Page 199 of Beautiful Collide

“It is.”

We walk toward the fields, the sky darkening as the stars begin to peek out. Molly stops every so often to take in the scenery.

She looks deep in thought, and I wish I could hear her thoughts and know what she’s thinking. Instead, I give her space.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, I take her right hand in mine and lead her to the large oak tree at the edge of the property.

“This is it,” I say, stopping beneath the tree. “The place from your dream.”

As the words leave my mouth, I thank fuck that none of the boys from the team are here to hear me. I’m laying it on thick with cringe, but the thing is . . . Molly deserves it.

She looks up, her eyes softening as she takes in the wide trunk and the large branches that act as a canopy. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s almost perfect.”

Molly raises an eyebrow, clearly not understanding, but then I reach into my pocket and pull out a small thermos I snagged before we left the house.

Her eyes widen as realization must hit her. “Not quite lemonade, but close enough.” I pour her a cup of iced tea and hand it to her.

She laughs, shaking her head. “You thought of everything.”

“Not everything. But it’s a start.”

She sits beneath the tree, her back against the trunk, and I join her.

We sit in silence, the only noise coming from the sounds of the farm as day turns into night.

“This is nice,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” I agree, looking at her instead of the horizon. “It is.”

71

Hudson

An hour later,we’re back in the house. We still have to unpack before bed, but since I’m not ready to call it a night, I decide to show Molly around a bit.

The impromptu tour isn’t just for her. It’s for me too.

I want to see her eyes when I tell her the stories of this place. When I share my memories with her, will she get it? Will she understand how muchthis house means to me?

How much I want her to feel like she belongs here?

I hope so.

I lead her into the living room first. Unable to resist a little drama, I give the summary with all the flair of a teen at drama camp. “The living room,” I announce, sweeping my arm like I’m unveiling something grand. “Where many a family movie night went down and where my dad once fell asleep duringHome Aloneand woke up convinced burglars were breaking into the house.”

She laughs, the sound warm and effortless, and I can’t help but grin. “Sounds like fun,” she says.

“The stories I can tell.” I point to a dent in the wood floor. “That’s from when Anna tried to skate . . . with skates on.”

Her mouth drops open. “In the house?”

“Yep. Let’s just say Mom was pissed.”

“I bet.” Molly laughs so hard, I can’t help but laugh too.

It’s not just a house to her anymore, and that matters to me more than I expected it to.

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