Page 88 of Courageous Hearts

I look over my shoulder, and Jameson gives a hesitant wave. He’s still wearing his light gray sweats, but he threw a shirt on. He looks so good standing there all sleep rumpled, squinting into the sun, and a wave of affection rushes over me, so strong I have to physically stop myself from loping his way.

“Yeah, that’s Jameson,” I reply, even though I’m positive my smile is all the answer Nash would’ve needed. With a snort, I add, “He’s a bartender. Like you.”

Nash huffs his amusement. “Name’s a little on the nose, though, isn’t it?”

Laughing, I get out, “That’s what I said.”

Nash grins at me, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “Keep me in the loop, will you? I’d like to hear if this romance has a happily ever after.”

“Yeah. I can do that,” I respond, not hesitating to step forward when Nash opens his arms in invitation. He hugs me tight, and I squeeze back.

“Take care, Bo,” he says, giving Jameson a polite wave before heading off down the dock.

After one last glance out over the pond, I follow Nash’s departure and make my way toward my boyfriend. “Mornin’,” I say once close enough.

“Morning,” he responds, tugging me into his arms. He dips his head and, without wasting a moment, kisses me. His mouth is minty, and a happy little moan vibrates out from his chest.

I could get used to good morning greetings like this.

“You’re up,” my aunt calls, announcing her presence as she comes out from the tree line beside her cabin. She must’ve been going for a walk around the pond. “I’ll be inside cookin’ up some French toast if y’all are hungry.”

“Thanks, Aunt Sara,” I call back, disentangling myself from Jameson but not going far.

He rumbles his approval as Sara heads inside the house. “I love French toast. Shall we?”

“Actually, I have somethin’ I needa take care of this mornin’.” Before I lose my nerve. “Would you be okay here with my aunt for an hour?”

Jameson tilts his head slightly, concern etched across his features. “Of course. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just have an overdue apology to make before we leave.”

Jameson nods. I can tell he doesn’t quite understand, but he tugs me back into his arms and kisses the side of my head before stepping back. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” I say, appreciative that he’s trusting me to take care of this on my own.

Jameson heads inside while I go to my rental car. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive over to the butter-yellow house where Will’s dads live, and once there, I park behind one of their trucks in the gravel drive. A few horses are out in their fields, and there’s someone I don’t recognize hauling a bag of feed into the barn, but they don’t look my way.

My hands are shaking as I step out of the vehicle, despite knowing the Moores would never hurt me in any capacity. They’re such good men, and they’ve been nothing but kind. But I haven’t been the same to them.

Jogging lightly up the porch stairs, I gather the last of my nerve and knock on the door. It takes a minute before it swings open, and then there in the threshold is Will’s pop, with his shoulder-length hair and kind, brown eyes.

“Bo?” Wyatt says in surprise, looking behind me a moment as if expecting his son to show up.

“Hey, Mr. Moore,” I greet. “I hope you don’t mind me comin’ by unannounced. Will said you’d prob’ly be home on the weekend.”

Wyatt looks puzzled, but he steps back and holds the door wide. “’Course I don’t mind. You’re always welcome. Come on in.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, stepping inside and toeing off my boots. “Is, uh, the other Mr. Moore here? I’d like to talk to you both.”

Wyatt slowly nods. “Easton’s out back. I’ll go grab ’im.”

Wyatt steps through the front door and into a pair of muck boots, and I wait in the Moores’ family room as he goes to grab his husband. I’ve only been here once—inside Will’s dads’ house—but just as before, I wander toward the wall of photographs. There are so many there on display, happy memories of this family. A long history. Even Will’s mom is up there, pictures of her pregnant and even some from when she was young, standing between Wyatt and Easton. Tears prick at my eyes, seeing the love on that wall.

When boots stomp up the porch steps, I swipe at my eyes, gathering myself as Mr. and Mr. Moore come inside the house.

Easton looks just as perplexed to see me as his husband, but he gives me a warm smile, his blue eyes creasing at the corners. “Well, hey there, Bo.”

“Hi, Mr. Moore. Thanks for comin’ in. I, uh, have somethin’ I’d like to say to both y’all if that’s all right.”

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