Page 155 of That Rush

“I said future. I didn’t schedule the wedding.”

“Yet,” I say.

“Exactly.” Deven lifts her glass toward me. “You understand us already.”

Aiden looks so pleased that anyone else might mistake this for the easiest conversation in the world. His hand rests on my thigh, warm and familiar, while his mother talks about me joining the family and frames the question as timing rather than whether I want the role.

“We may want to hold off on ordering monogrammed towels,” I say.

“No towels,” Josie says. “Paige likes books.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “Finally, someone understands appropriate gifts.”

Josie nods with complete seriousness. “Paige is important to Daddy. He lets her pick the music even when it has no cowboys.”

Aiden squeezes my thigh. “She is important.”

I let that part settle, a solid warmth in my chest. I want to matter to him. I want Josie to know I matter to him. I even want to sit on this porch, drink tree-free lemonade, and listen to Deven torment her son.

I want all of it because I keep choosing it.

Josie slides out of her chair and comes to stand in front of me. “Will you read my horse book after lunch? Only three chapters because Grandma said I can’t ask for seven.”

“One chapter,” Deven says.

Josie studies me. “Two is between one and three.”

I laugh. “Two chapters.”

She throws both hands into the air. “Paige is staying!”

Aiden leans over and kisses my temple, his smile still there as Josie runs inside to find the book.

I settle against him, but Deven’s words remain lodged beneath the warmth.

Inside the tack room, mine meant I chose him.

Out here, it means they’ve already chosen a future for me.

Chapter 21

Aiden

Ihave eight minutes to turn Josie’s hair into something she has described as “two braids that become one braid” before we leave for the library.

I’ve had the video on my phone paused on the same pair of hands for three minutes.

“Your pieces are uneven,” Josie says from the kitchen chair.

“I’m aware.”

“And that one is getting fuzzy.”

“I’m also aware of that.”

She watches me in the reflection of the window over the sink. “Mommy could do it really fast.”

The reminder carries no accusation. The words hit square, a reminder of every morning I wasn’t there to watch Krista do this.