Page 172 of Always Meant for You
MABEL
“Governor Tillman, I’d like you to meet my father, Elias Muldowney,” I say, motioning toward the porch where my dad waits for us.
The sun dips low behind the trees, casting a warm amber glow across the fields. A gentle breeze carries the scent of lavender and earth. The air is thick with humidity, but it’s softened by the approaching dusk.
I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.
My father comes forward and extends his hand. He’s in new overalls, free of the usual wear and tear.
He shakes the governor of Illinois’s hand. “We’re honored to have you on our farm.”
“The honor’s mine,” the governor says, offering an easy grin. He’s barrel-chested and bald, with a booming voice and a laugh that carries. The kind of man who fills a room without trying. Equal parts small-town charm and political instinct. And underneath it all, he seems genuinely decent. He hasn’t taken off the Eat Elverna hat since we handed it to him this morning.
“Have you enjoyed your time in our town, sir?” my father asks.
My goodness, he’s chatty.
Then again, he was the one who suggested our farm be the last stop, and he allowed me to prep him for the visit.
The governor’s grin widens. “None of thissirbusiness. Please, call me Hank.”
Dad stands taller, spine straight, chin high. “Only if you’ll call me Elias.”
“That’s a deal, Elias. And to answer your question, we’ve had a wonderful time,” the governor says. “Your daughter and Callan have taken my staff and me on quite the tour. Farms, dairies, bakeries, and that diner. Good Lord, my people will be rolling me back to the capital after that meal.”
“The governor ordered the casserole of the day,” Cal supplies, coming to stand next to me.
Cal let me choose his outfit. I put him in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, a linen vest the color of wheat, and dark jeans clean enough to meet a governor but worn in all the right places. His boots are polished, and his grandfather’s watch gleams at his wrist.
“It was caramelized leek and garden herb strata,” the governor says, then hums his delight. “Betty Young promised she’d email the recipe. I can’t wait to make it for my family. You can be damn proud of your daughter, Elias. She’s sharp and knowledgeable.”
My dad glances at me, catching my eye, then nods.
Things have been good between us. I don’t dread meals with him anymore. Cal eats with us most nights. Sometimes the Garver brothers drop by. Claudine too. My dad listens when I talk. He even let me replace the old kitchen curtains with striped French ticking café panels I found on a vintage site. Faded blue on ivory. They catch the morning light and make the whole room feel softer. He didn’t say much after I put them up, but he hasn’t taken them down.
He even let me bring the goat inside. But only for a few minutes.
He turns his attention back to the governor. “Well, if you’ve had your fill of casseroles, how about I show you and your staff our greenhouses? You all can stretch your legs a bit after a good meal. Nothing like a little stroll to help the digestion. We can catch the lavender before it turns in for the night.”
“Lavender goes to sleep?” a man in the governor’s entourage asks.
My dad,Mr. Chatty-McChatty, doesn’t miss a beat. “Not with a blanket and bedtime story. But it does mellow out in the evening.”
The governor lights up. “Lead the way, Elias.”
“I’ll prepare the iced tea and meet you back here.” I nod toward the picnic table with a blue checkered cloth catching the breeze. I added a mason jar of wildflowers at the center to give it an extra touch of country charm. “We can have a cold drink before you leave, Governor.”
The man sighs and takes in the picturesque view of the fields. “That sounds mighty nice, Mabel.”
“I’ll help with the drinks,” Cal adds, already moving to follow me.
I offer the group a composed smile and head for the main house. But inside, I’m burning up for the man I love.
The man I love—and the man who loves me.
That truth hasn’t lost its shimmer. I don’t think it ever will.
We’ve been together all day, but not in the ways I ache for. No time to touch. No stolen kisses. My body hums with the tension of it, nerves stretched taut from hours apart while standing side by side.
