Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
The wisteria vines bit into my palms as I twisted them tighter, forming new additions to Lane’s wreath.
Lane had said he was happy here, and if he’d said it, he meant it. The man I loved was no liar. I knew he enjoyed working with Alva and Pete, he enjoyed getting to work with animals rather than just teaching about them, and he enjoyed getting to know his “patients” and their owners. After last night, I knew he had feelings for me. I knew he cared about me.
But that wasn’t the same as wanting to be together for the long haul. And from all the reminiscing Chad had done, it was clear Lane had been happy in his last life too… until he hadn’t.
If there was one thing Chad’s visit had made me realize on a gut-deep level, it was that Lane’s world was much bigger than mine. Now that I knew what kind of situation he’d given up to move here, I couldn’t help wondering how likely it was that someone as smart and talented as Lane would stay in Tennessee permanently, giving Mrs. Moore’s Persian cat yet another claw trim (“because Doc Lane has a real talent for soothing my Susannah’s delicate feline nerves”) and spending time with a man who genuinely enjoyed working at a car wash, when he could find himself a high-paying job in a bigger town and a man he’d be proud to have on his arm.
I truly didn’t know.
I wasn’t without hope—there were plenty of couples in Licking Thicket, including Dunn and Tucker, and my own cousin Charlie and his Hunter, where someone had moved in from a big city and decided to stick around—but the odds seemed low. I was a lucky man, but I didn’t know if a person could get quite that lucky.
And that was… well, I couldn’t make myself say it was okay, even in my own mind, because it wasn’t.
Losing Lane would hurt worse than when I’d been team captain and the Bovines had lost the football championship in double overtime during the last game of my senior year. Worse than the time I’d managed to have the stomach flu and the regular flu and a sprained rib, all at once. Worse than anything I’d ever felt.
But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t love him while I had him. I’d never understood the sense of cutting yourself off from caring about other people just because they might eventually leave—that would be like never eating ice cream because you might someday be lactose intolerant or never learning to walk because you might end up with gout like old Herman Wanamaker.
In fact, the opposite was true. I wanted to love Lane as hard as I could for as long as I could. I wanted to love him like it was my full-time job. I wanted that man to be so loved up his whole body glowed like a neon sign. I wanted to hold up a mirror and show Lane his own worth until joy burst out of his stomach like that creature in the Alien movies and—
Shit.
I blinked down at the wreath in my hand, finding I’d managed to twist a vine into a tiny feral alien just waiting for Sigourney Weaver to come along.
I sighed. Hopefully, Lane wouldn’t notice since there were plenty of other things for him to see on the wreath.
I wiped a hand across my brow, smearing dirt over my skin, and got back to work. This wreath needed to be perfect. For Lane. For the man who deserved everything.
The smell of fresh blooms filled the air, mingling with the scent of sawdust and the faint tang of Georgia clay I’d used to create the base for my Georgia Bulldog wreath. He’d been a professor at UGA and had spent a number of years on campus and in the community. It was silly, probably, but I wanted him to have pieces of where he came from and to show him just how well it coordinated with the place he’d ended up.
I’d also worked some tiny wooden carvings of animals into the vines—his patients, the ones I’d seen him care for with that steady, quiet determination. I’d shaped a small peacock feather out of wire and tucked it near the top, a nod to Disco Dave and the day Lane had looked at me like I was more than just his landlord. I’d crafted a honey jar and added that, too, as a symbol of how much I loved our mornings together.
My hands moved on autopilot, but my thoughts ran wild, picking apart every stupid dream I’d let myself have over the past six months. Lane smiling at me over breakfast. Lane’s hand brushing mine as we wrangled Disco Dave and his crew. Lane kissing me like I mattered.