Page 196 of Beautiful Collide

I work hard, and I just want to help them.

But as we pull up to my parents’ farmhouse, the sight of it never fails to hit me in the chest, even after all these years.

It’s the same house I grew up in, but now it’s weathered by years of neglect. I wish my father and mother weren’t so prideful.

The small and quaint house has faded white paint and a wraparound porch that faces the soybean fields.

“This is where you grew up?” Molly’s been quiet since we left the main road, her eyes fixed on the scenery.

“It is.”

“It’s beautiful.”

I narrow my eyes and shake my head as I roll to a stop. Is she seeing what I’m seeing?

The peeling siding.

The roof begging to be replaced.

Now, as I turn off the engine, she leans forward in her seat, her gaze sweeping over the house, the barn, and the fields in the distance.

“Crop farming?”

“Yeah, soybeans.”

“I didn’t even know that was something people grow out here.”

I turn to face her. “It’s actually one of the most prominent crops grown in Illinois.”

Her lips curve into a smile. “The more you know,” she jokes. “Well, it’s beautiful. When I was a girl, and I used to have panic attacks, I would imagine myself no longer in the—” She stops herself, and I wonder what she was going to say. Her jaw looks tighter, but then she exhales and looks back out toward the property. “I used to imagine myself going to a farm like this. In the dream, I’d sit under a large tree, sun in my face, wind blowing my hair, and I’d be drinking a big glass of lemonade.”

“That’s pretty specific.”

“It was a good dream.” She looks wistful, and I want to give her that dream.

I want to make her happy.

The realization hits me in the gut. My head starts to spin with what that means for the future and how I can give her everything she wants.

An idea comes to me, a crazy one.

Maybe this is where I can help her.

Maybe this is the place to make Molly’s dreams come true.

“Come on.” I open the door, then walk around until I’m by her side, opening hers wider for her before reaching my arm out and grabbing her hand until she’s standing outside the car.

“Hudson, I’m capable of getting out of a car.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re my wife.”

“Is it because your mom is peeking out the window and watching us?” Molly groans, and I laugh.

“Of course it is.”

Stepping around to the back of the car, I pop the trunk and grab our bags. “Let’s get inside before Mom bans us from eating dessert since we are late.”

“Would she do that?”

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