Page 62 of More With You

“I wish it were that simple.” I glance at Ben, who’s clearly struggling.

Grace frowns. “You’re my friend.” She wraps her little arms around my neck. “I love you, Summer.”

Hugging her to me tightly I say, “I love you too, and I don’t want to leave you and your daddy, but… it’s a very tricky situation.”

Ben’s face suddenly brightens. “What if it didn’t have to be?”

“What do you mean?” I eye him in confusion.

A wide smile tugs up the corners of his lips. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Packing, figuring out what I’m going to do, ordering pizza and drinking lots of… uh… lemonade to make myself feel better,” I reply, rocking Grace back and forth as she hugs me tight, like a koala bear.

Ben shakes his head. “I have a better idea.”

“Do you want to let me in on it?”

He cradles the back of my neck: his eyes shining with happiness. “Summer Larson, would you do me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife? And, if you would, how would you feel about getting married tonight?”

BEN

If I could paint the moment I proposed, I’d only use the good colors—the bright and vibrant, happy colors. There’d be no hint of shadow on the canvas, just hope in paint form.

Summer says that being in this town has changed her, but meeting her has changed me. I’m the guy who never rushes, always taking his time. I’ve got the 360 series to prove it. I think everything over in minute detail, seeing things from every angle, until she came into my life. I didn’t, and don’t, need to think when it comes to her. I already know the answer. So, when she told me what my parents did, trying to ruin her life, the answer came to me as if fate itself had delivered it on a silver tray.

Marriage would solve everything for us. I can take care of her without her feeling as if she’s taking something from me or gaining something she doesn’t deserve. Honestly, she deserves everything, but I can’t convince her of that. But marriage also provides protection. She won’t need to worry about my parents anymore, and she won’t need to worry about her grandma. Her struggles, her debts, her problems, will all become mine. As I said to her once, we’re in the same net now—whatever she’s tangled in, so am I.

I can’t save her cottage, right now, but I might be able to buy it back from Vasily once we’re married. She’ll technically be one of the family, after all. As for her job, she’ll be able to do whatever she wants. I’ll make sure of it. Of course, I’ll have to speed things up with the gallery in New Orleans, to get this series sold at the best possible price, but the folks over there are already impatient, so that’s not an issue. We could even move there, if Summer likes the idea. Then, we don’t have to deal with my parents at all, and Lyndsey and Grace will be closer.

Whatever may come our way, we can face it together. I promised her that, and I’m keeping my promise.

I just hope she shows up tonight.

20

SUMMER

“This is insane. It’s insane, right? Tell me this isn’t insane,” I ramble, jittering around on the passenger seat of Mr. T’s sensible sedan. Ms. T is in the back, holding her old veil like the slightest movement might cause it to disintegrate in her hands. A precious heirloom that, with no daughter of her own, she’s choosing to give to me. I know it’s going to choke me up when she puts it on my head. It might even be more momentous than when Ben puts a ring on my finger.

“Oh, it’s insane, honey,” Ms. T chirps, leaning through the gap between the front seats to wiggle her eyebrows at me. “The very best kind.”

I’m about to rub my face in an attempt to massage away all the stress that’s bouncing through me at a mile a minute, when Ms. T gasps in horror. “Don’t be touchin’ your face, honey! I didn’t spend an hour of my life givin’ you the ‘natural look’, for you to go smearin’ it all over the place.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous.” I slide my hands under my thighs, to stop me from fidgeting. “I don’t know if I should be doing this. Weddings aren’t something you just rush headfirst into, right? I don’t know if it’s the cure-all that Ben thinks it’s going to be.”

Mr. T chuckles as he cuts right, just before the bridge where Ben and I had our first real date. I can see the Bayou Bend in the distance, its string lights and lanterns joining the first molten flushes of the imminent sunset. I guess they must’ve heard that two people, who’d clearly lost their minds, were getting married tonight. It’s not a bad place for a reception, even if the wedding party is small, and it’s exactly the kind of event that the Bayou Bend would consider opening its doors for.

“Ms. T and I got hitched less than a month after meeting, Miss Summer,” he tells me, with a knowing smile. “It ain’t as crazy as you think it is. When you know, you know, and I’d say me and Ms. T have done pretty well. There’ve been more ups than downs, let me tell you.”

Ms. T blushes in the backseat. “He was gettin’ shipped out, you see. Had to pin him down while I had my chance.”

“You were in the military?” I stare at Mr. T, who looks so unassuming in the nice, freshly ironed shirt and relaxed chinos that his wife picked out for him. Short-sleeved, of course. Long sleeves wouldn’t make it more than half an hour in the heat of the evening without turning patchy with sweat, and downright swampy beneath the armpits.

Mr. T nods. “A lifetime ago, Miss Summer. There wasn’t much else for a Mississippi boy to do, back then, other than go fishin’ or see a bit of the world from the belly of a Chinook.” He grins. “I was never much good at fishin’.”

“Then, that’s different,” I protest. “Ben isn’t getting deployed.”

Ms. T leans forward again. “No, but you kinda are, if you don’t get your fine selves married tonight.” She pauses, scrutinizing me closely. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want, honey. No one’s got a gun to your head. Sure, you can love a man to the moon and back, but that don’t mean you got to marry his perky ass if you’re havin’ doubts. You know I’ll see you right. There’s a room for you above the shop if you want it, and I won’t be askin’ for no rent. Wouldn’t take a dime, even if you rammed it down my throat—once it’d been through me, I’d hose it off and hand it right back.”

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