Page 114 of Now and Then

“This?” I gesture to my sweater. “I’ve had it.” I busy myself, pretending to look for a walnut because who seriously eats the nuts from these bowls that have had a million grubby hands on them?

“Sure.” Greer arches a brow so slow it makes my stomach flip. “And the hair? That’s new too.”

My hair halos my face, one side pinned back, the rest of my curls flowing freely around me.

“I’m experimenting with my style.” I try not to smile, try not to give any indication that she’s a very astute best friend, but it’s impossible.

“Something new, huh? I bet a certain cowboy loves it this way.” She winks at me.

I beam back at her. There’s something about being here tonight that makes me not want to hide the emotions fluttering throughout my body.

Grace arrives with two club sodas, cheeks flushed like she jogged from the parking lot. “Where’s your husband?”

I choke on my drink. “He’s not my husband.”

“He will be soon enough,” she says plainly.

Greer points at her. “I like where your head’s at.”

“Oh my god,” I groan, trying and failing to sound annoyed.

Greer leans her elbows on the table. “You’re thinking about the wedding right now, aren’t you?”

I stare at the condensation slipping down my glass. “I am not,” I lie.

“Oh, please,” Grace rolls her eyes. “Don’t even try to pretend nothing’s changed and that you two aren’t halfway down the aisle already.”

“I’m not pretending.” I tighten my lips, trying not to smile. Of course, I’ve thought about marrying Hunter over a million times. I have vivid memories of planning the whole event down to every detail when I was younger. But we’re too new. At least this version of us is.

“But?” Grace prompts.

I swallow. “Talking like that? Thinking like that? Feels too soon.”

“Gee,” Greer says, “I seem to remember someone telling me not too long ago that timelines are merely interesting. That you can’t control when love will find you. That it’ll be, wait, what was it?” She taps her finger against her lips. “That’s right . . . good for me.”

“Did I say that?” I trace the rim of my glass with my fingertip. “I guess it feels . . . dangerous to even think about let alone talk about getting married at this point.”

Greer’s face softens. Grace stops fidgeting with her straw.

“Dangerous?” Grace echoes.

I don’t really want to explain all this again, but I forget sometimes Grace isn’t as embedded in the Wildflowers.

I press my lips together before answering. “If I admit how good this feels, how right this feels, I’ll jinx it. Or give Life something to rip away.”

Greer places a hand over mine. “Sutton . . .”

“I know,” I whisper, shifting in my seat. “I’m not supposed to think like that. But every time I get something good, something falls apart. And I—”

A triumphant “Booyah!” from the pool table cracks the tension, and we laugh at the sudden reminder that we’re having this conversation in the middle of a bar.

Greer squeezes my hand. “You’re allowed to be happy.”

“I’m trying,” I say.

“I know,” she says simply.

“And,” Grace adds, “he seems to be meeting you halfway. That’s clear as day.”