Chapter 42

forty-two

ELLA

The front door to the Jackson farmhouse flies open with such force the fall wreath hanger bangs against the wood and glass, sending a flutter of pampas grass to the porch.

“I knew he’d get you back home.” Molly beams and yanks me into a hug, both of her arms crushing me in the best way possible.

Home.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” I murmur against her thick auburn curls.

“Time is just a construct, dear. You’re here now.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, willing away the burning behind my eyelids. The only home I’ve ever really known is next door to this one. There’s an apartment in Colorado that’s good for sleeping and getting mail.

But it’s never been home.

I’ve always been so sure that I remembered what life was like here, but it’s coming back in spades. Taking care of myself became such a part of my identity that I forgot what it was like to share that burden. To have an adult figure that will step in and do the little things people often take for granted, like keeping me well stocked on snacks. Sam and Gaby are always bringing me plastic containers of fresh cookies or Chex Mix that Molly just happened to make.

Even with only seeing her in passing the few times I’ve been on the farm, she’s reminding me what it’s like to be mothered. I’m sure her kids call it fretting, but I think it’s her strongest love language.

She pulls away, gently squeezing my face between her hands. “You’ve grown up so much. I’m sad I missed it, but I’m counting every blessing that you’re home.”

“My turn, Molly. Get out of the way before you smother the poor girl.” Gran elbows her way past Molly, pleased to rib her daughter-in-law.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Molly chides.

“I’ve served my time. Y’all can have my share.” Her strength surprises me as she squeezes me so hard my back pops in three places.

“It’s good to see you .”

“Enough of that—let me look at you.” She pulls back just enough to examine me from head to toe. “You look like your mama. But you’ve got your daddy’s eyes.”

I’ve heard of myriad of comments from townfolk who knew my parents over the last week, but none showcasing both of my parents at once. It’s another little comfort and reminder that I’m where I belong.

“You think so?”

“Wouldn’t say it otherwise.” She snorts. “Are you home for good?”

I hesitate.

The simple answer is yes. I’m meeting all Charlotte’s demands. Holly is more than pleased as a bride. Even if I lost my parents’ farm, I’d find a way to stay. But it’s the rest of the risk that has me hesitating.

Gran sighs and rubs her hands on her pant legs. “Charlotte is still being a pain, I take it.”

“More or less,” I reply.

“I always thought she was trouble.”

“Let’s not start that now,” Molly replies, elbowing her way between us. “I hope you came hungry.”

There’s no time to answer because she’s pulling me through the farmhouse and to the backyard where she’s outfitted their long wooden table with serving places atop a burnt orange tablecloth. Farm flesh flowers spill out of vases sporadically placed on the tabletop, with long strings of lights hung above the table, so there’s no time limit on when we have to finish.

We sat at this table when Violet, the youngest Jackson sibling, lost her first tooth. We were here when Gaby announced she wanted to be a teacher. I missed when she opened her college acceptance letter with her family, but I can imagine it. My father and I joined the Jacksons for dinner many times in the wake of losing my mother.

In the few days I’ve been back here, pieces of normal keeping finding their way back to me. Several of Gaby and Luke’s siblings are already milling around the backyard. I wave at Sam, his tall frame angled away from their dad and the plumes of smoke spilling out of the funnel atop their barbeque smoker.

Roselyn comes up and squeezes me out of nowhere, her honey blonde curls spilling down her back. More hugs. I hum to myself as she squeezes.

“I’ve been waiting for the moment I could finally do this. ”

She’s seen me a few times since I’ve been back, but those moments are always rushed. A quick wave and hello in passing.

I shrug. “It’s been a little busy around here.”

“Well, and with all the?—”

“Ella!” Violet rushes past Roselyn to embrace me, wrapping me up in her scent of florals. Slowly, my cup is being filled to the brim with the love of this family.

“You really grew up on me.”

Her maturity is the one thing that is the most jarring. I essentially missed her entire adolescence.

“Well, I was twelve the last time you saw me, so I’d hope so.” Her smile radiates from the inside, and my heart aches for missing her bloom into the beautiful young women standing in front of me.

“Gaby says I need to check out your greenhouse?”

Violet peeks around me, looking for Molly. “How much longer until dinner?”

“Five minutes!”

“We have time.” She grabs my hand and yanks me with ferocity in a direction opposite where everyone is standing, her bare feet rustling through the grass as we run.

“I don’t have the right shoes on to be running!” I pant after her, dropping her hand to hop as I remove my heels.

She simply laughs as her long gleaming hair trails behind her.

It’s near the house, at the edge of the zinnia fields. The sun dipping in the sky casts the farm in soft, golden light. It’s one of my deepest secrets that in moments of stress or loneliness, I close my eyes and picture exactly this.

I follow her in, moving slowly to marvel at all the potted plants. She’s probably most like Luke of all the siblings. They’re both passionate about cultivating things in the dirt; but flowers are Violet’ s art.

“I wanted you to see some of my ideas for Holly’s wedding. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been working off some things Luke texted me.”

Flowers line her workspace in various shades of orange, terracotta, rust, and burgundy. It’s an explosion of fall.

The colors almost exactly match what I showed him.

“What did he text you?”

“He knows a little about florals.” Her eyes catch mine, then dart away. “He sent me a couple of names and basically said we needed fall colors.”

“I’d say he knows more than a couple of names.”

Violet artistically arranged roses, zinnias, gerbera daisies, and mums all into one breathtaking centerpiece. There are other pieces I don’t recognize, but it doesn’t matter. I probably don’t even have to touch base with Holly, but I will just to run through the motions. It’s important to cross all my t’s and dot my i’s in this scenario.

“This is amazing. I’ve seen a lot of florists, and this is talent. Can I send this to Holly?”

Violet blossoms with my praise, nodding happily.

I pull out my phone and snap a photo before sending it off to Holly with a quick message.

“So what’s this about Luke and flowers?”

“Oh, he?—”

“Can I borrow Ella for a second?” Luke asks.

He’s standing in the greenhouse’s doorway, slants of the evening sun’s rays casting a golden shadow across him. If I still fully believed in fairy tales, I’d say he looks like a proper Prince Charming. With his crooked grin, his cowboy hat, and his ironed pearl snap button down.

I’ll take that over a Full Dress uniform that true Royals wear any day.

“Do you want the greenhouse? ”

It’s almost as if they’re having a secret conversation.

He shakes his head. “We have a spot. It’ll just be a few minutes.”

Violet brushes past me, then doubles back to give me a quick squeeze.

“See you at dinner,” she whispers.

The way their family has adapted to our odd situation sometimes makes me forget this is all supposed to be fake. I get snapshots of what life could be like if this were real, if I were on my way to being a Jackson permanently.

And I kind of love it.

“Where are you taking me?”

“It’s of no real consequence.” He winks and extends his hand in my direction, expectantly.

Slipping my hand into his is second nature now. I love the way his calloused skin rubs against mine, proof of how hard he works for this place.

“You can’t just kidnap me, you know.” I tease. “People will miss me.”

“They’d never let me get too far. I think they like you more than me.” He squeezes my hand, and I feel a little breathless.

Not just because of the little zings of attraction that exist in these moments, traveling a straight line from my hand to my heart. But because it’s hard to believe anyone would feel that way about me.

When we reach the edge of the pumpkin patch, I’m fighting tears. It’s overwhelming to feel so incredibly loved.

The setting sun has the sky ablaze, deep yellows bleeding into oranges and pinks, and shortly into purple and navy blue. In minutes, golden hour will pass the torch to blue hour, a vastly underrated time of day.

“Hey, are you okay?” The gravel in Luke’s voice is practically my undoing. He drops my hand to hook a hand under my jaw, expertly wiping away the lone tear that escapes.

“More than okay.” I smile, willing away any more tears that threaten to fall. “They’re happy tears. I’m just… happy.”

We’ve added so many exceptions to the ‘no being alone in private’ list that we might as well abolish rule three altogether. Not that it ever held together very well, anyway. Come to think of it, none of them have held up very well.

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Look around.” I turn enough to sweep my eyes over the farmland, covered in a dizzying golden haze. Luke’s hand stays cupped behind my head, and he traces invisible patterns on my neck with his fingers.

“I’m looking,” he says, his voice still low.

“And then the way your family hasn’t ever missed a beat since I’ve been home. They make me feel like I belong here, Luke. I haven’t felt that way in such a long time — I’ve never been someone’s favorite.”

At least not since my parents.

“You’re mine.”

My heart stutters to a stop at his words. When I look back at him, he’s never stopped looking at me.

“I’m what?”

The world is so quiet I wonder if I’ve said the words out loud.

His shoulders heave as he exhales a heavy sigh, and the hand on my neck tightens its grip slightly. Luke’s other hand finds my waist.

“My favorite.”

“Is this real?” My heart is a quiet flutter, clinging to hope.

“When have I ever minced words with you?”

He hasn’t. It’s one of Luke’s best qualities. Even when the words are hard, he’s still honest .

“You don’t.”

“I don’t know what this is, Ella. It all feels like it’s moving so fast, but maybe we’re just… catching up. I can assure you, though, when I’m with you, I’m not pretending.”

I’m afraid to breathe too loudly. “I’m not either.”

“I’ll tell you what else I know. You belong here. In this town, on this farm — with me. I’ve watched you be told that you’re too much or not enough for years and you’re exactly right. You’re everything .”

My mind can’t decide what proclamation it wants to grab hold of. His words are all I’ve ever wanted to hear. Not just from him, from anyone.

You’re not too much. You belong.

Charlotte had made a living of making sure I feel the opposite of those things. As often as possible.

“Do I get to say anything?”

“Nope.” He grins. “You get to listen.”

“I’m trying,” I say.

But when he lets go of my waist and holds up a little velvet box, all I can hear is roaring in my ears. He moves it between his fingers, examining it.

“We both know what this ring represents to other people. But—for now—this is my promise to you. I won’t ever stand in your way. If you need rescuing, I’ll be the first to show up. You’re beautiful and brave, and I want to stand here and cheer you on until you tap me in. And then the world better watch out.”

Luke’s thumb frames my jawline, featherlite against my skin before his fingers tighten against the back of my neck. Possessive, like this isn’t a ruse, and I’m his. Delicious warmth curls in my chest at his touch.

I’ve always wanted to belong to someone. To be needed and cherished .

It’s more than wanting to feel like I’m part of something again. It’s this. Understanding and yearning. It’s the scrape of his beard on my skin, our hearts beating wildly as we press close.

“This okay?” he murmurs.

I can barely nod. It’s taking everything in me not to rise up on my toes and close the distance between us. I’m trying to be patient.

“Tell me again.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“You’re my favorite, Ella. I never want you to forget it.”

I’m his favorite.

When Luke’s lips touch mine, it’s tender. It’s a silent question; a hesitation after all the pretending we’ve been doing.

Is this real?

Are you mine?

YES. A thousand times, yes.

Rising on my toes to press closer to him is all it takes. One hand tunnels into my hair, the other grips my hip, claiming me. This kiss is everything I’d expect a confession to be, and more.

I’m just as greedy, grabbing a fistful of his collar before running a hand along his jaw, scraping my fingers through his hair like I’ve wanted to do for years.

Like watercolor paint on a piece of paper, color has bled back into the fibers of my life since I came back. But this kiss explodes everything into full technicolor.

Fireworks burst behind my eyelids so brightly, I almost have to squint with my eyes closed. There’s a reason the fireworks show at Magic Kingdom is called Happily Ever After.

For years, I’ve measured every kiss up to the one I shared with Patch at Midnight in the Hollow. But this is a whole new, foot popping, life-altering level.

This is purposeful.

This is years in the making .

It’s not a hasty decision made on the cusp of some magic ending.

Luke’s arms snake around my back in a full body hug, his kisses slowing to gentle presses along my jaw, below my ear.

I want an entire lifetime of this.

“We should go meet everyone for dinner.”

“Stop kissing me then.” I giggle, then tuck my head into his shoulder so we have a minute to breathe.

“Stop being so beautiful, then.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” I tip my head back to look at him.

“I’ve told you so before, haven’t I? You are literal sunshine when the world feels dreary. You’re my best friend—talking to you is the highlight of my day. Even if it’s about magic. Or making lists. Tasting cakes.”

“The apple cinnamon with apple pie filling was pretty good.” I smile.

“Better be. She uses our apples.” He squeezes me just once.

A warm glow fills the air around us, and I sigh contentedly.

“When did you put lights out here?”

He steps back just enough to gaze around. “We didn’t.”

Hundreds of fireflies flit around us, specks of gold against the deep blue of early evening. I’ve always suspected the farm held magic of its own, and this feels like a confirmation. As if our time capsule and Luke’s pumpkin patch weren’t enough. They change shape and color as often as the horse of many colors lately.

I’ve never seen fireflies in late September. That’s months out of season.

Luke is quiet. I can imagine what’s going through his head, but now isn’t the time to ask. He’s always struggled with the magic of this place .

There’s something happening here, beyond our feelings for each other. Or maybe those are part of it.

Our relationship shifted today. And fast.

It seems too early to attach a label to it, especially when so much seems to hang in the balance. But if I could take a picture of it, I’d label it love in technicolor.

It seems the farm agrees.