Love Me Again, Cowboy

She lifts her chin. “I know.” She hands me the flowers. “I picked these for you. Do you like forget-me-nots?”

“As a matter of fact, forget-me-nots from that exact garden,” I say, pointing at the garden, “are my absolute favorite. Thank you.”

She smiles bigger, then takes my free hand and Jax’s and leads us both back to the others. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starvin’.” I look down at her little hand in mine, and a warmth and wonder fills my heart like I’ve never experienced before. My gaze finds Jaxon, and he looks back at me with pride and understanding. Maybe things really will work out for us. Maybe we can be a real family.

The rest of the dinner is filled with talking and laughter, of shared memories and new stories. It all feels so easy, like I’m just a puzzle piece that found its rightful place in the bigger picture. There is familiarity here and newness that intertwines into a beautiful tapestry. I want to wrap myself in that tapestry and never take it off.

After dinner, the boys set to the task of gathering the dishes to take inside.

“Why don't you help me get dessert ready,” Kitty says to me. We go inside with the others. The spacious kitchen has white cabinets and quartz countertops with a good sized island in the middle. On the other side of the island, the kitchen opens up to a cozy family room. Off to the side of the kitchen sits a huge wood farm table—one big enough for the Wyle brothers and all their future wives. Will I be one of them? I watch Jaxon pick up Audrey and playfully throw her onto one of the large, cushioned couches. She squeals in delight. I smile at them, imagining many more nights like this.

Dillon turns on the television.

“Oh come on, Dillon. Turn that off,” Landon says. “Come help with the dishes.”

“Leave some for me,” he says, leaning on the arm of the couch. “I just want to catch the stocks real quick, and then I’ll shut it off.”

I follow Kitty to the fridge. She pulls out a bowl of mashed raspberries and individual cups of what looks like panacotta, then grabs a couple of spoons from a drawer.

My mouth waters. “Panacotta?”

She smiles. “Yes! I love that you know what it is. I have to tell the boys it’s fancy pudding. Help me scoop the raspberry puree into each cup?”

I take one of the spoons from her. When I’m on the second cup, Audrey tugs at my sleeve. “You’re on TV!” she exclaims. “It’s awesome having a friend who’s famous. But you look prettier in real life.”

We all look to the television. There’s a picture of me in my workout clothes, and my hair is in a messy bun. I have no makeup on, and my face is all red. It’s not flattering at all and was definitely taken right after a workout. The headline says: Malia Kalama in rehab. My heart drops along with the spoon in my hand, splattering red sauce on the white countertops. I want to run over and shut the TV off . . . or throw something at it . . . or crawl in a hole. But instead, Dillon just turns the volume up. I feel my cheeks burning as the reporter speaks.

“A-lister Malia Kalama was admitted into rehab. During an interview, Trey Wentworth said that it was Malia’s problem with partying that led him into another woman’s arms. He sincerely regrets his indiscretion now and hopes Malia receives much needed help. It’s unclear what Malia is in rehab for, but what is clear is that her fans are standing by her and praying for a full recovery. Next up—”

Dillon turns the TV off, his brows scrunched in thought. An uncomfortable silence falls over the room. I want to sink into the tile floor and completely disappear. I can’t believe I forgot about the rehab story. I’ve been so caught up in my time with Jaxon that it completely slipped my mind.

“What’s rehab?” Audrey asks, breaking the silence and gazing up at me.

I laugh nervously. “That’s wrong. I’m clearly not in rehab.”

I scan over the others, but no one seems ready to jump in to help me. In fact, they’re all waiting for my response just as much as Audrey is. Perhaps it’s a test to see how I handle the tough questions of a seven-year-old. I turn back to Audrey. “Um, well, it’s where people go who have a particular problem that they can’t solve on their own and need help.”

Her face scrunches in confusion. “But you’re not in rehab. You’re here with us.” She squints her eyes and examines me. “You don’t seem like you have any problems. Do you?”

One big problem right now, actually. “Well I have some, but none that need rehab.”

“Why would that man say that?”

I figure the best response is the truth. I sigh. “Because my publicist told him to.” I pick up the spoon I’d dropped, hating more than ever that JulieAnn felt this was the best way to help my career.

“But that’s lying,” Audrey says matter a fact. “And what’s a publicist?”

I glance up at Jax who gives me a small smile and an encouraging nod. Again, not jumping to my aid. Some hero. “You’re right,” I tell her, fingering the spoon nervously. “It is lying, and it’s wrong. Just think of publicists like villains in a show. Sometimes they lie, even though it’s wrong because they’re from a place where lying is second nature to them.”

“Because they’re evil,” Audrey says with her hands on her hips. “You should throw some water on the publicist so she stops telling lies about you. That’s what Dorothy did in the Wizard of Oz, and the evil witch melted. Water,” she repeats with a head nod.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

She turns to Jax. “Daddy, can I help Uncle Preston feed the horses?”

“Just grab your jacket. It’s getting cooler out there.”

She runs to the other room to get a jacket.