacks and forget one of them is a grown woman with a mortgage.
Mindy sticks her tongue out and steps in for a hug. “It’s good to see you looking better, old man.”
He snorts. “Nice to see you all went out and actually had fun.” Then he turns to me, arms open. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
I step into his embrace, his hug warm and grounding, familiar in the way that only a father’s could be.
“Happy to see you, Dad. We missed you,” I say, wrapping my arms around him tighter for a moment. There’s something about hugging him that still makes me feel like a little girl—safe, grounded.
He pats my back and leans back with a grin. “Missed you too.”
Then, like clockwork, he claps his hands once and rubs them together. “All right—shall we get dinner ready and talk about what you girls got up to today?”
But before either of us can respond, he leans in and sniffs dramatically. His nose wrinkles. “Well…shower first.”
Riley squeals as he swoops her up, pressing his nose to her tummy. “Let’s see—yep. Definitely shower first, Little Bean,” he teases as she wiggles and giggles in his arms.
“I smell like a lake and a horse,” Riley announces proudly, like it’s a badge of honor.
“You smell like a barn rolled in sunshine,” Mindy chimes in with a smirk, kicking off her boots as we head inside.
“And you”—Dad points at Mindy, giving her a playful squint—“you smell like trouble.”
Mindy bows. “As always.”
I laugh as I close the front door behind us, heart warm and full-because today was good. Messy, chaotic, horse-scented…but so, so good.
* * *
Once we’re all showered and properly starving, the scent of dinner hits me the moment I step off the last stair—rich tomato, garlic, herbs simmering slow. Spaghetti Bolognese. It’s nothing fancy, but whatever meal my dad makes it’s always a five-star meal.
The kitchen looks like a culinary hurricane rolled through-pans stacked messily, used chopping boards still out, stray bits of onion skin clinging to the edge of the counter. Normally, that kind of chaos would drive me insane.
But when it’s Dad who’s made the mess?
It’s different.
It’s comforting in a way.
“Dad, this smells amazing,” I say, reaching for the wooden spoon like a criminal about to commit a crime.
He catches me in the act. “Don’t even think about it.”
Too late. I sneak a taste, the rich sauce hitting my tongue like every good childhood memory rolled into one. “Just making sure you didn’t forget the salt.”
He scoffs, but he’s smiling. “Like I’d ever forget the salt.”
The man lives for this—feeding people, fussing in the kitchen. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know. The way he hovers, the way he watches our faces when we take a bite. It matters to him.
And yeah, maybe he’s always been the tough, ranch-hardened guy who smells like sawdust and engine oil—but if life had played out differently, I think he would’ve opened a tiny restaurant right here in Bluebell Hollow.
Something rustic, maybe a chalkboard menu out front, Riley’s scribbles on the wall.
He’d be good at it. Hell, he already is.
I glance over at Mindy, who’s eyeing the garlic bread.
Riley’s spinning in tiny circles across the kitchen floor in her fluffy socks, arms flailing like a sugar-drenched ballerina. She’s got that look on her face—the kind of wild joy only five year olds and golden retrievers can pull off.
And me?
I’m here. Standing in my dad’s kitchen, heart full, stomach growling, and completely wrapped up in a kind of quiet happiness I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
“Auntie Mindy stole a piece of garlic bread,” Riley announces, pointing an accusatory finger like a dramatic courtroom witness.
We all turn to Mindy, who’s frozen mid-chew with a comically large piece of bread stuffed in her mouth like a guilty squirrel.
Her muffled reply is nothing short of iconic. “You little brat.”
Riley sticks her tongue out with no shame, victorious.
“Riley,” I warn playfully, lifting the bowl of spaghetti and carrying it toward the table. “Leave your auntie alone—you know she doesn’t have manners like you do.”
Mindy gasps, still mid-bite, then flips me off behind Riley’s back.
Without missing a beat, I flash one right back, making sure Riley doesn’t see.
Dad follows me to the table with the pot of sauce and places it down beside the bowl of spaghetti like he’s delivering treasure.
“Well, let’s dig in and someone catch me up on what you girls got up to today.”
We all crowd around the table, the comforting sound of chairs scooting and silverware clinking filling the room. I pour Riley’s plate first, cutting the spaghetti just the way she likes it.