by Sara Biren
“No. Not even a little bit.” Of course I don’t want him to be miserable.
He smiles that wide grin I love so much. “You know,” he says, “you were wearing that exact outfit the first day I was here. Do you remember?”
I shake my head. This is what he wants to talk about?
“You were rude to me that morning, Blue,” he says.
“You were rude to me.” He’s closer now, so I can poke him in the chest when I speak.
“I was.” He reaches up and grabs my finger. “I’ve missed arguing with you.”
“You came back,” I whisper.
“I came back.” He clears his throat and takes my hand fully into his, holding it against the word Soul on his T-shirt, against his heart. I can feel its strong beats. “Blue. There’s something I have to tell you, and it’s not going to be easy.”
My eyes go wide and my stomach sinks.
“No,” he says quickly, tightening his grip. “We’re not selling, I promise you. Don’t even think that for a minute, OK? The architect, the round barn, the recording studio—all that is really happening. We’re not going anywhere.”
I nod.
He takes a deep breath before he continues. “This isn’t about the farm. You know already that things were bad with me and Marley for a while. She was in rough shape and she—she needed money. She came to me for help.”
He swallows hard and turns his head to look away from me, then turns back almost immediately. His green eyes lock with mine.
“I didn’t have the money, Blue. I was broke—I’m still broke—but I had to help her.”
He stops and I squeeze his hand. “Go on,” I say.
He gives a short burst of a bitter laugh. “You might not like me very much when you hear what I have to say.”
“Gabe,” I murmur, “that’s not possible. Tell me.”
“I stole money. From Chris. Marley was going to pay me back—well, she said she was, anyway—but then the wedding happened and rehab and I ended up here, and this whole time I’ve been trying to figure out a way to pay the money back before Chris found out. But he found out. I really fucked things up.”
I suck in a breath as he runs his free hand through his long curls. Of all the things he might say to me now, this is the last thing I could imagine. I’m stunned. That he would do this, yes, but that he’s been dealing with this for so long, alone, in a strange place. And I treated him horribly.
“Say something,” he says, his voice breaking. “If it’s too much, if you can’t be with me because of it, tell me now.”
I blink and screw up my face in confusion. “If I can’t be with you?” I echo. “Gabe, you’re human. You’re a good person. You wanted to help.”
“I screwed up,” he says, his words filled with anguish.
“We all screw up,” I whisper. “When you love someone, though, there’s enough room for mistakes and forgiveness and second chances.”
He lets out a long breath. “When you love someone,” he repeats as he leans in to kiss that sensitive part of my cheek close to my ear.
“What . . . what are you doing?”
“Kissing my girl,” he says. “Please tell me that you’ll give me another chance.”
A tear pools in the corner of one eye and escapes. He kisses that, too.
“Don’t cry, Blue,” he whispers, his breath like a promise on my skin.
“You came back,” I say again.
“We’ve already established that.”
“Are you staying?”
“God, yes.”
I swallow, relieved. “OK,” I say as I nod. “Good.”
“Good. We’ve got to get started on your list of adventures,” he continues, his tone light and playful and Gabe. “I’m not sold on dyeing your hair, though, and we’d better find a campground ASAP because it’s pretty fucking cold to be sleeping outside in a tent.”
I laugh, and it’s the best feeling, to be laughing with him again. “Tell me about the studio. You brought in some fancy British architect, then?”
He nods, then kisses me near the opposite eye. “We’ll only do this if you think it’s a good idea. Graham’s still in town. We’ve invited him to lunch to go over the plans. Chris and I want you and Laurel to have a say, too.”
“I don’t know anything about recording studios. And it’s your farm, Gabe.”
“It’s your farm, too. It always has been. It always will be, one way or another.”
He kisses me again, this time at the corner of my mouth. I hum.
“When did you get my letter?”
“Yesterday.”
“When did you fly back?”
“Last night. I got back to the farm around midnight, and I wanted to throw pebbles at your window to wake you up. It’s been so hard to wait to see you.”
“You read the letter and booked a flight? Just like that?”
“Just like that. Luckily, I’ve racked up some miles over the years.”
“It seems so . . . too easy. I should have sent you that list days ago. Before you left. Before we fought.”
He laughs at my ridiculous statement. “Easy is good. Life’s too short for difficult, Blue.” He drags his lips from my ear along my jaw. “I don’t want to be apart anymore. I want to go to school here and graduate and learn more about farming. Learn how to be a steward for the animals, the earth, our livelihood. I’m glad you want to live in the sunshine with me. Because I want that, too.”
He’s quoting the rules and my list. The tears are streaming freely now. He wipes them away with his thumbs.
“I love you,” I croak out between sobs.
“That’s good, because I love you, too.” He smiles. “See? Easy.”
“Please don’t go away again.” I lean toward him, and finally, finally, he puts his arms around me. “I’m so sorry for everything I did. I’ve been miserable without you. I need you. The farm needs you.”
“I need the farm,” he says. “That’s one thing that became crystal clear in LA. More than that, though, I need you. I want to be with you, here, if you’ll let me.”
My heart melts. I smile up at him as he takes my hand again, and I’m filled with a rush of contentment, anticipation, love. This must be what all the love songs are about.
He kisses me again, this time on my lips, a long, lingering kiss that hints of a future together.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says after we move apart, with our foreheads still touching, “about all the ways we can make the farm better. Maybe some of the ideas we had for Field & Flock. The recording studio is just the beginning.”
I nod. “The recording studio is perfect. I can’t think of a better way for you and Chris to honor the farm.”
“You smell good,” he says. “Like cherries and vanilla. That’s one of my favorite things about you.”
I smile. “What are some of your other favorite things about me?”
“How long do you have?” He pulls me into a hug, his chin resting on top of my head, and inhales deeply. “I love that for your entire life, you always ordered the same thing at Seasons Tavern. I love that you tried something new there. I love your unique outfits and your fake glasses.”
“My glasses are not fake! This is not LA!”
He ignores me. “By the way, we’ll be going through Gran’s closets soon. You’re welcome to take any of her things.”
“Are you serious?” I hold back a squeal.
“It’s all yours. Whatever you’d like. Now, where was I? I love that you hike even when it’s fucking freezing outside. I love that you aren’t afraid of coyotes. I love your tea.”
“Oh, you tried some, then?”
“Chris had some in his cabinet. I believe my favorite is Serenitea Now! Very clever. And calming.”
“It took me forever to get that one right. What else?”
“I love you, Juniper. I love everything about you, even when you’re extra salty. Especially when you’re extra salty.”
I relax into him,
loving the feeling of his arms around me. “Next time we go to Seasons Tavern, I’m ordering the fettuccine with shrimp and asparagus. Vivian’s Variety was good, but I missed my fettuccine.”
He laughs. I love that laugh. I never again want to go one day without hearing it.
“Next time I build you a fire down at the river, I’m going to play you the song I wrote for you.”
I look up at his bright, open face, his flashing green eyes. “You wrote a song for me?”
He nods. “A love song. I’ve never written one before. You make me want to write love songs, Blue.” He kisses the side of my neck.
“What are you doing later?” I ask. “Want to go on a hike up to the overlook?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, moving his lips from my neck to my jaw, “if it means we can make out up there.”
I laugh and lean away so I can stare at his beautiful eyes. “I’m in for a lot of adventures with you, aren’t I?”
He nods. “Every single day.”
Acknowledgments
Writing a book while packing up and selling our home and moving to a new state—all during a global pandemic—was not easy. I owe so many people my thanks, beginning with my agent, Steven Chudney, and editors Erica Finkel and Bethany Strout. I’m grateful for your time, insight, and intuition. To everyone at Abrams who worked on this book—wow! You did it again. What a gorgeous book.
My Beez—my dear friends and closest writing companions—Liz Parker, Rebekah Faubion, and Tracey Neithercott, I couldn’t have done this (or anything in 2020) without you by my virtual side. I’m so thankful for your friendship and encouragement. I can’t wait until we can all be together again.
Thanks to Allison Benson, Casie Beldo, and Mel Brutger for your unique contributions and for cheering me on. As always, thanks to Linda Diaz, Maris Ehlers, Sara Naegle, and the UMD gang: Heather Green, Jacqueline Bonneville, Jana Oman, Jody Rittmiller, Katie O’Dell, LeeAnn Evans, and Teresa Robinson. Love you all!
I found inspiration for this book in many places, and it took many years to cultivate. I owe my thanks to my longtime neighbor Bob Dylan and his son Jakob Dylan for planting the tiny seed of an idea, and to Chris Cornell for helping that seed grow. Chris, no one sings like you anymore. This book would not exist without your gifts to the world. I’m forever grateful.
Very early on, I told my husband, Troy, that I needed a name for a ’90s grunge band that had faded away but made a big comeback. “Dig Me Under,” he said. “It’s from an Alice in Chains song.” I put it in the book. The next thing I knew, Troy was writing songs for Dig Me Under, including one called “The Last Thing You Said” for my first book. The band became a real thing, with a fictional lead singer. Troy and our friends Kendall, Debbie, and Mike recorded an album, released it on digital, vinyl, and CD, and played at the launch party for The Last Thing You Said. I love how our creative endeavors came together because of this book. Troy, you are my rock and my rock star. Thank you for everything. I love you.
And thanks, as always, to my kids, Jude and Halen, for your love and hugs. Dream big.
About the Author
Sara Biren is the author of The Last Thing You Said and Cold Day in the Sun. She earned an MFA in creative writing from Minnesota State University, Mankato. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband and two children. Visit her at sarabiren.com.
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