Chapter 58

• Beau never thought he’d stand still this long. Man like him was born half-cocked, boots dirty, hands always busy with fences, tractors, or Sadie’s hips pressed sweet to his palms. But today? He couldn’t move. Wouldn’t even if Cade leaned in and hissed breathe, dumbass under his breath — which he did. Twice.
• Beau just stood there — big boots planted in the soft grass under that old oak that’d shaded ‘em since they were kids. The arch he’d built with his own hands creaked a little under the weight of wildflowers Sadie’s best friend had woven through every beam that morning. It smelled like honeysuckle and warm wood and forever.
• Behind him, the whole damn town sat hush in folding chairs dragged out to the hill. Old ladies fanned themselves with church bulletins they’d pretend were hymn books if anybody asked. Half the single girls glared daggers sweet enough to bounce off Sadie’s smile alone. The country playboy’s done, they’d whisper. Caught for good.