Page 31 of Fern's Date with Destiny
She folded into him then.A brief, fierce hug that smelled of soap and flannel and home.For a heartbeat, she was small again, safe under his arm.
When she pulled back, her laugh was watery but sure.“I’ve still got my old goal book up in my room.Might be time to update it.”
Malachi grinned, kissing her forehead.“Write it in big letters, sweetheart:He’s worth it.”
After her dad drifted off to make another cup of tea, Fern climbed the stairs to her room.She ducked under the sloped ceiling at the side of the dormer, heart pounding for no good reason, and tugged open the bottom drawer of her oldest dresser.
There it was, buried under a stack of forgotten watercolour practice books.A cheap spiral-bound journal withGOALSwritten across the cover in purple glitter pen, letters half-rubbed away by time and too many flipped pages.
She sank cross-legged on her bed and carefully opened it.
The first few pages were painfully childish.Crooked letters declaringLive in a castleandHave my own horseto eventuallyOwn my own cupcake store.
She kept turning, each page a little older, a little braver.Get into art school.Make Mom and Dad proud.Prove I can do anything I truly want to do.
The page turned and her lips twitched up at the sight.Her relationship goal, for whatever reasons, here it was, circled a dozen times.Twenty-four years old.Figure out my forever person.
A laugh hiccuped out of her, even as tears stung the corners of her eyes.Twenty-four.She’d made a goal then trusted the universe would tell her who when it was time.Destiny, she’d called it.A word that still tasted sweet on her tongue when she thought about Cody.
Andfigure outdidn’t just meanfind.It meant more.
She brushed her thumb across the ink, closing her eyes for one heartbeat, two.“Guess I’m right on schedule, huh?”she whispered to the empty room.
When she looked up, her reflection in the mirror above her desk was fierce.Steady.
If Cody Gabrielle thought he could run from whatever storm he’d tangled himself in—run from her—he was about to learn exactly how stubborn Fern Fields could be.
She snapped the journal shut, stood, and squared her shoulders.
I’m ready for you, cowboy.
He wasn’t supposedto be here tonight.
Hell, Cody had told himself half a dozen times on the drive back from the airport that he wouldn’t set foot in her house again until he could face Fern without feeling as if he was about to split wide open.
But Chance had cornered him that afternoon at Red Boot, blocking the barn aisle like a bull moose, arms crossed.The expression in his eyes that saidbig brother knows everything.
“The Fields are gathering tonight for one of their ‘we’re celebrating something, but mostly we just want to get together’ events.You’re coming,” Chance said.
Not asked, declared.
When Cody opened his mouth, Chance shook his head.“No excuses.Not this time.You need your people.And Fern— She needs you, you stubborn git.So park your pride and show up.We’re picking you up so you won’t be a gobshite.”
Now here Cody was, boots dripping on the Fields’ front doormat, the whole damn clan somewhere in the back of the house promising a warmth he didn’t deserve.The smell of chili and fresh bread.The feel of home.
And Fern.
God help him,Fern.
She caught him dead to rights the second he stepped inside, no more dark corners or excuses.Just her standing there, one palm flat on the front door as if she’d bar the whole world from coming or going until she got her say.
He tried for casual, which was a stupid reflex.“Hey.”
Not sweetheart.Not Fern.Just a damnhey, as if they were strangers.It made his tongue taste like ashes.
Her eyes flared.
Shit.He knew that look.He was a dead man walking.
