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“You decorate a Christmas tree in October?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “It’s our Angel Tree.”

“An angel tree,” she murmured. “It sounds nice. Like you have people watching over you.”

“We do,” he said. “Our family members who’ve passed. You—they could watch over you too.”

She smiled at him, the movement of her mouth a little too wobbly for her liking. “I’d like that, Link.”

He pulled their joined hands back to his lap and raised her wrist to kiss it. “Great,” he said. “Now I can really enjoy the sermon and the picnic.”

“You forgot the dancing.”

“I never forget about dancing with you,” he said.

She grinned into the sunshine pouring into the truck. “Remember that time when you held me as the sun went down? And we danced to the sweetest, slowest song as a whole, glowing herd of fireflies came out. Remember that?” She whispered the last two words, because she really needed some of her dismal, gray, miserable memories to be replaced with more vibrant, colorful, and meaningful ones.

“Yeah,” Link said wistfully, as if they’d already lived through tonight’s picnic, dance, and firefly sighting. “That was such a great night.”

“Link,” she said, an idea flowing into her mind. “Would you ever want to meet my mom and my brother?”

“Of course I would,” he said. Just like that. Without missing a beat. Without asking her another single thing. Just, of course I would, like she didn’t even need to ask.

“Why?” she asked, twisting to look at him now.

“Because they’re part of you,” he said slowly. “I know you didn’t have a happy childhood, and I know you’ve put distance between them and you. But they still shaped you, and yes, if you wanted me to meet them, and it was important to you, then of course I want to meet them.”

“They might think you’re special,” she said. “I’ve never introduced them to anyone in my life. Not even a girlfriend.”

“They might,” he said. “It’s a risk.” He grinned at her, but she couldn’t quite get herself to return it.

“Hey,” he said, sobering. “It’s okay if they think I’m special, because they’ll only have to look at us once to know that I think you’re the special-est in the whole world.”

Misty’s eyes watered then, but she didn’t let any tears out. “I don’t think you used the word special-est right in that sentence.”

His big hand around hers tightened. “You don’t, huh? Well, good thing there are no Grammar Police in this truck.” He pulled into the church parking lot and jogged around the front of the truck to open her door for her.

He took her into his arms and asked, “Can I have my pre-church kiss, please? You were mad at your house, and I missed out.”

She didn’t tease him, or smile at him, or do anything flirty. She simply eased herself into his arms, a place she’d always fit, and pressed her lips to his. The fire in his touch licked through her body, and Misty didn’t mind the way it burned some of the bridges she’d been afraid to knock down.

She’d once worried that Link would force her to burn everything she knew about herself, her family, her life, to the ground. Now, she was willingly lighting matches and tossing more fuel onto the dirtiest, dustiest corners of her existence.

Now, she was falling in love with this gentle giant of a cowboy.

Now, she was seriously considering becoming a permanent resident of Three Rivers—and a Glover.

Misty sure did like Pastor Glover’s sermons. She had a way of standing at the pulpit and inviting everyone along on the same journey she was on. Today, she’d limped a little more as she’d taken her place behind the mic, and Misty had already silently begged Jesus to help her through this sermon.

She’d started talking about having what she called “a long view” last week, and this week, she’d expounded more on that.

“It’s having eternal perspective,” Willa said. “When Jesus Christ came to the earth, do you think He only saw the few decades He’d live here?” She shook her head. “No. He had the long view. The bigger picture.”

She surveyed the congregation, but Misty couldn’t look away from her. Willa smiled then seemed to look right at the rows of Glovers, who all sat front and center in the chapel. Today—and on other Sundays—Misty sat with them. Link’s family had always been welcoming, with smiles and secret looks to one another. But they never made her feel like there wasn’t room for her on the benches they normally filled themselves, just like they’d never acted like there wasn’t room for her and Janie up at Shiloh Ridge.

“Life is a series of good and bad,” Willa said. “Ups and downs and some strong curves that can leave you reeling, breathless, wondering if you’re doing the right thing or not.”

“My cousin Mitch should hear this,” Link murmured in Misty’s ear.