Page 49 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

MESA

“But we’re only in the second week of July!” Savannah says with a gasp and excited eyes.

I rise to my tiptoes, hoping the stepstool that I’m standing on doesn’t topple over.

Stretching my arm as far as it’ll go, my fingers finally wrap around the delicate wine glass stem, and I carefully pull it down from the top of the kitchen cabinet.

I have no idea why my nana stored it up here. It’s nearly impossible to reach.

Wine glass in hand, I turn to look at my friend over my shoulder. “I know. We turned it in early.”

Savannah claps and squeals in her seat at the little round kitchen table. I laugh, knowing I had the same giddy reaction when I sent the last files at around eleven last night.

“I can’t even say I’m surprised,” she admits. “You worked so dang hard on that app update. Can you think of anything better than spending the rest of the summer with that project off your shoulders?”

I can, actually.

After stepping down, I pad barefoot through the kitchen and place the glass in the sink. It’s covered in a thick layer of dust. Savannah is surrounded by a mess of cut stems, petals, and one milky jade-colored vase. I sink into the chair next to her and pick up a stem to fluff out its purple bloom.

“No work for a little while is great and all,” I say. “But even if I hadn’t busted my ass to get it done with time to spare, I was still going to spend the rest of the summer with you and everyone else I love. That’s all I want.”

“Everyone else you love ?” She quirks an eyebrow.

I wave off her comment. “You know what I mean.”

She smiles at the bundle of baby’s breath in her hands before setting it down and pushing away from the table. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

Savannah spins toward the front door while I hum a made-up tune and arrange a bundle of flowers on the table in front of me.

In my dreams, this summer was supposed to be about redirection. I envisioned a stretch of slow months in which I cleansed my existence of demanding workloads and romantic fantasies. What I ended up with turned out to be the opposite.

Some days, I was glued to my laptop from the moment I woke up to the moment I drifted to sleep. Others, I was falling for a man who yearned so shamelessly for me that I couldn’t help but give up my defenses against love.

I’m glad for it, though. I still ended up exactly where I wanted to be, even if the path to get here was chock-full of everything I swore would be the end of me.

It’s not always about what you’re doing or how you do it that shapes your life, I guess.

It’s your people. Who you surround yourself with. That’s the key.

Savannah flurries back inside a moment later. I eye the small velvet box in her hand. When I put down the flowers and turn toward her, she opens the lid and sets it in front of me.

“We were waiting to plan a celebration once you finished your app and give it to you then. But—now seems right. I helped with the design, and B made all the arrangements to have it made. She’s going to be so mad when she finds out I gave it to you while she was at work,” she adds with a laugh.

I don’t reach for the box that contains a ring. My eyes gloss over, and the bridge of my nose burns something fierce as I simply stare at it.

“Do you like it?” Savannah asks softly. “It matches, see?”

I turn my head and nod just as she lifts her wrist. The same flower, a prairie rose, hangs dead center on her thin bracelet. My lips part, but I quickly shut them again and turn my attention back to the ring box sitting on the table.

Instead of continuing to feel like I was climbing a steep mountain, my life began to glow when I crossed paths with Savannah.

Sometimes I play a slow-motion movie in my mind, trying to relive the time we first agreed to switch houses for a semester.

Then, the time I finally moved back and felt a strange wave of contentment. I was never the same after that.

Making friends with Blythe also made me realize that I may have found more than friendship or romance here. We all rely on each other. I found family.

Clearly, I’m painfully nostalgic. I make no apologies for that. But a gift like this exasperates my sentimental side to an almost torturously high level.

With a wistful sigh, I finally pick up the ring and admire the tiny details on the band made of two twisting vines. I’ve noticed Blythe’s necklace that matches. And Savannah’s bracelet, of course.

I take the ring out carefully. It’s too big for my middle finger but fits perfectly on my thumb, which makes me smile.

“It was B’s idea to make it a thumb ring. She said it fits your personality.”

Alright, I’m going to be a blubbering mess about this.

“Thank you,” I whisper, holding my hand up to admire it through the pooling liquid in my eyes.

After standing, I move behind Savannah and bend to wrap my arms around her. The side of my head presses against hers, and her hands come up to squeeze my forearms that cross over her collarbone.

“You’re welcome,” she chokes out dramatically.

I let out a watery laugh while loosening the intensity of my hug. “Love you,” I whisper.

“Love you long time,” she answers quietly. Then, she pats my arm and blows out a breath. “You’re going to make me ruin my makeup.”

I lean back to stand up. “But I haven’t even told you how much it means to me yet. The significance it holds. Oh! And I haven’t described how I’ll cherish it forever or how I’ll always be here for you no matter wha?—"

Savannah cuts me off by putting her fingers in her ears. “Ahh. Stop. Tell me tomorrow when I can cry about it. I still have to go back to the office today, and I don’t need streaks of mascara running down my face.”

I smile and move to the living room, running my index finger over my new ring. “The wallpaper looks good. Don’t you think? Thanks for helping me get all this knocked out over your lunch break.”

She stands next to me as we admire the wall that had a massive hole and a tree branch knocked through it less than a month ago. Me, in my threadbare tank top and cutoff overalls with one strap unbuckled. Her, in tailored taupe trousers and a tucked-in silk blouse.

Tripp and Warren fixed the wall, and I spent more than two weeks fussing over paint colors before finding this wallpaper.

It’s a vintage cream color painted with a delicate pattern of pale bluebells.

It doesn’t exactly match a single thing in my cottage decor—which makes it fit the eclectic space perfectly.

“It’s understated and whimsical,” Savannah points out with a nod. “I’m in love.”

I place my hands on my hips and tilt my head with a warm smile. My phone rings from the island counter, and Savannah turns to slip on her heels that she left near the couch.

“You’re coming over for dinner tomorrow, right?” I call over my shoulder on my way to the kitchen.

“Yes,” she answers as she puts on her sunglasses and opens my front door. “I’m bringing the lemons.”

The door closes behind her, and I laugh. Of course she’s bringing the lemons. Before the incoming call goes to voicemail, I swipe across the bottom of my phone screen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Check your email,” Hazel rushes out.

I jog over to my bed, slump down on the mattress, and open my laptop. My inbox finally loads, and I click on the most recent unread message that she forwarded to me.

An article appears with a title that makes me sit up straight and place a hand on my chest.

Curiosity Takes Root: The Garden App That’s Changing the Way Kids Learn

My eyes quickly scan the first few paragraphs, which offer details about how our passion project evolved into a popular community resource.

All three of us, the original creators, are credited alongside the investment company that purchased it.

I catch a sentence or two about when the update is set to launch and how families or teachers can access it with no purchase necessary by following an included link.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it? It’s all over social media right now,” Hazel says proudly.

The fanfare is entirely unnecessary for me. The impact of the work I’ve done is enough fulfillment. Still, it’s nice to experience the recognition.

“Yes! Wow. It’s—” I swallow down a squeal. Instead of shedding more tears than I already have today, I laugh in a mix of disbelief and pure joy. “Beyond incredible.”

Hazel joins in on my excited laughter. “After all we’ve been through to make this happen, I’m about to take a six-month cruise around the world. And I’m not even going to purchase the Wi-Fi package. No computers allowed.”

“Please do,” I giggle. “Send beachy postcards.”

The line goes silent for a while as the delight finally dies down. Hazel clears her throat.

“What’s next for you?”

I close the computer, promising myself I’ll sit down with a cup of tea and read the article more thoroughly later. Thinking about her question as I make my way back to the kitchen, a clear answer doesn’t hit me immediately.

I brace a hand on the counter and look out the curtain-framed window above my sink. A bumble bee hovers over my flower box. The sun filters through the trees, streaking my entire backyard with patches of light. The quiet wraps around me like an heirloom quilt.

I’m tempted to say that what’s next for me is to just . . . be here.

Is that too ordinary of me? I spend another minute wondering if tackling new and even more ambitious goals would be more impressive.

“I think I’m going to…” I start, but my sentence trails off.

“Just say yes to what feels good, and no to what doesn’t?” Hazel offers, sensing my lack of confidence.

“Exactly,” I agree with a smile. “I already chased my dream. Whatever comes next, I’m not going to look for it. It will find me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hazel responds. “Never change, sweet girl.”

Once the conversation comes to a natural end and I set my phone down, I pick up the old wine glass in the sink. I turn it over beneath a stream of warm water, washing away the evidence of time that coats every bit of its exposed surface.

Screw having it all figured out and organizing each detailed step in a binder labeled “five-year plan ,” I think to myself.

I still admire that approach. But I’ve been devoted to a strenuous grind for over a decade. I’ll pick up my next career adventure when it’s time, and I think for now, my heart prefers to be present and unrushed.

The faint rumbling of Tripp’s Bronco pulling into my driveway hits my ears. As usual, he’s off work early on Fridays. It’s something he started doing after Gage and Blythe’s wedding weekend over a month ago.

I can’t put into words the way it made me feel when I realized he’d made a routine out of it so that we’d have more time together. As if we don’t already have plenty of it.

But no amount of time with him is ever enough for either of us, it seems.

I quickly set the glass down and dry my hands. He’s no sooner turned off his truck when I’m out the front door.

There’s sweat on his brow as he steps out, lifts his hat, and brushes a hand over his forehead. His jeans sit low on his hips, and his old t-shirt is frayed around the neckline.

Tiny rocks prick the soles of my feet as I walk toward him. As soon as we reach each other, he smirks at me and slowly bends just enough so that I can loop both arms around his neck.

He doesn’t speak yet, and neither do I. It’s a quiet rhythm between us—tired bodies on a hot afternoon, content breaths, hearts beating in tandem.

I shiver when he kisses under my ear and then lifts me off the ground to carry me toward the house. Once we’re inside, I let out a relieved sigh as the air conditioner hits my skin again.

Tripp removes his boots, takes my hand, and leads us toward the bathroom. The thing about dating a cowboy that I’ll never complain about is how many showers they have to take. And my cowboy seems to think taking one alone is never any fun.

I look down at our hands, fingers intertwined like part of a puzzle that wouldn’t fit together so flawlessly with any other pieces.

The new ring on my thumb catches the light. Time slows to a stop while my chest fills with emotion.

How lucky am I?