Keepsake (True North, #3)

by Sarina Bowen

Once in a while some well-meaning person in my life would point out that after living the first nineteen years of my life on a dusty property in Wyoming, I still rarely left the farm. But they were wrong. I’d been to Middle Earth and Hogwarts and Dickensian London all in the past month or so. The difference between living on a ranch where books were banned and a farm where books were freely discussed and traded could not be underestimated.

Paradise Ranch was the worst place on earth, and yet I hadn’t been good enough to stay.

“Zach,” Lark whispered. The bed moved as she lay down again, too. “Is it egotistical of me to ask whether I’ve ever made it into one of your best dreams?” In Leviticus, it says, “You shall not lie to one another.” The temptation was strong. But I spoke the truth. “They’re all about you.”

From the other side of the wall came a piercing whistle, followed by cheering and applause.

“Everyone has a time when they need a lot more than they can give. It doesn’t matter how much you hate it. It’s just true.”

“I can handle it, Lark. Just lean on me. I’ll be your Apostate Farm.”

Sometimes the end of a stage in your life doesn’t announce itself with trumpets or fireworks. Sometimes it just seeps in, like the smell of snow on the air as fall gives way to winter.

“Everything that happened to me almost seems worth it when you’re sitting in my kitchen. Because I love you, Zach.”

“I love you?” He nodded against my cheek, his stubble rough against my chin. “You’re the first one to ever say those words to me.”