Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose 2)

With the straps of my shoes hooked over my left hand, it’s harder to adjust my cardigan.

“You cold?”

Even though goosebumps trail along both my arms, I shake my head no. This is exactly what I’ve dreamed of wearing for this very moment. A flowy white sundress at sunset. Literal dreams have led me here. My heart beats out of rhythm for a moment, taking it all in as I try to swallow down all the restless feelings. This is the start of our happily ever after.

“All right then,” he says and Robert’s tone tells me he doesn’t believe me. He knows me better than anyone, so I’m certain he knows every little thing I’m feeling.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I try to contain the heat that rises in my cheeks. I’m barely breathing when he asks me, “You’ll love me forever?” His right hand is touching the tree as I walk closer with bare feet.

“Of course,” I answer him easily. There’s not a doubt in my mind we’ll be together forever. My wavy hair is blown back and I hope he knows how much this means to me. I hope he remembers it forever, because I know I will. To promise to love each other under this tree is all I’ve wanted to do for the last year.

“Is that all we have to do?” he questions, a lightheartedness in his steps as the sun seems to dim on the horizon from soft yellow to warm amber. “Just say we will and the tree remembers our promise?”

The boyishness of his grin and the way he cocks his eyebrow proves he’s making light of this.

I stop in my tracks just a few feet shy of my first and only love. “Robert,” I protest, “stop.”

“You have the prettiest pout.” He keeps up his teasing as he takes a few steps closer to me and the shade finds us both, hiding us beneath the oak tree from everything and everyone else. I can’t help but smile in return when he smiles down at me and steals a quick kiss that I wish lasted for longer.

With my hands in both of his, I tilt up my chin and plead with him, “I’m leaving in just a few weeks and I’m scared things are going to change when college starts. Will you—”

“Never,” he says, cutting me off. “Nothing’s going to change. I love you, Magnolia Marie Williamson,” he states as if he’s taking an oath.

My heart skips a beat and a warmth flows through me as he peers down and rests his forehead against mine. He declares, “I love you, and I’ll love you forever.”

Present day

I truly love this one. My fingers itch to run down the layered hues of the oil painting. Its texture is achingly lifelike. Everything about it, from the weathered bark, to the dried leaves that fade to an autumn sky, reminds me of something that feels like a long-lost dream. I love it, but at the same time, I hate it. Dropping my hand to my side, I take a step back and forget any pretense of nostalgia. With a steady inhale, I remind myself I’m only emotional because … well, because all hell has broken loose on my life and I darn well should be.

My mantra has changed a bit over the last few weeks. It’s always been: I am a strong woman, and I’m raising a strong woman as well. I am worthy and I am doing better with every day.

Now I’ve added: I might be in love with two men, and that’s okay. One I’ve been in love with all my life, and I can’t see a world without him. The other is so new, so delicate and wanted, that it scares me to even think how much he affects me.

I’m just not so sure about that last bit I’ve tacked on at the end.

“You know I hate raffles, but this is a charity I can stand behind,” Mandy says from behind me while she looks at the computer. The clicking and clacking of the keys hasn’t stopped since she’s come in to check on the upcoming gala. I knew she wouldn’t be able to give up full control. Nerves battle within me as she goes down her list.

“It was smart to include it and to really push the artist’s wish.” The tapping stops for a moment and my lungs stall, praying the typing didn’t stop because she’s found something she doesn’t care for. “It made her that much happier to come.”

“Agreed.” I step back, adding, “And she’ll be less nervous if the conversation is about her passion and not selling the paintings.” We’ve commissioned four from an artist named Ellie Fields. One she’s designated just for charity and we’ll be donating our end as well. It’s for an excellent cause and the publicity we’ll garner as a result means it’s a win all the way around. I could talk for hours about it, but Mandy’s ready to move along. Her perfectly pointed upturned nose directed at me, she questions, “What else?”