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“Well, that’s a surprise, because I’m so nervous that I feel like I’m going to vomit. I promise I’m gonna try real hard not to ruin this dress, Mollie.”

She just smiles and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry about the dress. Worry instead about how Wyatt is gonna break you in two when he takes you home tonight.”

“That man is feral in bed, isn’t he?” Wheeler asks wistfully.

Mollie is still smiling. “That’s what Miss Sally asked for—to have fun with feral cowboys. And look what happened! You asked the universe for what you wanted, and lo and behold, you got it.”

“You’re forgetting the twenty years I wanted Wyatt, but didn’t so much as lay a finger on him. I didn’t think he’d ever be into a girl like me. More than that, I was afraid I’d end up losing him if we ever did become more than friends.”

“But because you finally had the guts to ask for him anyway”—Mollie snaps her fingers—“it happened.”

“It did.” A burst of excitement—of joy and anticipation and heady disbelief—rockets through me. “I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. Like, I’m making such a mess of things. I don’t know what I’m going to do about a job. Yeah, I’m practically living with Wyatt, but we haven’t talked about moving in together?—”

“He wants you to move in,” Wheeler says. “You know he does.”

Mollie solemnly nods. “It is known that Wyatt Rivers would have put a ring on Sally Powell’s finger yesterday.”

I want to protest, to wave off their comments.

Instead, I smile. They’re right.

This all feels so, so right.

“Point being, I had a plan—a very good, very sensible plan—and now I have no plan, other than to make a life in Hartsville with Wyatt.”

Wheeler shrugs. “Sounds like a solid plan to me. You’ll figure out the rest.”

“If y’all want to make it work, you’ll make it work,” Mollie adds. “I know it can happen from personal experience.”

I am so happy, I might burst. “That’s the hope.”

“We’ll let your dad know we’re actively working on the job part.” Mollie winks. “I get that you’re anxious about how he’s going to react.”

Anxious enough to feel like I’m about to pass out, yeah.

“I just wish he’d trust me. I’ve never made a bad decision or disappointed him. I’m not making a bad decision now.”

Mollie grabs my hand. “I’m proud of you for sticking to your guns.”

Let’s hope Dad feels that way too.

Mom and I have been prepping food for Friendsgiving for days now, but I still spent the morning in the kitchen at the New House, taking care of last-minute tasks—setting the big farm table with the prettiest china and glassware, squeezing lemons for the maple bourbon sours I’ll serve, taking the turkey we smoked yesterday out of the fridge to come to room temperature.

I’m back in the kitchen at half past four in my red dress, the plan being that everyone arrives around five o’clock. Wyatt had a meeting with Cash and their contractor to discuss plans for the new horse barn they want to put up on the Rivers’ side of the ranch, so he’s been gone all afternoon.

I can’t wait to see him.

Really, I can’t wait to see his face when I tell everyone I’m staying in Hartsville. He’s going to be so, so happy. I wonder if he’ll ask me to move in with him.

I wonder how Mom is going to react to Dad’s reaction. She’s been nothing but supportive of my relationship with Wyatt, but I also know she’s so proud of my education and the future I had lined up for myself. Then again, she did encourage me to follow my heart when I we talked that afternoon in the kitchen. Surely, she’ll be happy for me—for us—right?

I put on an apron to protect Mollie’s dress. My hands shake as I stuff them into a pair of potholders and take the gigantic eighteen-pound turkey out of the oven. Reheating it has made the kitchen smell insanely delicious, like hickorysmoke and the caramelized onions I made. My stomach grumbles, despite the nerves that have taken up residence there.

“Wow, that smells good.”

I nearly drop the turkey at the sound of the voice behind me. Setting the roasting pan on top of the range, I turn and see Dad step into the kitchen.

He’s carrying two reusable grocery bags. I know without asking what’s in them—Mom’s pecan pie, some kind of Thanksgiving-themed gift for Ella, and the linen napkins Mom pressed for me that match the china.