We’ve just finished feeding the goats, and her little body is heavy against my tired muscles, but she smells like hay and applesauce, and the lotion Georgia rubs on her after every bath, so I don’t give a damn.
“Don’t tell your mama,” I murmur into the top of her head, “but you’re my favorite helper.”
She lets out a squeal and thumps a tiny palm against my sternum like she knows she’s hilarious.
I chuckle and keep walking toward the house, the gravel crunching beneath my boots.
“Think Mama’s gonna love this weekend?” I ask her, already picturing Georgia’s face when we pull up to the cabin by the lake. “It’s quiet out there. Real quiet. Just the trees and the water. No work. No phones. Just us.”
Aurora gurgles something close to “Mmm-hmm,” and I grin.
“She’s been workin’ herself to the bone for this Bash. Wanna give her a reason to exhale. She deserves, don’t you think, baby girl?”
The wind kicks up, brushing the sweat from my neck, and I pull Aurora in tighter.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about finally telling her,” I murmur, using my daughter as my sounding board like always. Everything I read says it’ll help her language skills. “About her family. The stuff I found out. Thought about holdin’ onto it a while longer, but… she deserves to know. She deserves the choice, at the very least.”
She shifts against my chest, eyes fluttering sleepily, and I rub her back gently.
“But more than that, I need to tell her I love her.” I swallow hard. “It’s killin’ me to keep it in. I almost say it a hundred times a day. I’m scared to scare her, but damn, sweetheart, how can I not when you two take up my whole heart?”
Aurora tangles her dirty hands in my beard and suckles on air so I slip her pacifier from the pocket of my vest and plop it in her mouth. She latches on and stares up at me with wide, alert eyes, suddenly catching a second wind.
“I love your mama,” I whisper. “So fuckin’ much it hurts. And I know I should’ve told her sooner, but I didn’t wanna scare her off. She’s got this way of runnin’ when things get real. But lately… things have been right. She’s ours. We’re hers. This is it.”
The house comes into view in the distance, warm and familiar in the late afternoon light. I catch sight of Georgia's jeep and feel my chest expand.
“Harvest season’s nearly here,” I mutter, mind flicking through chores I need to take care of. “Already called a guy to price out an outdoor decontamination station so I don’t track wheat into the house. Don’t want her breathing any of that in.”
Aurora smacks my cheek and screams, the sound barely muffled by the paci, and I chuckle.
“I agree. It’s not good for her. Been thinking about booking her a hotel for a week or two just to be safe.” Another scream and I nod, patting her back. “I know she still has her place, but after we went to grab stuff a few weeks back…”
I shake my head.
“Nah. I hate it. That place is too far out. Feels like a ghost town. She didn’t say it, but I could see it in her eyes. She’s scared out there in the middle of nowhere. Used it as an excuse to tell her she should just move in.”
Aurora babbles again and I grimace.
“I know, I should have gone about it differently, but I can’t help it.”
Another hard yank.
“Yeah, baby girl.” I sigh. “But I love your mama, and there’s not a damn thing I wouldn’t do for her.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap the screen, lifting it so Aurora can see the lock screen photo—Georgia holding Rory in the flower field, grinning up at me with that sun-bright smile and wild curls spilling in every direction.
I tug the pacifier free and pause mid-step.
“Can you say it, sweetheart? SayMama. Mama.”
“Mmmmmmm,” she tries, drooling all over herself while smashing a fist against my phone.
I laugh and tickle her side, kissing her dimpled cheek. “That’s right. Mama.”
Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I hit my long driveway, and I start mentally cataloguing all the things I still need to do this week before we leave.
The flower harvest is nearly wrapped. Sales are lookin’ solid this year—bouquet orders from Serenity Falls and even a few wedding clients lined up. The honey’s almost gone already, even with Mom stashing boxes for the Bash. The wheat’ll be ready in a few weeks, and I’ve got extra hands lined up for the heavy lifting, but it’s gonna be tight.
