Page 114 of Forever To Me

I freeze.

Maggie grins like the devil.

“Well,” she says sweetly, sipping her lemonade, “maybe it’s time she does.”

Mack high-fives her.

Chapter 26

Violet

Mack and I have fallen into our usual post-dinner ritual where we curl up on the couch under a pile of mismatched blankets with a bowl of popcorn balanced between us andHeartlandon the TV.

Rip sprawls across my legs, snoring softly, occasionally kicking like he’s chasing something in his dreams. Probably goats. Pickles is curled up in Mack’s lap.

Mack is fully invested in our show, her eyes glued to the screen as a brooding cowboy delivers a heartfelt speech that will probably lead to some dramatic, slow-burn kiss.

“This man needs therapy, not a horse,” she declares, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

I laugh, sipping my root beer float. “Accurate. But I wouldn’t say no to a troubled cowboy falling in love with me.” The words are barely out of my mouth when I hear it—a low voice from the other couch, quiet but unmistakable.

“You don't need a cowboy, Red.”

I freeze.

Mack doesn’t. She grins like she just won the lottery. “Ooooh, he heard that.”

Walker sits across from us with his arms crossed like he’s trying to keep it together, but the slight flush creeping up his neck gives him away.

“I wasn’t listening,” he mutters, but it sounds weak even to him. "She's watched this show a hundred times."

I arch a brow. “So you just happened to respond?”

His jaw tightens. “Drop it, Red.”

Mack smirks, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Face it, Dad. You’re down bad.”

Walker exhales sharply, like he’s wondering how he ended up here with a teenage daughter who has no mercy and a woman who makes it impossible for him to keep his walls up. “I’m going to the cabin.”

Mack and I exchange a look. Then, in perfect unison—“Goodnight, troubled cowboy,” we say and then laugh.

Walker mutters something under his breath and disappears down the hall, but not before I catch it, the tiniest hint of a smile he didn’t mean to let slip.

There’s something about quiet nights here that feels like they belong in a song.

After we finish our show, we settle in outside on the porch.The sky is so dark it’s almost velvet, the stars sharp and endless. The only sounds are the breeze rustling the trees, the occasional creak of the porch swing, and Rip snoring softly at my feet.If you're quiet and listen closely, you can hear the faint sound of music from across the lake, making me itch to go over there and join him. I would love to see what he's working on. I'm dying to know what's inspiring him to write his songs.

Mack and I sit side by side, swinging gently. It’s a routine now—our thing. When I'm not with Maggie, I'm with Mack. And we've been having so much fun.

Mack sighs, kicking her feet lazily. “I like having you here, you know,” she says, her voice soft.

I smile, turning my head toward her. “Yeah?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. You fit in here with us.”

That word hits harder than it should. Fit.

I shouldn’t let myself think about that. I shouldn’t let myself get used to this and to her, to this house, to the way Walker seems to soften when I’m around.

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