Where It all Began (Blue Moon, #7)

by Lucy Score

I need you to be someone else’s miracle.

He didn’t need the distraction of attraction stirring him up every five seconds.

The sun felt warm on her skin, and she heard the whisper of wind rustling through leaves and the buzz of cicadas and bees. It sounded like a never-ending conversation. The smell of the turned dirt under her was fresh, metallic. And there it was, that buzz beneath her skin. A vibration of sameness. She felt part of it, part of the earth beneath her that she’d spent her day tending, part of the air that caressed her skin and filled her lungs. She felt John next to her, too. Her senses were keenly aware of his presence as if, somehow, he were the anchor of it all. Rooted and reaching at the same time, Phoebe felt like they were like the green stalks that stretched on beyond them in an organic patchwork.

Their efforts here would never be wasted. What was put into the land would come back. That was the promise.

When I bring whoever the future Mrs. Pierce is here, I don’t want her facing any shadows from the past. I bought this place for her.”

She grabbed his face in her hands. “You’re not going to want to marry me after this, are you?” “God no. You’re not my type,” John promised.

“I can’t catch my breath,” she whispered. “You can have mine,” he promised.

“Come for me again, Phoebe. Take me with you.” His demand was a joy to fulfill.

From this vantage point, I can see for miles into the future. There will be growth here. There will be family here. Harvests here. Happiness here. I can hear it, too. The high school marching band warming up before a football game. The crickets on a summer night. “Just five more minutes, dad.” “I love you, John.” There is something that I can find here and only here on these two hundred acres. I feel it in my bones as if they’re made from the same ground beneath my boots. I’m meant to be here, meant to work this earth. I’m meant to live here, love here, die here.

He’d painted a picture of a beautiful, perfect life. He was a poet, a man who would be a hero to his wife and children.

She’d gone and done it. She’d let down her guard and fallen in love with John Pierce, poet farmer.

The field he’d told her he was leaving fallow was no longer empty. In it bloomed thousands and thousands of sunflowers, reaching their lemon-yellow faces toward the sun. Soft green leaves, giant dark centers. They stretched on forever, staring at her, leaves waving gently in the breeze. It was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. And that asshole had planted them for her. He’d planted her a field of sunflowers and still let her go pretending that he didn’t love her.

“Watch out,” John warned. “Sometimes he pees after a bath.” “I peed in da sink,” Jax said, stretching his arms out for the pizza across the kitchen. “Add disinfect sink to the list,” Mrs. Nordemann called out to Elvira.

Parenthood is a festering nightmare dotted with moments of truly blissful wonderment. This is not one of those moments. This is a time when we can step in and give you a bit of breathing room so you can come back tomorrow with some sanity.”

She looked at John and saw the spark of hope in his beautiful gray eyes. Sixteen hours of enjoying each other. “Yeah, I see that look. Wash my sheets,” Elvira reminded them.

“You know,” Phoebe sighed. “I’m awfully glad I was your Mrs. Pierce. It would have been a shame for you to have to tear this place down and build from scratch.”

It’s important to know what you want. He’d told her that their first summer together when she’d been convinced that she had life all figured out.

Beckett stepped up and put his hands on her shoulders. “Whenever you want them gone, just say the word,” he told her. “I think this is exactly what we need,” she promised him. “I do, too,” he agreed. “Thanks for raising us here, Mom. I can’t imagine a better home.”

Michael pulled back half a step. His mouth worked open and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Phoebe patted his cheek. “I feel exactly the same way,” she promised him. “Now, go get the grill off the porch and fire it up.” Grief called for movement. Anything to keep you going forward one step at a time.

Life was hard, but that’s what made it so incredibly good. That’s what made her appreciate every second that she had on this earth. Even on the darkest day, there was still beauty to see, still love to find. There was still a beginning to find in every end.