Page 96 of Falling Into Forever
SAYLOR
By the time we make it outside, my backyard has been transformed.
Adam Reid stands at the grill with a laser thermometer pointed at whatever he’s cooking. Grady and Cassie are pulling camping chairs from cars and placing them around a homemade firepit. Lilly has all the kids sitting crisscross in the grass playing duck, duck, goose.
Dante stands beside me on the porch as I take it all in. When he squeezes my hand, I realize he’s been touching me—supporting me—this whole time. Ocean-blue eyes stare down at me, and his smile soothes my rising tide of panic.
I return the expression. It’s not as sunshiny as his, but I’m trying, and my smile isn’t as forced as it once was.
Sensing my presence, because she always does, Ainsley turns from her conversation with Harrison, and the happiness she sends my way buoys me with her strength. As she looks at me, I study Harrison, who’s staring at my sister with an odd expression on his face. I can’t tell if he’s confused or bewitched, but it’s an expression I’ve never once seen on him before, and I almost laugh.
“You okay with all this, Sass?”
Grady’s voice startles me. I was so focused on our siblings that I didn’t notice him approaching.
“Yeah, I think—”
A little tornado of a human comes running around the house, interrupting me. Matty Miller’s daughter, Izzy, has always felt like a kindred spirit. If nothing else, we share the Jane-of-the-Jungle appearance.
“Do you know I thought his name was Miller all these years?” Dante says, and Grady laughs.
“I only know two people who call him Matty, so as far as I’m concerned, he is Miller,” Grady says.
Miller rounds the house a second later, dragging a wagon full of coolers like it weighs a ton. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He gets along with everyone, cares for everyone, and is always the first to offer a hand, expecting nothing in return.
I’m not surprised that he’s here since he’s probably one of the few people Grady considers a friend. Miller yawns behind his hand and stretches from side to side. I’ve always thought of him as some energizing entity that never expires. But that’s not the man walking into my yard right now.
“Sorry I’m late,” he calls to no one in particular. “But I’ve got the drinks. The green cooler is for the kids, the white one is for the adults.” He pulls it to the edge of the firepit, then spins in a circle until he spots us and flashes me a smile full of kindness and hope.
Strangely, it heats my body from the inside, making me sweat. It’s way too warm. I try to take inventory of my limbs and what this sensation is, but I’m coming up blank.
What is this feeling, Sass?
Dante leans down and whispers in my ear. “It feels pretty good to let love in, doesn’t it?”
I blink rapidly as shock takes over. They’re all staring at me now, and it hits me like a Mack truck even as the hair on my arms stands up straight—Dante’s right. My body is reacting to an overload of love, and it’s not as awful as I expected.
Miller jogs up the steps and wraps me in an awkward embrace since Dante won’t release my hand. I forgot he’s a serial hugger, and my entire body goes rigid.
Miller chuckles and quickly pulls away. “We’ll work up to hugs, then.” His expression turns serious but not unkind. “This is real good, Sassy. Baby steps. We’re all here for you. We’ve missed you.”
A tree trunk of emotion clogs my throat, but Miller’s expression is the epitome of kindness, and it’s difficult to keep my scowl in check, but I’m trying.
“We, ah, we would have done this sooner, but we weren’t sure.” His cheeks redden, and he drops his gaze to his shoes. “Well, we’re doing it now.”
I stare at his face, trying to understand the emotion there, but I must be rusty. He’s not feeling guilty, is he? Why would he feel guilty when I’m the one who shut everyone out?
Dante kisses the side of my head, then says, “They missed you, Sayls, but they weren’t sure how to help.”
“Help?” I’m not even sure if I say it out loud. There’s nothing they could have done. Surely, they understand that. My mental health is a battle I’ve had to fight on my own. Isn’t it?
“Ready?” he asks, gesturing toward the fire pit. “The Lemon Fest was overwhelming for you, I get that.”
I shake my head and try to rid my spine of the uncomfortable tingle Miller’s words caused.
“But it’s because we walked right into the fray,” he continues. “How about we sit at the fire pit and let things unfold naturally? You can stay put and observe until you’re comfortable.”
“I feel stupid, Dante,” I mutter. Both he and Miller offer nothing but patience as they stand on either side of me, though. “I’ve known most of these people my entire life. I saw them at the stupid Lemon Festival, and at the brewery not that long ago. Having them in my space shouldn’t be this traumatizing or hard, or—”
