Page 144 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"Please do." He pauses. "Maddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad things are good."

I look across the yard again. Javier has given up on moving the pumpkin and is letting Noah sit on it instead. "So am I."

We hang up. For a moment, I stay where I am. The restaurant is thriving. The expansion we've talked about for months is finally possible. This is good news. All of it. So why does it feel like someone just put a clock on something I wasn't ready to measure?

I slide my phone into my pocket.

"Maddy!" Emma is waving from the food tent. "We need you."

I turn back toward her. For now, that's easier.

By late afternoon, the festival layout finally looks like something that might work. The third food station has a home. Jack's lights are mostly straight. Noah has appointed himself Goliath's official security guard. Mom has gone home with three jars of honey she didn't need and strict instructions to return early on festival morning.

I stand near the main drive, looking over the farm. A week from now, this place will be full. Families. Music. Food. Kids running between hay bales. People coming to support a place that has given a lot of men and women somewhere to begin again.

Javier stops beside me. "Not bad."

"High praise."

"You did good today."

"So did you." He looks toward the crooked section of lights. "Jack didn't." I laugh.

Javier's fingers brush mine. Then take them. Easy. Natural. Like we've been doing it longer than we have. We stand there together while the afternoon light stretches across the fields.

I think about the email Julian will send. The numbers waiting for me. The space next door. New York. Then Javier's thumb moves over the back of my hand. I look at him. He smiles. And I smile back.

Not because I've forgotten the decision waiting for me. Because I haven't made it yet. Today, I get to be here.

For now, that's enough.

Chapter Nineteen

Madison

The numbers are even better than Julian said. That's the problem.

I sit at Mom's kitchen table Sunday morning with my laptop open, coffee cooling beside me, and twelve pages of projections that make perfect financial sense. The expansion works. Not barely. Beautifully. The additional dining room gives us space for private events. The larger kitchen solves the storage problem we've been fighting for two years. The lease is reasonable for the neighborhood, especially with the first-option terms our landlord is offering. Julian has even built in staffing costs. Of course he has.

I scroll back to the first page. There should be something wrong with this plan. Something I can point to and say, There. That's why we shouldn't do it. There isn't.

"That's a serious face."

I look up. Mom is standing at the counter slicing an apple. "Work."

"Anything bad?"

"No." She waits. I sigh. "Actually, it's very good."

"That explains the suffering."

I close the laptop halfway. "The space next to the restaurant became available."

"The one you wanted?"