Page 51 of Secret Southern Promises

I closed my eyes, swallowing against the lump in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to scream at him for not being here sooner, for making me feel like I was alone in all of this. But more than that, I wanted to collapse into his arms and let him make everything okay again.

“I’m sorry,” he added, his voice breaking through the fog in my mind. “I should’ve been here earlier, but I’m here now.”

I finally turned to look at him. His eyes were steady and filled with something I hadn’t let myself believe he still felt for me. His jaw was tight, like he was holding back more than he was saying, but the message was clear.

He wasn’t leaving. Not again.

“I made that pie for you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the buzz of the crowd.

He smirked. “I know.” He held his hand out to me and pulled me up to stand in front of him.

I shook my head, feeling the emotions I’d been holding back start to bubble up to the surface. “You didn’t have to do this,” I said, gesturing toward the crowd. “You didn’t have to make a scene.”

Boone’s smile widened just a fraction. “Figured if I do it this way, there won’t be any more rumors. No more secrets. Just promises.”

I let out a shaky laugh, unable to help it. Of course, he’d come storming in like this, making sure everyone knew exactly where he stood.

“I don’t care about the pie,” he said, stepping closer. “I care about you. About Nash. And I’m not going to let anything push me away this time.”

I stared at him. I wasn’t sure what to say, how to respond to something I’d wanted to hear for so long but had been too afraid to hope for.

“That’s my dad,” I heard Nash say loudly.

My heart swelled hearing Nash call Boone dad.

Boone had heard it, too. He closed his eyes for a second and opened them with unshed tears shining in them.

“I love you, Boone West.”

“And I love you, Dolly Hanes. I never stopped all of these years.”

Before I could say anything, the auctioneer cleared his throat and moved to stand next to us. “So, uh... one thousand dollars?” he asked, glancing between us.

Boone nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “One thousand dollars,” he repeated, “for the baker and my son.”

The crowd erupted into laughter and cheers, and I could feel my face flush with heat, but for once, it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was something else, something that felt like relief, like hope. Maybe, just maybe, Boone was right.

The secret was out, and we were ready for the promise of forever.