Page 315 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“You’ve been up since five. You’ll fall asleep folding napkins.”
He grins and leans in. “Not if you’re here.”
I kiss him again, slower this time.
He sighs into it before pulling back to look at me. “I don’t know how I’ve lived this long without you."
“It’s the honeymoon phase. Don’t you worry, it’ll pass.”
He shakes his head, slowly. “I’ve wanted this for over ten years. I don’t think I’ll ever leave the honeymoon phase.”
“It’s inevitable. It’s science.”
He leans in closer, his eyes soft but serious. “I want to go through every single phase with you. The good, the bad, all of it. As long as it’s with you, I’m in.”
“We’ve already survived the worst, and now we get to go through everything else together. We could start by tackling supper. We brought food.”
“I’m starving.” He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “This is really hitting the spot, though.” Another kiss to my chin. “Yes, this should do it.” He sprinkles kisses over my jaw, and I laugh, lightly slapping his chest where my arms are wedged.
“Let’s go eat before they come looking for us.”
“Let them look for us.”
I slip out of his arms and catch his hand. “You keep kissing me like that, and we might end up skipping set up entirely.”
He chuckles like he’d totally be okay with that.
We step out of hiding, and his brothers are already unfolding tables and hauling chairs from a stack, tossing mild insults at each other.
Celi and Daisy have joined Hannah, opening containers of cold salads and unwrapping warm cuts of meat.
We eat in a loose circle of folding chairs and collapsible tables. Paper plates sag under weight, and the plastic forks bend. Half the food is warm, the other half just warm-ish, but no one complains. How could we when my mama prepared our favorite coleslaw and his mama cooked barbecue ribs?
“So, about the bucket list?” Dean rests his elbows on the table. “Are we out of a job? You know, being the bucket list belongs to both of you.”
I glance at Hart, and his guarded look says he doesn’t want to share the list with anyone.
I don’t blame him. It is our secrets and our dreams. It is every bit of our young selves. However, the hay maze was fun yesterday, and sharing stories around the campfire was enjoyable.
“Dean’s right. It feels like it’s acouplething now.” Hannah smirks at me. “Sentimental. Private. We wouldn’t want to intrude.”
Do I point out that her smirk and choice words mirror Josie’s? Has she turned into a little matchmaker, too? Just waituntil the tables turn and the Quylt sisters have their claws into her, then we’ll see who’s smirking.
Dean leans back in his chair. “Not sure I’m ready to retire from list policing.”
Hart clears his throat. “You’re not retiring until we survive that thunderstorm dance.”
I don’t expect that from Hart, and neither does anyone else. There’s a stunned pause, everyone exchanging glances, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, looking as shocked as I am.
After being adamant that we are fulfilling the bucket list together, he turns around and turns it into a full-blown family adventure.
“You better believe it.” Dean claps his hands together. “That storm’s got nothing on us. We’re in this together. No backing out now. When’s the next storm?”
The rest of the short dinner is spent figuring out which day works for everyone when we get back home, taking into account the weather forecast.
“I’m surprised you’re sharing the list,” I say to him when we head toward the stage.
He cocks a look at me. “They’re never going to guess one—”
