Page 122 of When Wildflowers Bloom

“Mabel,” I call across the parking lot as my dad helps Huck settle in his seat in the minivan. She looks at me, smiles, and waves. I hold up one finger to her jogging to the car where she andher museare standing.

“I’m thinking maybe I made a mistake or something,” I tell her, shoving my hands in my coat pockets.

She raises her eyebrows, curious look on her face. “Really? How so?”

“With Bo…” I shake my head, not sure what I’m trying to say. “When I said maybe my story is one that doesn’t end with love, I’m wondering if I got that wrong.”

“Of course you got it wrong!” she says, both hands in the air.

“So now what? What should I do? Go tell him?” My eyes scan the parking lot until they land on the cherry-red Jeep and him helping Lucy into the back seat.

She chuckles. “Show, Birdie dear, don’t tell.”

I close my eyes, trying to understand what she means. How do I show Bo anything like what he just did for me in this courthouse? In the last six months of my life?

My eyes fly open. “Mabel, I have an idea.”

Fifty

Libby loves Christmas; it’ssomething I never would have guessed if it wasn’t for the scene in front of me. Standing in the parking lot of her bar that’s now completely covered in strings of lights the Friday before Thanksgiving, I laugh when she steps next to me.

“Christmas lights already?” I ask, squinting from how bright they all are. There are so many bulbs on the roof, Libby’s Outpost is probably visible from space.

“If I didn’t think it would hurt business, I’d keep them up all year,” she says with a wide, red-lipped smile. “Huck with your dad?”

“Yep—first sleepover with Grandpa.” My heart warms as I say it. Huck was so excited when I dropped him and George Strait off with a casserole dish of meatballs.

“You ready for this?” she asks, tilting her head toward the bar as we start to walk to the door. “You look hot as hell, by the way.”

I snort a laugh at her compliment, tugging at the sleeves of the black sweater I’m wearing. I wore my best jeans, fitted and flared, black heels, and enough mascara for an entire fleet of models at a fashion show. My hair is up, because though it’s cold, I’m so nervous I’m sweating.

“Does nervous as hell count as ready?”

She laughs as we stop at the door. “Always.”

I bite my lip, rubbing my palms on my jeans. “Is everything ready? Is he here yet?”

“It is and he is,” she says, squeezing my arms. “And Mabel,” she adds, raising amused eyebrows.

She hugs me before slipping inside.

I take one final deep breath. “Here we go, Veda.”

When I started my thirty-seventh year, I knew that the best thing for me was to keep my head down and cling to routines and lists. Alone. I thought living meant having a body that didn’t have cancer. When I met Bo, I realized I had grossly misunderstood what I knew. About everything.

After adopting Huck in a room full of people, I knew I never wanted to be alone again. I want to spend the rest of my days—however many I get—with people that make me feel alive. I know why Veda ended her own pain and prevented Bo from seeing it, but my heart aches every time I think of her last breaths being taken without him. Or anyone.

When I talked to Mabel in the parking lot, she smiled when I asked,Does the story always end with the man engineering the big gesture?

She let out a thrilled,That’s what I’m talking about!and we got to work—with Libby’s help.

Now, as I stand hiding behind a Christmas tree that’s stuffed in a corner behind the bar watching Bo—who’s sitting on a barstool scrolling his phone with a toothpick rolling across his lips—I want to call the whole thing off and just go to him.

But I don’t.

I wait.

“Whatcha doin’?” Libby asks him, leaning on the bar with a sinister smile that almost makes me laugh.

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