Page 95 of Courageous Hearts

My lips tip up at the mention of home, even though I know Jameson meant Chicago and not his house. Although that place has quickly started to feel like home, too.

I think Jameson has started to feel like home.

“Yeah,” I tell him easily, deciding to put voice to some of those things I was thinking earlier. I need to do better about vocalizing what’s on my mind. “This trip was good for me. For many reasons. I feel like…like I let go of some of the weight that was hangin’ on ever since I left here. I said my piece, I made my peace, and now that all’s said and done, I’m ready to go home.”

“Me, too,” he says softly.

Jameson gives my cheek a brief kiss before stepping into the steaming shower, and as I follow after him, I realize Cooper was right. While in Plum Valley, I did make some new memories. A lot of those included this man in front of me, who made my time here something special. For once, I didn’t feel out of place in this town, as I have in the past. And I have a feeling in the future I won’t hesitate to return to Texas. That’s not a thought I ever expected to have.

Maybe, when I do come back, Jameson will be with me.

And maybe, no matter where we are, we’ll keep making new memories together.

Chapter 29

Jameson

It feels a little surreal being back home. Those days in Plum Valley felt otherworldly, like Bo and I really had crossed into some other space and time—through the wardrobe and into our own adventure. But now we’re back in Chicago, as we were before, and yet nothing like we were before.

Bo is settled in a way that feels distinctly different than how they were prior to leaving. It’s not just the fact that they’ve spent all their time with me instead of at their own place, apart from when we first swung by Bo’s apartment so they could grab an extra bag of their things. It’s in the way there’s less tension around their eyes and in their frame, as if they truly have shed a weight.

And me? No doubt I’ve changed.

Something shifted for me the moment I stepped on the plane to chase after Bo. It was as if by acknowledging I would follow them no matter the cost, I’d given myself permission to fall wholeheartedly. That only solidified in Plum Valley, my conviction that Bo is the one. And now that we’re back in Chicago and I’m getting a glimpse of what we really could be—days together, nights together, cooking and laughing and singing in the kitchen—my idea of future finally has shape.

I always knew I wanted my person. And I wasn’t about to make a go at a real relationship with someone if it didn’t feel right. But everything with Bo has felt absolutely right. Easy in a way it never was before. And all those vague ideas I had of what it would mean to be committed to someone are now a solid picture in my head.

Instead of this concept of a woman sharing my home, it’s Bo. Instead of wondering if my partner would be a nighttime cuddler or in favor of sleeping on their own side of the bed, I know they are, in fact, aggressively fond of being all but smothered. Instead of contemplating all the what-ifs of a future hypothetical relationship, I have a real one of my own. A relationship I don’t want to ever give up or grow out of.

And yet, since returning home from Plum Valley over a week ago, I still haven’t found a time to tell Bo I love them. There have been plenty of perfectly viable opportunities, but none have felt quite right. Not momentous enough or romantic enough.

I want a moment like that one we had behind the school, where Bo was dancing over the grass, light and free. Or when we were swaying together beside the bonfire, the stars above rivaled only by the twinkling in Bo’s eyes. I want it to be perfect when I finally speak those words.

Perhaps that’s foolish, and there is no right time to tell someone you love them. But it’s a big deal. You only get one shot at your first “I love you.” And I don’t plan on ever having a second.

“Jameson. Yoohoo.” Dee snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“Shit,” I mutter, pulling my focus to the present. Gin is spilling out of the bottle in my hand, and I swing it quickly upright before grabbing a cloth to wipe up the mess. “Sorry. What is it?”

Dee gives me a what the hell sort of look. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a solid minute. We need a new keg of Guinness. Would you mind grabbing one from storage?”

“Yeah, no problem,” I mutter, remaking the negronis I messed up. I add an orange twist at the end.

“What has you so distracted?” Dee asks curiously, her dark brows creased, pink hair in finger waves tonight. “You’ve been like this ever since you got back.”

She’s not wrong. What has me distracted?

I look up at the stage, and my eyes instantly gravitate to Bo. Even though they’re doing a group number, Bo shines the brightest. At least, they do to me.

But I’m not about to tell Dee I’ve been trying to find the right moment to profess my love to her friend. Bo needs to be the first to hear that.

So instead, I notch my head toward the stage where Bo is performing. “What do you think has me so distracted?”

It’s not exactly a lie.

Dee rolls her eyes, but her lips are pressed tightly together like she’s battling a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Ogle your enby on your own time.”

Laughing, I drop the drink orders at the end of the bar, just as Bridget walks up to collect them.

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