Page 147 of Always Meant for You
Mabel’s home. She came back. But all I can see now is her laughter, shared with a man I’ve never met. A man from the city.
This isn’t about possession. It’s about everything we’ve built without needing to explain it. Every moment where we knew what the other meant without saying it aloud.
I love her.
And I’m not ready to lose what we’ve found. Not when I’ve only just begun to believe in it. The problem isn’t trust. I trust Mabel. I don’t trust the city. I know what it can take. I’ve seen what it demands. Mabel came back from New York in one piece. That’s no small thing. And I’ll fight to keep her that way.
I break into a jog, my nerves getting the best of me. I scan the sidewalk. I’m about to double back when I see her standing next to a shiny sedan, laughing with some guy. He’s got warm brown skin and a sharp jawline. He’s tall, well-dressed, and he touched her arm.
“Mabel!” I call, breaking into a run.
She startles and turns, her purse swinging. “Cal! What are you doing here? I thought you were with your grandmother.”
“She was tired. Your dad and Claudine offered to take her home.”
“Oh, I see. Are you all right?”
She sounds surprised. Doesn’t she know I’d come looking? Doesn’t she know I always will?
“I came to find you.” I keep my tone level.
She lays a hand on her chest. “And that’s what you did. Now that you’re here, let me introduce you two. Cal, this is Preston Brockton. He’s from Chicago.”
I peg the man with my gaze. “Why’d you lure Mabel over to your car?”
The man’s jaw drops. “I didn’t lure her anywhere.”
“Cal,” Mabel says, a warning threaded into the syllable.
I’m too amped up to cool down. “Thesecity typesneed to understand they can’t blow into town, inhale our casserole, and touch what’s not theirs,” I say.
“I don’t understand where this is coming from,” Preston says, his brow creasing. “I paid for the casserole. I tipped, too. It was delicious.”
“Cal,” Mabel repeats. I can hear the frustration in her voice.
I’ve already gone too far. But the fire’s lit, and I can’t extinguish it yet.
“Maybe this kind of behavior flies in the city,” I hiss, “but out here in the country, we don’t corner women on dark streets.”
“I’m not cornering anybody, we’re under a streetlight, and I have a reason for being here with Mabel.”
I move toward him. “Then tell me,city boy.”
“City boy?” a second man says, stepping forward. He’s taller than Preston, broader through the shoulders, and dressed in the same tailored style. His blond hair is neat and cropped, military style.
I’ve got a few inches on him, but the way he carries himself leaves no doubt—he’s steady and sure. He doesn’t need to say much to make his presence known.
“Oh, Lord,” Mabel murmurs. “Everyone, take a breath.” She places her hand lightly on my arm. “Cal, this is Logan, Preston’s husband. Gentlemen, this is Cal Horner. He leads the co-op and, up until about a minute ago, was the most grounded man I know.”
“Husband?” I repeat, the sidewalk shifting beneath my feet.
“Yes, Cal, they’re married, and they’re chefs,” Mabel explains.
Logan rests his hand on Preston’s back. “We own restaurants in Chicago and St. Louis. We believe in sourcing directly from farms and paying fair rates. The Eat Elverna vision impressed us.”
“We also support food banks in the city as well. We were discussing how Eat Elverna might get involved,” Preston adds.
“I offered to walk them back to their car so we could keep talking,” Mabel says.
