Page 10 of Patch Perfect

“If you're willing to share a bench with me.”

“I'm willing to share a lot more than that.” I tug at his jacket. He's wearing the shirt the kids gave him last Christmas. All five of our kids are at my parents' house tonight, like they are every Thursday night.

The Iron Saints are coming back Saturday for another children's day at the pumpkin patch. They've sponsored it every year since we met. Beck has spent weeks telling everyone he's the chairman of the doughnut committee. Roan made a box of small wooden animals for the kids to paint. He still says the rabbit was supposed to be a dog. Last night, we finished the last one at the kitchen table as I read him the funniest parts of my latest romance novel. He pretended not to listen until I stopped at a cliffhanger.

At the wagon gate, the driver checks the coupling. Roan offers me his hand and helps me climb up. Only our seats are taken on this ride, with the driver as the third passenger. He takes us past the orchard and the old stone well. I point out Michelangelo's fence. Roan leans in as if he hasn't heard the story a dozen times.

“I never asked,” I say. “Did you come back that second Thursday because of me, or because you missed the goat’s artwork?”

“The goat made a compelling case.” He settles his arm along the back of the bench. “But you were the reason I couldn't stay away.”

The wagon hits the old rut. This time, I know it's coming, so I let myself bump into him anyway, and he catches me around the waist.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

“I know this rut after ten years.”

He laughs. “You've been teasing me for ten years.”

“And I'm going to keep doing it.” I kiss him as the lanterns sway above us. He kisses me back slowly, with the same gentleness he showed on our second wagon ride and the easy confidence we've found together since.

When we separate, the driver calls over the engine, “Enjoying the scenery?”

“Every bit of it,” I say, as Roan's laugh echoes across the pumpkin field.

-The End-