Page 106 of How to Say I Do
“Nope. Just wanted to gaze lovingly at you for a minute.”
“Well, you can keep right on gazing.” He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of my jeans. “Because I’m all yours.”
I never went back to New York. My life there ended as soon as I put Wyatt and Tessa first, ahead of Harrison andElite.
I was good with that.
Looking back, everything in New York had been so unthinkably laughable. All the frantic rushing and racing, all the photo shoots and promotional events and club openings and Instagram campaigns, all of the influence I had tried to push for so many years. I couldn’t imagine it had ever mattered at all.
Coming to Wyatt—making that grand gesture and showing him, proving to him, that I chose him over and above my job and my life in New York—had fixed something immutable between us. Every moment, every day and night that we shared, every soft handhold and sleepy shift against each other, each morning spent on the porch cuddled together, seemed to have a gravity of its own, holding us in a bond that was as unbreakable as it was undeniable. I was where I belonged. There were no more doubts. There were no more questions.
Tessa’s investment had allowed Wyatt to get going on all those dreams he’d had tumbling around inside of him. A tasting room, a bigger, better wine cellar, larger, more modern fermentation vats, and better barrels and bottling techniques. He and I spent weeks at the dining room table, planning out a step-by-step expansion. We worked all throughout winter and into spring, and as the months passed, the vineyards and Wyatt’s business flourished. He won double gold three times for his ten-year barrel-aged petite sirah, which he called Father’s Whisper. He only sold ten bottles of it, and he kept the rest at home to bring out for the family or his father’s closest friends.
Wyatt also taught me how to be his partner.
It wasn’t easy, but Wyatt was patient with me. It was terrifying and exhilarating to shed my old life and become someone new. A Noël who wasn't afraid, and a Noël who knew he was loved, and a Noël who had conquered all those dark places.
Still, there was a learning curve. The first time Wyatt cleaned and trimmed Peanut’s hooves, I watched with my hands covering my mouth and eyes, unable to breathe, cringing at every slice and deep dig into her hoof. A month later, I trimmed Pickle’s hooves myself.
Wyatt taught me how to dig in the earth, how to prune back the vines, and how to tend to the fields over winter. He taught me how to ride herd and guide the cattle, and how to draw them in to their chute.
My wardrobe shifted from Gucci and Dior and Prada to Wranglers and Walmart t-shirts, plaid button-downs, and work gloves. I saved my silk-blend joggers and cashmere for lazy weekend mornings when we’d sprawl in each other’s arms and trade a coffee cup between us on the porch swing.
I became more solid every day, like I was rooting in the ground along with our plantings, and as the flowers began to rise and open, I, too, felt like something had blossomed within me.
We spent every moment together. We worked long days, but always side by side. We shared coffee on the porch, lunch on the back of Wyatt’s tailgate, and a glass of wine on the paddock fence while we hung out with Peanut at the end of the day. I loved the way Wyatt looked at me, with a glint in his eye, a smile on his lips, and an unconditional understanding between us that transcended words.
We filled our nights with each other. Wyatt knew how to love me like I’d never imagined it was possible. The way his fingers traced over my skin, the way his mouth moved against mine. His hands were tough from the ranch, but as gentle as could be when they caressed me. I never felt more alive.
As much as I loved how we could burn down each night, it was the quiet moments between us that meant the most. Us brushing Peanut and Pickle, or riding together in the evening, or driving into town to see everyone. Or the moments when we would lie in bed together, our bodies intertwined, just talking, or not even talking. Just being together. Wyatt was my best friend, my lover, my everything.
I went deer hunting once—fucking disgusting. Deer urine? Sprayed on you? Nothankyou—and fishing with Wyatt, Frank, Dean, and a bunch of the other ranchers every other week. Fishing, it turned out, appealed greatly to me. The slowed-down pace, the tumble of the river, the sunshine, and the patience, waiting for that tiny tug on the end of your line. I had to laugh. Patience? Me? There was no way. Fishing should have been the bane of my existence, but there I was, loving it.
Dean, my octogenarian friend, and I struck up an odd but deeply meaningful relationship. He’d been old when Wyatt’s father was still alive, and he had seen everything and done it all twice. He was no longer surprised or impressed by anything strange or wild or outlandish. I would share stories about New York and the wild events I used to put on, and while everyone else was tittering and blowing out their cheeks, Dean would shake his head and say, “It’s a strange ol’ world, innit? You need all kinds of people to fill it to make it turn.”
Over winter, Dean caught the flu, and I spent three days at his house, heating up canned soup and making him toast and pouring him ginger ale. I kept him company while he rode out the shivers bundled up in blankets, regaling him with story after story of my crazy former life. After he recovered, Dean started subscribing to fashion magazines on his tablet, and he’d make a production out of showing me the weirdest advertisements or the wildest photo shoots.
While he was flipping through an issue ofHarper’s Bazaar, I saw Jenna, pouting out of a perfume ad for J’adore. I stilled Dean’s hand before he swiped and stared into her Photoshopped eyes. They’d never really sparkled that brightly in real life.
“You know, I used to be engaged to her.”
Dean twisted his tablet around and made a fish face at the screen. His lips pulled down as he studied Jenna’s perfectly sculpted cheeks, her full pout, and her come-hither stare. Jenna was a lot of things. Breathtakingly beautiful was one of them.
“Bah.” Dean swiped ahead to the next page. “Wyatt’s better for you.”
I smiled. “He definitely is.”
We went with Liam and Savannah to Jason’s second-grade graduation, where Jason was given a paper-plate award for “Most Talkative,” and everyone in town looked at Wyatt and howled. Wyatt turned beet-red and stared at his boots.
After graduation, Jason came to us and unbuttoned his short-sleeved plaid shirt, and he ripped it open like he was a mini-Hulk. Wyatt and I should have known something was up because Savannah was filming, waiting for us to read the words printed on Jason’s shirt:I’m going to be a big brother!
Wyatt and Liam bear hugged and the two of them started crying as Jason ran in circles, screaming at the top of his lungs, “I’m gonna be a big brother!”
When Wyatt and Liam finally separated, Liam, fighting through a thick-clenched throat, asked me, “What about you guys? Gonna fill up that ranch with some kids of your own?”
I looked at Wyatt. Wyatt looked at me. He gazed at me like I was the only thing in the world that could touch his soul. He’d look at me like that forever, I realized. We would never break this bond between us. We would never find the end of this love.
And he would look at our kids the same way, full of love, and adoration, and awe. He’d look at our kids the way his father had gazed down at him.
