Page 79 of Fixing to Be Mine

“For a long time, I didn’t know what it felt like to sit still. In my world, life moves fast, and there’s so much to prove. I worked nonstop and hadn’t taken a vacation in five years. These past two weeks have …” She swallows hard. “Being here, being with you, has changed my outlook on life, and I realize I was stuck in the rat race.”

Stormy leans her head on my shoulder, and I feel her breath slip out slow.

“You’ve changed me too. And that’s fucking scary because what happens next?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Taking it one day at a time.”

Stormy’s stomach growls, and I laugh.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” she says, pulling away.

I open the basket and pull out napkins, a container of Mama’s fried chicken, macaroni, and a tub of still-warm peach cobbler. There’s cornbread, too, wrapped in foil.

Stormy watches me unpack it like I’m going to do a magic trick.

“You made this?” she asks.

“Mom made it with a knowing smile and too many questions about you.”

“Like what?”

I hand her a plastic plate. “Mostly how serious we were. And whether she should set another plate for you at dinner next month.”

She laughs, but I don’t miss the way her smile lingers afterward.

Stormy picks up a piece of cornbread and breaks off a bite-sized corner. “What did you say?”

“I hope so,” I admit.

“Me too,” she tells me.

“When you return to the city, you think you’ll forget about this?” I ask.

“Not possible.” It’s a simple truth, one I hang on to.

For a few minutes, we eat without talking much. The pond ripples with the breeze. A pair of birds chases each other between branches overhead. She chews slowly, like she’s savoring more than the food. I study her out of the corner of my eye, watching the way the gold light touches the slope of her shoulder, how her ankle rocks back and forth slightly when she’s thinking.

She’s present with me, and that’s enough.

“This is really good,” she says, pointing her fork at the cobbler. “Like, dangerously good.”

“I’ll let Mom know you enjoyed it.”

“Please do,” she says with a grin.

Her expression softens, and she shifts slightly, her knees brushing mine.

“You do this often?” she asks. “Bring women out here with home-cooked meals and perfectly timed sunsets?”

“Just you,” I say without hesitation. “It’s a special place. Each of my brothers has brought dates out here, and I thought,Why the hell not? Worked out for Beckett.”

Her gaze holds mine, steady now. “He brought Summer here?”

“He did and proposed not long after.”

“She’s very nice. So is your sister. Everyone is so kind and welcoming.”

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