And at the end of August, Willa will leave too. Back to her city existence. Back to bars and famous musicians. Back to an exciting life that doesn’t include a moody rancher with a chip on his shoulder.

Maybe it would be fine. Maybe I could let her go and move on.

Luke will be sad either way. But he’ll be devastated if I let him think there’s more here than a seasonal arrangement. And his heart isn’t one I’m willing to gamble.

So, I turn my back on her and get back to peeling potatoes.

I listen to every note, hang on every word, and feel grateful that she can’t see my face as I do.

“Again! Again!” Luke exclaims, and I just shake my head. I won’t say no because I’m enjoying it way too much to stop her.

“How about another song?” she asks him.

“What song?”

“A song your dad will know.”

“He doesn’t know any good music,” Luke provides very matter-of-factly.

My shoulders shake as I laugh silently. “It’s true,” I call over my shoulder.

“He’s too old!”

I turn and narrow my eyes at him jokingly.

“He’ll know this one then.” Willa’s fingers strum a few chords, and I instantly know the song.

I turn my fake dirty look on her, and she grins back. Who doesn’t know “Dust on the Bottle”? It’s a classic.

Her voice is thick with amusement, her posture straighter when I smile at her. She lights up when I laugh.

She sings about dust on a bottle and how the contents just keep getting better with age. It’s funny, she’s poking fun at me and she knows it. The night flows from there. Conversation, jokes, good food. And after that song Luke has resorted to teasing Willa and me about being old. He’s dubbed us “Grandma” and “Grandpa.”

“Pass the mashed potatoes please, Grandma.” He dissolves into a fit of giggles, the golden evening rays glinting off of his dark, shiny hair, cheeks rosy from summer days spent in the sun.

I feel alarmingly . . . at ease.

“You’re a weird kid, you know that?” Willa picks up an unevenly cut piece of cucumber and pops it into her mouth. “A total weirdo.”

Weirdo is Luke’s favorite joke insult right now, and he laughs so hard that he gasps for air. Willa laughs too, looking at him with so much affection that my heart twists in my chest.

“No, Willa! You’re a weirdo! I’ve seen you dance. You’re the biggest weirdo in the world!”

Her hand falls across her chest, and she leans back dramatically. “How dare you, Luke Eaton. That’s just cruel. I dance beautifully.”

“Show my dad! Show my dad how weird you dance!” Amused tears glisten in the corners of his eyes, and he wipes at them with pudgy little fingers.