In the Weeds (Lovelight, #2)

by B.K. Borison

It’s about the trying. Settling into the happy when you find it, being okay when you don’t. Feeling all the misshapen bits and pieces and where they fit together. The delightful, ordinary blank space in between.

“Plus, everything gets quiet when I look at you.”

My smile softens into something lasting and I let myself feel good about everything that’s brought me to exactly this moment. No guilt. No hesitation. Just a bubbling warmth right in the center of me. “You’re doing the best you can.”

Maybe this is what happy is supposed to be. A person, a place. A single moment in time.

“Sometimes love is greedy, kiddo.” My dad sets his mouth in a firm line. “Sometimes it’s a little bit selfish, too. You think it’s never crossed my mind that your mom deserves something better than the life we carved out for ourselves here? It has. A million times. A million and one. But I’m holding onto her with both hands. I’m trusting her to make her own choices. To choose me.” He looks right at me, a smile hooking at the side of his mouth. He bends at the waist and grabs a piece of wood. He flips it over his shoulder and begins making his way to the ramp. “Be selfish, Beckett. Just this once.”

“I mean, you could text him and tell him you’re coming back, but I like the drama of this.”

“Sometimes the right thing for one person isn’t the nice thing for someone else.”

A little hope never hurt anyone, I reason.

“No. I’m—” Tired. Losing hope. Uncomfortable that a woman in Cincinnati called me her cat daddy garden himbo in the comments section of a video meant for exactly one woman. I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t sound good. “—fine.”