Rhett
“She’s here.” Mom flings the dishrag over her shoulder and makes a beeline for the door. My hand on her arm stops her.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get that wonderful girl.”
My mom has been so excited since I told her Mo and Phil were coming for dinner. She’s spent the last few days stewing over what to make and finally settled on chicken and dumplings—Mo’s favorite.
“Slow down,” I laugh. “You’re going to scare her away.”
Mom palms the side of my cheek, her eyes going all misty. “I’m so happy. You haven’t stopped smiling since you got here, and you know how much I love Monroe.”
“Yes, I know,” I say, gently pulling her hand from my face.
“Can I go now?” she asks, a sparkle of hope in her eye.
“Fine.” I sigh. “Go.”
“I haven’t seen your mom move that fast since she walked down the aisle,” Dad says, stepping up beside me as we watch Mom barrel through the front door to greet Mo and Phil.
I look at Dad. “She walked fast down the aisle? Don’t most women go slow?”
He shrugs. “Your mom isn’t most women. And according to her, I was a flight risk.”
No way. My dad is the most stable, loyal person I know. “You were a flight risk?”
He nods and pats my back. “Yup, and so are you. Your mom says it’s in our blood. We chase the bull, and in your case, the buckle. Lucky for you, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you know a good thing when you find it—you get that from me.” He smiles proudly.
“I’m not a flight risk.”
“I know you’re not, but she doesn’t know that,” he says, nodding toward Mo. “It’s never about what we think; it’s always about them—what they’re thinking, what they want. It’ll do you good to remember that. Your mom was worried about everything under the sun: how we would make it work, what would happen when I went on tour—the women, the temptation, everything. And all I could think about was her barefoot and pregnant in a home I built just for her.”
I step to the side and watch Mo help her dad out of the car. Mom holds the wheelchair in place, and when Phil is seated, she wraps Mo in a hug.
“I’m not following.”
Dad laughs. “It’ll make sense one of these days when you know you’ve found the one. She’ll be coming up with a million reasons why you can’t work, or she’ll worry about losing you to some buckle bunny, and all you’ll worry about is finding a way to make her yours before she realizes she can do so much better.”
I shoot Dad a look.
“Hypothetically speaking, of course, because no one is better than my son.”
“Damn right,” I say, turning my gaze back to Mo.
Dad’s words filter through my head as I watch from the porch. Mo’s dark hair hangs over her shoulders in loose waves. She’s wearing a pair of jeans, a pink blouse, and cowboy boots. When she looks up, her eyes catch mine, and for this one moment in time, everything seems right in the world. My heart slams inside my chest as though it’s trying to throw itself at her, and I have no choice but to follow its lead.
“You might be closer than you think,” Dad mumbles as I step off the porch.
Mo watches me walk across the yard. The closer I get, the bigger her smile grows, and when I’m close enough, I reach for her hand. I tug gently, pulling her against me to kiss her cheek.
“You look beautiful,” I whisper, as though I haven’t seen her in days. Only it hasn’t been days, it’s been hours. It’s been two days since our reunion, and we’ve spent as much of them as we can together. I’ve helped her at Animal Haven, and in the evenings after Phil is in bed, we’ve cuddled together on his front porch, looking at the stars and reminiscing about old times.
Her bright smile shines up at me, a pink tinge infusing her cheeks. She bites her lower lip, and I have to step away or risk getting a chubby in front of my parents and Phil.
When I turn to Phil, one side of his mouth is lifted up in what I believe to be a smile. It’s hard to tell, because the other side has a slight droop.
Phil was always larger than life. He had a big heart and an even bigger frame, and if he hadn’t showed up with Mo tonight, I’m not sure I would’ve recognized him. This is the same man who taught me how to shoe a horse and bopped me upside the head when he caught me ogling his fifteen-year-old daughter in her bikini. I have almost as many memories of Phil as I do of my own parents, and I have to swallow past a lump in my throat when I step toward him.
Unsure what he’s capable of, but not wanting to insult him, I hold out my hand and return his smile. “It’s good to see you, Phil.”
It takes a bit of time, but he manages to lift his hand. His grip isn’t nearly as strong as it once was, but I can tell he appreciates the gesture.
“It’s b-been way too l-long.”
“I know it has, sir.”
“Guess that’s n-not a problem anymore?” He glances up at Mo.
She blushes.
Mom smiles.
I laugh.
“No, sir, I suppose it isn’t. And I hope you’re hungry, because Mom made enough food to feed an army.”
He nods jerkily and pulls his hand back, resting it in his lap. “W-what are we w-w-waiting for?”
Mom scurries around to the back of Phil’s wheelchair and pushes him toward the house. I wait until they’re a few steps ahead of us and grab Mo’s hand. Her fingers lace with mine.
“How was it getting him here?” I ask.
“Good. It’s not hard to transport him. He’s able to help me out quite a bit, and I owe most of that to his therapists.”
“How many does he have?”
“Just physical and occupational. They come in a couple of times a week, and his caregivers are good at working with him too. Where’s everyone else?” she asks, looking at the empty driveway.
“Mom didn’t want to overwhelm your dad by inviting the whole tribe over on his first trip here.”
She looks up at me. “First trip, huh?”
“If I play my cards right, I’m hoping there’ll be some more family dinners, and a few dates scattered in there, too.”
“Rhett.” Mo stops and tugs my hand. “My life isn’t normal. I can’t just pick up and go out on a date with you or come to one of your shows, and I don’t want you to feel like—”
My mouth on hers stops everything. Her words melt away, and all the jumbled mess of feelings I’ve had lately seem to work themselves out as I lose myself in this kiss. Her hands dip into my hair, and she grips it tightly, pulling me close. My tongue pushes into her mouth, and off in the distance, I register the sound of someone clearing their throat.
Shit. We have an audience.
Mo must hear it at the same time, because she pulls back. Her eyes are hooded, lips swollen. When she places her fingers over her mouth, I pull them away and kiss her again.
“We’re going to finish that kiss later.”
“And the conversation,” she adds softly.
“Would you give the girl some room to breathe?” Dad chides, shouldering past me.
Mo steps into his embrace—a testament to how close our families have been over the years. And probably to how close she’s remained to mine.
“It’s great to see you again, sweetheart.”
“You too, Mr. Allen.”
Dad scoffs. “What did I say about calling me that? It’s Sawyer.”
Putting his arm around her shoulders, he leads her into the house. I follow, and when she tips her head back and laughs at something he says, I can’t help but feel like this is right where she belongs.