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But I really can believe it. I keep coming back to the idea that, yes, Wyatt really isn’t scared of commitment. He wants to fall in love.

He wants what his parents had. The loving relationship. The trust. The respect.

And, yeah, one day, the ranch and the house and the kids. He’s never said it out loud. But I know he’d thrive in that kind of life if he ever let himself have it.

As an only child, I loved going over to the Rivers’ house. Sure, it was often chaotic and always loud. But it was always fun too. They all seemed so connected to each other. All seven of them sat down for dinner every night and for breakfast every morning, and they had all these cool traditions they shared. Mrs. Rivers would let the boys help her make homemade cinnamon rolls every Saturday. Mr. Rivers would take us on “adventures” in his ATV in the afternoons when it was too hot to be on horseback.

They’d have huge Christmas dinners and epic Easter brunches. Pumpkin-carving parties, cookie-decorating parties. Dance parties in their living room when it rained.

I loved being a part of it. It made my home life seem quiet and tame in comparison. I also think it made me want a bunch of kids of my own.

But then I grew up, and I became aware of the reality of raising a large family. It would be expensive. And stressful. I’d have to sacrifice my freedom. Forget travel. And I don’t know how I’d manage a family like that while working the super-intense jobs I’ve always been after.

Even so, when I’m sitting down to a meal surrounded by the Rivers family, like I am now, I feel a tug. A longing for a table like this, filled with family like this. Only it’s myownfamily I’m eating with. I’m in my own house, where my husband and I enjoy our own traditions.

Glancing at Wyatt, I can’t help but think of all the fun traditions we already have. Our rides. Our drives. Our Jack Daniel’s by the river. And the coffee we had on Wyatt’s front porch—that could become a tradition too.

I’ve never wanted to get a tattoo before, but now I’m thinking about it.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

I’m filled with this bright, joyful sense of gratitude when I think about all the things we could add to our list of traditions. The wholesome things, and the not-so-wholesome things too.

So much ground to cover.

“My only question is, what took y’all so long?” Ryder is returning to the table after grabbing a second pulled pork sandwich from the platter on the island.

Wyatt reaches for my thigh underneath the table. My heart skips a beat when he squeezes, a flare of heat igniting between my legs. “Good question.”

I wonder when my face is going to stop hurting from all this damn smiling.

“So? Tell us.” Duke takes a huge bite of his sandwich.

Wyatt and I were at breakfast so early that we left the house before anyone else was up. He and I got some steers caught up on their vaccinations, and then we tacked up our horses to go check out a pasture that had flooded yesterday.

It was just him and me all morning, and it was heaven.

By the time Mom radioed in that lunch was ready, we’d been out riding for hours and not seen a soul.

But word travels fast in a small town. I want to be annoyed that Mom told everyone about Wyatt and me. Honestly, though, I’m kinda glad she did. It’s nice knowing at least one of my parents is excited for us.

Dad disappeared after breakfast, and I haven’t seen him since. I understand why he’s not crazy about Wyatt and me dating, but really, he doesn’t have to be such a curmudgeonabout it. I know he’s worried Wyatt’s going to keep me in Hartsville. But that’s not Dad’s choice to make.

This is my life. And I’m learning that the more I take the wheel—the more I block out the noise of everyone else’s opinions and do what feels right for me—the more I feel at peace.

Does Dad’s disapproval rattle me? Of course it does. Do I still have conflicting feelings about my future? Yes. But behind all that—or maybe beneath it—is this warm, solid sense ofoh, thank God.

Thank God I took a chance and let Wyatt in.

Thank God I did that, despite what everyone else thinks.

Thank God I chose myself—and keep choosing myself.

“Most of the story”—Wyatt looks at me, his hand still on my leg—“ain’t appropriate for polite company.”

Sawyer grins. “Good thing we’re not polite.”

“I think we just realized we were done wasting time.” I can’t look away from Wyatt. “We’re not getting any younger. And, yeah, I decided I need to have more fun, and I never have more fun than I do with your brother.”