“Did you ever think you’d be a rancher’s wife?”
I think of the Ivy I grew up with, the mousy little bookworm who was content being the quiet friend who sat in the back seat without complaint and fell asleep first at every sleepover. Falling in love does this to a person though; it makes them shine. It turns them inside out until their true colors are showing. It makes them into the person they were always meant to be.
“Never in a million years.” She dips a chip into her salsa ramekin. “But I’ll be any kind of wife as long as I’m Beau’s.”
“Random question for you … but does Beau know Wyatt at all?”
Ivy chuckles. “First of all, that’s not random at all. You’re digging up dirt on your ex-boyfriend, and I’m here for it. Unfortunately, there’s no dirt—that I know of. I’ve never heard anything but nice things about Wyatt over the years. Those Buchanans tend to keep to themselves though. They’ve always been that way. Oh! A few years back, one of our barns burned down. Wyatt showed up with a couple of his brothers and they helped raise a new one in a weekend.”
At the center of it all, Wyatt is a good man.
I know it.
I feel it.
“Hey, are you coming to the festival this Friday?” she asks with a swat of her hand across the table. “And you know our ten-year is Saturday night … if you want to pre-game with us at Raina’s, let me know. Otherwise it starts at seven.”
I hadn’t planned on going, but since I’m here, I might as well. Plus it’d be a lot more entertaining than staying in all weekend.
“Yeah, I’ll go,” I say.
“Awesome,” she says in a song-song voice before taking a long sip of her blended watermelon margarita.
We finish our dinner with small talk and a sprinkle of local gossip. When I get home, I find my father and Odette on the front porch, sipping red wine and watching the sun go down.
“How was dinner with Ivy?” Dad asks as I trot up the front steps.
“It was nice,” I say. “She invited me to the Whiskey Moon festival on Friday … and my ten-year is on Saturday, so I’ll probably go to that since I’m in town …”
“You’re really settling in here, aren’t you?” he asks with a light chuckle. “Don’t you miss the city?”
“Not as much as I thought I would.” I lean against the porch railing.
Odette takes a sip of her wine, feigning interest in a conversation that surely bores her because it doesn’t center around her.
“Feels good to be home again,” I say. “I was away for too long.”
Dad winces. “The novelty will wear off soon enough, I can promise you that.”
“If it’s so terrible here, why’d you never leave?” I ask, half-teasing.
“I was born here,” he reminds me. “I was raised here. I raised you here. My career is here. Everyone I know and love is here. My roots were so deep I never had a chance to spread my wings and fly away.” He slips his arm around Odette. “Not that I’m complaining. We’ve created a nice life together, haven’t we, dear?”
Odette sips her wine before nodding. “I adore this town, but it’s quite … simple compared to the city. A young person could get bored.”
“Probably why they all hang out at Petty Cash on Friday night,” my father says under his breath. “Nothing else to do …”
“I found this theater up in Northcutt,” I say. “They’re looking for someone to run the place, choose the plays, handle production and directing …”
“Northcutt?” Odette asks. “Isn’t that about forty miles north of here?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“What happened to moving to LA?” Dad asks.
“I’m looking at all of my options.” I shrug.
“Fair enough,” he says. “Are you hoping to see anyone at the reunion this weekend?”
“Anyone and everyone,” I say with a wink. I graduated with a class of sixty-eight people. From what Ivy says, most of them will be there.
“Well, that should be a good time,” Odette says, patting my father’s leg. Her tone is akin to someone trying to wrap up a stale conversation, but I was about to go inside anyway.
“I think so too.” I head for the front door, place my leftovers in the fridge, and raid the pantry for something chocolate to balance out all the salt I consumed at dinner tonight. Odette used to keep little bags of dark chocolates on hand, but after a cursory search, I come up empty-handed save for a bag of chocolate chip morsels.
With nothing but time on my hands, I grab flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients listed on the back of the bag, and then I preheat the oven.
Twenty minutes later, I take a seat at the breakfast nook while the cookies bake. I never realized how much I missed the stillness of this place. There are no honking cars and yelling pedestrians. No cocktail of sewer scents and street food. Just open air, trees, and unrushed locals always ready to lend a wave, a smile, or a helping hand. Not to mention, reconnecting with Ivy and a handful of others from my younger years has given me a newfound sense of belonging. They welcomed me with open arms, picked up where we left off, and made it seem like no time had passed.