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delopsia · 1 year

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Flowers In November (4/4) Rhett x Reader

Word Count: 11,075 ♡‧₊˚ AO3 Cross-Post ♡⊹˚₊ Flowers In November Masterlist₊˚⊹♡ Warnings: Fem!Reader. Briefly mentioned abusive relationships (not involving reader), improper disposal of a horse's corpse, l-bombs, oral sex, physical and verbal altercations, blood, unprotected sex, inappropriate use of a firearm, lying to a police officer, multiple mentions of food and cooking.

Part 3 ♡⊹˚₊

The next morning is one of those days where Rhett has to be up before dawn, leaving you with a warm kiss and a promise to see you this evening. Always a promise, never anything less. Remarkably, you're not sore, only plagued by a dull ache, craving something to fill the emptiness you've been left with.

Your cowboy is happy to fix that problem for you, too.

God, you're worse than the jackalopes that appeared for the spring season. Raring to go at the drop of a hat, pouncing on him when he walks in the front door sweaty, those veins in his arms bulging, hardly able to keep your hands off one another. Rhett bends you over the truck's hood at least twice, ties your hands up with a new rope, and makes you beg to cum.

You catch him in the field once, sinking to your knees and suckling on his thick head until he's oversensitive and jolting away from your tongue. But he moans so pretty; you're unsure if you're addicted to his sound or the weight of his cock in your mouth.

"Are you sure you don't—hah!" Rhett whimpers as you swallow around him, barely able to stifle the sound, "you sure ya don't have a thing for doin' this?" Nose pressing into his belly, you hum, and that's enough of an answer.

On the anniversary of your first month together, Rhett builds that chicken coop, taking you all the way out to get those little Kettles. Four seems to be enough for just the two of you, two black, one white, and one a speckled white and brown. Poor fella looks like she's been spray painted.

"They sure are talkative," you muse on the way home, peeking into their box. They're all confused; it sounds like a dozen tiny kettles are boiling over.

"You'd be talkative too if a man picked you up and shoved you in a box," that wink...you're not sure if that's a suggestion or just a joke.

A part of you wants to find out.

Conveniently, you don't tell Rhett about the picture you take of him sitting in the coop with the nervous babies collected in his lap. That one can be your little secret.

Sometime in late Spring, Nyx wakes you up. Whistling various notes, high and low. Going on and on until you crawl out of bed to peek out the window.

There's nothing there, not that you can see, but she's never sounded the alarm without good reason. Whatever it is, it can't be seen from the house. You're not thrilled about it, but you tug on some shoes and head out the front door.

"What's got you so bugged?" Asking as you step off the porch like she can formulate a reply. And then you see it.

A snake.

The little fella has innocently wandered into the driveway for some sunlight. Bright green, perfect for blending in with the miles of endless grass. Nyx, however, does not see it that way, and there's no convincing her otherwise. Her ruckus gets Isabela's attention, nickering from further down the pasture by the cattle.

What in the world is Rhett doing down there?

From here, it's difficult to tell, but the cattle are scattering like they're being divided by something. That something could only be your cowboy, but why?

There is only one way to solve this mystery.

You walk down there.

Nyx doesn't follow, too dead-set on the offending reptile to do much else. A part of you hopes the little fella doesn't pass the fence because he certainly won't come back out alive. Not if the household menace has anything to do with it.

Getting closer doesn't bring you any answers, only more questions. Rhett's chasing the babies around, Isabela watching with visible amusement. Whatever this is, it must be normal because the mommas don't bother stopping him.

Entertained, you stop next to Isabela, petting her thick neck. Rhett takes a while to realize you've joined him, darting in and out of the cattle, trying and failing to catch a calf that refuses to be captured. Stopping short when he sees you, letting the poor thing run further into the herd.

"How long have you been standin' here?" Slinking over to you for a kiss, addicted to the core.

"Long enough," you're thankful he doesn't touch you with his muddy hands; you've had enough of scrubbing that off your cheeks. "What are you terrorizing the babies for?"

He bites his lip, glancing back toward the cattle, "I think it'd be best if I showed you."

And then it's back to haunting that poor newborn.

Back and forth they go, but this time, Rhett's taken his lasso. The baby successfully dodges his first swing, but the second catches the little guy around the neck. You wonder why he didn't just use that, to begin with.

Raising his hand in the air, Rhett motions for you to come over.

The little baby is rightfully terrified, but Rhett's notably careful not to touch it just yet, even if doing so would make this easier.

Right before your eyes, the strangest thing happens.

Rhett places one bare hand on the calf's back, and lights appear. Tiny, gold in color, dancing out from under his fingertips, swirling and tangling together as they run up to the calf's forehead. Spiraling on its head, creating tiny golden circles on either side of its head, right above the ears.

The bright spots fade, leaving tiny bumps of gold in their place.

Horns.

Golden horns.

"Did you just?" Sputtering. "You can do that?"

"It's some generational thing," nonchalant; Rhett lets the baby loose, watching as it retreats to the safety of its mother. "I touch a cow, and it sprouts golden horns; Perry reaches into a river, and out comes a kelpie."

Glancing toward the house to see what your kelpie is up to, "is that how Nyx came about?"

"Most likely, yeah," reaching into his pocket, he produces a golden horn, broken off on the end; one of these cows must not be having a good day, "gotta take this into town later, y'wanna come?"

Considering your last ventures out of the house... "I'd love to."

It's a date.

That afternoon, you find yourself perched in the passenger seat, gazing out the window as Rhett drives. By now, you've become familiar with this variant of town, but you still miss how lively yours was. The soft yellow lights, quiet atmosphere, and the scattering of mom-and-pop stores. Homey. Especially when compared to the many commercial businesses that occupy these buildings, banks, and office supplies stores. Everything here is owned by a big-name company.

You hate that every time you come here, you leave missing your old world.

"Would you ever come to my world?" You find yourself asking, gazing at Staplers, a variant of Staples that lies on the corner. In your variant, a bank occupied the space.

"I wouldn't mind visiting," flicking the turn signal, he turns left.

"I mean more like..." Maybe you should have phrased that differently, "coming to live there with me."

His hand squeezes the steering wheel a little tighter, but it's not out of anger or discomfort. More from thought, his brain's only way of decompressing as it works double time. "I'm not sure, to be honest with you," he says after a moment, "I want to say yes, but I don't...I've never left Wabang for longer than a day before."

If only life were your fantasy world, you'd sew these universes together and live happily ever after.

The store he's looking for is a small, pristine jewelry store that closely mirrors the one from your world. Aside from the name and employees, it's identical. Same jewelry, same cases, same gumball jar in the window. Next to it lies a short leather necklace bearing an antiqued golden disc and a sign. 'Guess how many gumballs are in the jar for a chance to win this necklace.'

Deja vu is hitting you like a freight train.

You played this same game with your mom in November, trying to win her this necklace. Only the disc was silver rather than copper.

How many were in there again?

"You tryin' your luck over there?" Rhett chirps, amused by your focus. You bet that necklace would look pretty on him.

Picking up the pen and a slip of paper, you fill it out. If you're remembering correctly, there should be three hundred forty gumballs. "Can't hurt to try," and you slide your entry into the box.

Only time will tell if you win.

Based on what the salesman tells you, this store gets most of its gold from Rhett's cattle. Crafting shiny gold rings and carefully designed necklaces, there's a matching earring set for everything they make. Most of it you wouldn't personally wear, even if it were gifted to you.

But in the corner of the case, there's a dainty ring bearing your favorite arrangement of stones. Perfect in every way, shape, and form. It's like someone peeked into your mind and crafted your ideal ring.

Rhett's watching your movements, finding entertainment in how you take it all in. "Do you see somethin' you want?"

Not for that price tag, you don't. You'd say as much too, but the salesman is coming back with a check. Your heart is thankful you don't see how much they pay him; you fear you'd faint depending on the amount. Their exchange is brief, so used to the routine that they only need a little talking.

"Baby," his hand comes to rest on the small of your back, "you sure you don't want that ring?"

You want it. God, you want it. But you could buy a used car for the price of this thing.

"I don't need it," stepping away from the case before you impulsively change your mind, "was just looking."

That ring stays in the back of your mind for a while.

You never intentionally think about it, simply coming up in passing. On one of your movie nights, the guy proposes to his girlfriend, and you wonder how you'd feel if he did it with that ring. It's too early to marry the cowboy, but your daydream is lovely.

A fantasy proposal from the perfect guy with an equally perfect ring.

"Watcha daydreamin' 'bout?" Kissing your temple, Rhett drags you back into reality. How long has the movie been over?

Unwilling to share your self-indulgent thoughts, you offer up your best alternative, "world domination."

You've never seen him roll his eyes so hard.

In the middle of May, a package arrives in the mailbox, mysteriously addressed to you. Rhett doesn't see it; you've long since hijacked the chore of checking the mail, eager for any excuse to take Nyx out for a stroll. The sender's address is unfamiliar, but you're met with something you recognize when you tear it open.

That goddamn necklace.

"Do you think Rhett would like this for his birthday?" You ask Nyx, receiving little of a response. It's close, maybe three weeks at best.

Of all days, Rhett picks today to approach you on your trip back from the mailbox. You have to stuff the package beneath your bra to keep him from seeing it.

"Slight change in plans, darlin'," he grunts, wiping the sweat from his brow, "my dad wants to see us."

Oh boy.

Meeting him halfway for a kiss; it's customary by now. "Do you know what for?"

Rhett can only shrug, "I haven't the slightest clue."

He holds on to Nyx's reins as you run inside to put away the mail, the only thing stopping her from attempting to follow you inside. These aren't the circumstances you hoped to come home to; rushing around the house to find a place to hide this necklace. He'll find it above the fridge, and there's no way you can get away with hiding it under one of the couches. You feel like a chicken with its head cut off.

Beneath the mattress is the only valid option. Whoever looks down there, anyway?

"Did ya get lost?" Is the first thing you hear when you step back outside.

"Took a wrong turn and ended up in Canada," sarcasm dripping from your tone as you climb back onto Nyx's back.

Like a puppy, Rhett's head cocks to the side, "Canada?"

Wait.

"Is there...not a country named Canada north of us?" You're not sure how to go about this. Does this world not have a Canada?

Rhett's eyes meet yours.

He crumbles.

His shoulders quaking with his laughter, so wildly proud of himself that he can hardly contain it. But, God, you could shove him off his horse.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," he simpers, looking oh so pleased with himself, "I couldn't help myself." Who could have expected that he had such a sense of humor?

You reckon it's from all those sunburns he's garnered.

"You'd better hope you don't wind up in my home world for a day," carrying that same energy he did, "I'd never let you know a moment's peace."

"I haven't known peace since you told me about the square pizza boxes," grimacing at the mention of those boxes, "how are you meant to play box-frisbee with a square?"

Some of you would like to argue that sane people don't play frisbee with pizza boxes.

The ride to his parent's home feels short now that you've done it so many times. Nyx knows the routine so well that she requires no direction; you reckon she could do it with her eyes closed. Sidling up to the gate so you can open it, mirroring the act when it comes time to push it closed again.

She does not, however, like the farm hand that comes to take her and Isabela into the paddock.

"She's gonna bite that boy one day," Rhett observes as you head in through the side door.

"Probably," but what can you do about an angry kelpie? Perry doesn't even mess with her.

Nobody is in the kitchen. Or the five dining rooms or the two living rooms. Wandering up and down the endless hallways, peeking into every room you come across. It's a wonder how this is only a house for two people. Who needs so many bedrooms and two massive libraries?

Upstairs brings you little luck, but at least you find Rhett's childhood bedroom by yourself. It wasn't there the last time, but now an old stuffed dog sits on the foot of the bed, barely capable of standing on its own.

"Is this your stuffed animal?" You ask when he steps into the room.

Rhett grins at the sight of the old thing, "yeah, that's Toast."

The name fits the little guy perfectly. A light brown body with dark brown feet and a spot on his left eye. Visibly loved, its fur matted and missing in places.

"I almost feel bad for defiling his home like we did," every time you look at this little twin bed, you remember that night, especially what happened the morning after.

There's no need for you to look to know that Rhett's cheeks are heating up; you can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Arms wind around your waist, burying his hot face into the back of your neck.

Bad move. Now you can grind your ass into him without effort, and his mouth is so close to your ear that it's impossible to miss that sharp inhale.

"Darlin', we don't have time." Maybe there isn't enough time to get him in you, but there's always time for...

In the blink of an eye, you turn and sink to your knees, nuzzling your cheek against the rapidly growing hardness beneath that zipper. Hands plant themselves on the dresser behind you, grasping onto the wood for dear life. Rhett's looking at you like you've grown a second head, but that eager grin cannot be easily washed away.

"Alright, you little monster," he breathes, "have it your way."

Gladly.

You're wondering if he will ever turn down a blowjob by this point. The closest thing to a no was the time you leaned over the bench seat of his truck during a long drive, and even then, he didn't say no. Instead, merely asked you to hold on until he could pull over on the side of the road.

The zipper of these jeans is finicky, the end of the pull tab has broken off, making it particularly difficult for you to get ahold of. Your nails can barely get around the edges, pulling it down until you've enough space to reach in.

One of these days, you'll take up sewing and fix this damn thing since Rhett refuses to throw them out.

He jumps when your hand closes around him, muttering something about your fingers being a little cold, but that doesn't stop him from twitching in your palm. Thick in your hand, already half-hard by the time you free him from those briefs. Rapidly reddening around that mushroom head, begging you to run your tongue along the underside.

"Goddamn," hissing under your teasing touch, "that feels good, baby, but I don't think we have ti—hah~!"

Your lips stretch wide around his length as you take him into your mouth, suckling softly on his head. There's already an ache blooming in your jaw, still sore from being stretched around his cock yesterday afternoon. Downright addicted to his heaviness on your tongue, to how his breath catches when you hollow your cheeks around him.

Those strong hips of his struggle to remain still; even as you take hold of them and try to force them still, they manage to wriggle. Slow at first, adjusting to the angle and working up a rhythm, pointing your tongue to massage the thick vein running along the underside of his cock. Rhett reaches behind himself, patting the bed until he finds something.

You can't believe what you've just witnessed.

"Did you just turn the dog around?" Popping off of him just long enough to speak, jaw feeling like jelly.

His hand falls to the back of your head, impatiently coaxing you back down onto him, "Toast doesn't need to see this."

This time, you've warmed up, a little more confident about sinking further down, until that dripping head reaches the back of your throat. It's difficult to suppress your gag reflex, but there's nothing better than the pitchy whimper that blesses your ears.

"Baby, baby," he stammers, struggling to keep himself from squirming right out of your mouth, "your throat, fuck."

Drawing back, you take a deep breath through your nose and sink right back down. Forcing your throat to relax as that familiar cock nudges the back of it, bordering discomfort. All of that is rewarded by those little whispered praises showered upon you like rain. How are your reflexes meant to bug you when Rhett's eyes flutter like that? Mouth falling open, soft moans dripping off his tongue.

Downstairs, a door slams, and familiar voices echo about the house.

Royal and Cecelia are here.

Writhing, Rhett tries to step back, but you plant your hands on his ass, holding him there. You're not down here for nothing. It only lets you pay attention to that leaking slit, flicking your tongue against it while he tries to escape the feeling.

"Parents are—" cut off by a strangled noise when you sink further down again, "my parents are h-here."

Stubborn, you go on, don't plan on stopping unless he directly tells you to. His body jolts like a live wire when you hum around him, acknowledging his issues, offering no solution. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision, but they're nothing more than obstacles.

Your nose touches the soft skin of his lower belly; Rhett clamps his spare hand over his mouth, the other gripping the back of your head as tight as he can without hurting you. Later, your voice will be absolutely destroyed, but there's no backing out now.

Here he is. Your big cowboy whimpering into his own palm as you suck him off in his childhood bedroom. Helpless to do nothing but take it.

Drawing back a bit, you swallow around him, completely, utterly mesmerized by how he trembles from it. Then it's back to working your mouth over his length, up and down, deep strokes reaching your throat. Never giving him a chance to recover from the last.

Even the hand over his mouth cannot fully muffle those sweet little whines slipping through the gaps of his fingers. Chest heaving like he's run a mile, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. That swollen cock twitches, forcing you to pull back before you gag.

He's close.

And it's back to paying attention to his tip, working the rest of him with your hand. One deep inhale. Two. Three. All you need is one more flick of your tongue against the underside of that head, and he cums, filling your mouth and painting your pretty lips with it. You're thankful that he came once this morning; otherwise, there would be much more to deal with.

Poor Rhett looks like he's just come from another planet, eyes half-lidded and dopey as he pulls you up to your feet. Shamelessly kissing the cum off your lips, in that cozy, post-orgasm neediness of his.

"Can't tell if you're an angel," kissing you again, "or a fucking menace."

You like to think you're both.

By the time you get back out into the hallway, Royal's stepping onto the floor, looking back and forth like he's looking for something. That something must be the two of you because he quits looking around when his eyes land upon your frames.

"Sorry if we kept y'all waitin'," motioning down the opposite direction of the hallway, "follow me; I need to show you something."

There's another study hidden at the end of the corridor, identical to the multitude of others that you saw downstairs. Only this one looks lived in. The shelves full of books, an enormous mahogany desk covered in knick-knacks, and miscellaneous papers with too many words.

Rhett's quiet next to you, toying with your knuckles. Too quiet.

Royal doesn't notice it, too busy flipping through a small book the size of your palm. Looking for something specific, but he struggles to read the tiny inscriptions that sprawl about the pages. Then he stops. Flicks back a page.

"I know about the hole that brought you here."

You'd rather if he walked over and decked you right in the face. "What?"

"It's a wormhole that can only be opened with the flower that it is connected to," placing a sticky note on the page, he hands the book to you, recounting the lore like it's everyday gossip, "you need the flower to go back home."

The book is tiny in your trembling hand, but the words on the page recount everything Royal told you. The flower is like a key; to go back, you need it to open the wormhole.

But there's a catch.

Rhett's already asking the question burning in the back of your mind, "and you couldn't have told her this before?"

"Because the last thing your mother needs to hear—"

"—hear what, Royal?"

How long has Cecelia been behind you?

Her frail body trembles like a leaf as she steps past you, not with distress, though. "What is the last thing you think I need to hear?"

Royal is silent.

"You two should head home," she continues when her husband refuses to yield, "I don't want you to be a part of this."

You and Rhett need no further instruction, scampering out the door like a pair of rodents. The door shuts before their argument continues, muffling whatever expletives Cecelia has to say to her husband. In your hand, the notebook feels like it weighs a million pounds, heavy to look at.

This whole time, you could have gone home.

"Are you okay?" Rhett asks at the bottom of the stairs.

"I don't know," it pains you to say it.

The book tells you that you could have gone back home simply by placing the flower petals on the ground. No spells, no stress required. This entire time. You could have been home. Your mother wouldn't be worried sick about what could have happened to you. Fuck, they probably think you're dead by now.

You could have dropped the flower on the ground that night, and you would have gone right back home.

Strong hands grip your arms, thumbs soothing circles into your skin; you're not sure when Rhett stepped in front of you, but he's here. Gazing into your eyes, searching for any scrap of emotion that can tell him what's happening and how he can help. Your lips are moving, trying to formulate words that no longer exist.

"It's not much, but...do you want a hug?" That watery smile suggests he might need one himself.

Yeah. Yeah, you think you'd like that.

The feeling of Rhett's arms around you never changes; you never want it to. Warm, cradling you into him as if you're made of glass, neck welcoming you as you bury your face into it. Where he smells the most like him. Rhett Abbott smells like petrichor and fresh-cut hay with the faintest bit of leather. All those things dancing together as old lovers do, well-versed in their craft, gracing you with such perfection that it makes your heart flutter.

You don't know what you would do without this man.

This big ruse of Royal's has cost you everything you have ever known. Your old life, family, home, everything you have ever known.

But it's given you something in return.

It's given you a chance to meet a man you would never have. A blue-eyed cowboy with his three-headed mare and a heart full of more gold than his cattle could ever produce. And you wouldn't trade it for the world.

And maybe that's why you're not as destroyed about this as you think you should be. Because your life, your home, is right here in your arms. It may not be perfect or how you wanted it to come about, but as you dissolve into laughter over Nyx's whistling and a farm hands mortified squeal, you know that this is where you belong.

"How's about we head home before Nyx eats that stableboy?" You've been spending too much time with Rhett; you're starting to talk like he does.

He catches it too, grins from ear to ear like a fool, "you sound mighty fine with my accent comin' out in ya'."

If he does that again, you think you might be sick.

That's all made up for when he serves as your personal guide to getting out of this maze of a home. Maps need to be posted on the end of every hallway, telling you where you are and where the closest exit is because, good lord, you do not know where you're going. The shortcut Rhett chooses leads you straight through the living room, where Cecelia sat you down and told you about Rhett's 'past.'

By the door sits that picture frame containing the old pressed flower, brown with age. Color barely clings to its petals, a hint of something purple.

"Rhett?" He stops, eyebrows raising, ready for your question, "what's this flower?"

"All I know is that ma's had it since before I was born," carefully reaching down to slide it out of harm's way, "and she'll skin me alive if I break the frame playing baseball again."

Little Rhett playing baseball. That's quite an image.

"Can you even catch a ball?" Teasing, as you follow him through the kitchen, you can already see Isabela and Nyx.

"Hardly," winking, "but I sure can catch a woman."

Do you have to resist elbowing him after he opens the door for you?

Yes.

Yes, you do.

You don't know how long you spend staring at this tiny notebook at home. With its two pages of instruction and little to no detail. 'Place the flower on the ground to go back, but know that you may only use the key once.'

It sits on the nightstand for days on end. Waiting to be picked up, reread, and placed back down in a fit of confusion and heartache. Your old life, but at the cost of Rhett and everything you've come to know.

What's worse, you still have no idea where the flower went. Nor do you know who took it from the vase while you were gone. You hate to admit it, but you've forgotten about that old purple flower and the others that sprouted that November.

Who could've thought that flowers at the end of November would have caused all this?

Your decision isn't much of one, all things considered, but it comes to you in the simplest of things.

There's a morning when you wake up alone. Not an uncommon feat, considering Rhett's lifestyle and your unofficial spoiled housewife status, but there's something different about this morning compared to all the others. Rhett's fumbling around in the kitchen, swearing up and down as something sizzles angrily on the burner.

The aroma gracing your nose is familiar, but you're too sleepy to identify it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," like a magician, Rhett appears in the doorway, balancing a wooden tray, "keep that cute ass in bed, Missy."

It's not until he places it in your lap that you realize what he's done.

"You made me breakfast?" God, you feel like you're dreaming; your voice doesn't sound familiar.

"You make it for me all the time," he beams, kissing your cheek, "figured I'd return the favor."

The toast is slightly burnt, and the bacon could have been cut into smaller pieces before he cooked it, but it's breakfast. He's arranged the two eggs and the bacon to create a smiley face; you can't wait for the Kettles to start laying, so you don't have to resort to the store-bought ones.

And it's this.

You could wake up to this every day for the rest of your life and never get tired of it. You want to wake up next to Rhett every day for the rest of your life. You want to walk out that door every morning and be alarmed by the sound your new chickens make, to roll your eyes at Nyx and the things she gets up to.

You make it a point to ride over and leave the notebook on Royal and Cecelia's front porch. No words, no confrontation needed. It wasn't your decision to come here, but it's your decision to stay.

The necklace stays hidden below the bed for weeks.

Every so often, you take it out and run it through your hands, wondering if Rhett's going to like this. It feels like there needs to be more, though. Not personalized enough to be capable of standing on its own as a special gift.

What starts out as a list of ideas turns into days of rewriting the same letter over and over again. Never written the same, but always recounting all the little things, all the reasons why you're so hopelessly...

in love with him.

Those three words still feel foreign, uncharted territory that has yet to be explored. Or, maybe you've been exploring that dark, haunting forest this entire time and are now opening your eyes to it. The letters never feel perfect. In the moment, they are masterpieces written by the greatest scholars to have ever lived. But, the next day, they might as well be the ramblings of a drunkard.

Rhett's not helping your nerves, either, because he starts to act strange a few days before his birthday.

It's hard to miss the sound of his truck starting that morning; he returns midday. You don't think much of it until he tells you he was out looking for a specific supplement for Isabela. The thing is, you were with him when he bought four bags of it last week. Isabela may have three mouths, but she doesn't go through her supplements that quickly.

You've only got another day to write this letter; tomorrow is his birthday, but you've got nothing. You can't focus when Rhett is an hour late coming home again. Beat-up pickup missing from the driveway, and he's not answering his phone.

The necklace sits on top of your stack of discarded papers, menacing, taunting you simply by being there. It's as if it's read every word and knows the solution you're seeking but refuses to share.

Should have never entered the game for this damn thing.

When the front door squeaks open, the sun is halfway set, bathing the house in a plume of orange and red. "Sweetie?"

You don't want to acknowledge Rhett's presence, but you have no choice. The last thing you need is for him to come looking for you and find this necklace a day early. He's idling in the doorway, thumbs tucked into his pockets, afraid to walk across the clean floor with his boots on.

"You're awfully late," trying your best to sound upset.

Rhett fiddles with the ripped brim of his hat, "I know," taking it off, he motions toward the door, "I...have something to show you."

Truly, you don't know what the hell to say. Something to show you?

Despite the warm weather and summer right around the corner, you have to fetch a jacket and some shoes. There are a handful of jackets on your side of the closet, but you reach for one of Rhett's instead. Recently worn, still carries his cologne like a badge of honor.

Patiently, he waits for you in the kitchen, still toying with that tear on his beloved hat.

"You're fixin' to make that tear worse," you tease, stepping into your shoes, "and neither of us has the means to fix it."

"It's just a hat," at least, that's what he's telling himself; Cecelia's let it slip that it was an eighteenth birthday present from his old buddies. Of course, it's more than just a hat.

Outside looks no different.

You're expecting a new chicken coop or a third horse, but nothing has changed. Isabela grazes in the field like always; Nyx has her head submerged in the water trough, blowing bubbles. There are still four chickens; the barn doors are closed. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

Aside from one thing, Rhett's truck is inside the fence.

"Is it something down in the field?" Clearly, it must be something involving it since that's where you're headed.

Rhett winks at you, "you'll see."

There's takeout in the passenger seat, the name on the bag oh so familiar. Miss Molly's. But that isn't all of it; there's a second bag, unmarked, but you recognize it from the cafe the two of you visited when you first met. Still, you receive no explanation on what's going on or how he got this without you noticing. All he does is drive.

"Is this what you've been up to all week?" The silence is killing you, forcing you to voice your curiosities.

His eyelashes flutter like butterflies, fighting a smile. A light appears in the distance.

Oh.

Just below the hill lies a neatly laid-out blanket, surrounded with little golden lights and two big food trays that he's snuck out of your kitchen. Fake candles scatter around it, their artificial lights dancing like real ones. Wine glasses rest on the food trays next to a bottle of wine that looks far too out of place for a backyard picnic. Completed by a picture-perfect view of the sunset, the ocean of water on Perry's pasture shimmers with the sun's reflection.

"What...do you think?" Rhett squirms in his seat, your stunned silence driving him into unease. So this is what he's been planning all along. There aren't enough words in the English language to comprehend how much you love this.

But your smile.

Your smile is enough.

Slowly, Rhett starts to chuckle, "yeah?" God, he looks so proud of himself.

"I love it," and with that said, you lean right over and steal a kiss from his lips.

In the time it takes you to settle down on the blanket, Nyx's ghostly figure appears on the horizon, her ghostly figure moseying her way down to join you. No haste to her step, simply out for her leisurely stroll to see what you're doing.

"I have to admit," tapping the wine bottle with his fingernail, "I have no idea where this came from, but it was above the fridge."

You've never seen it either, but it looks like the kind of wine that costs a limb or two. The label tells you that only two thousand bottles were produced, but its history is written in a language you don't recognize. A gift from dear old mom and dad?

He's remembered your orders right down to the tiniest of details. Sauce, additives, sides, everything. You almost feel bad. You only remember what he got from Miss Molly's because you tasted it when you kissed him that evening.

"Thank you for doing this," you chirp in between bites of your pastry, finally beginning to process it.

Next to you, Rhett lights up brighter than the setting sun, but only briefly, because he's evidently forgotten something. "There's one more thing," patting his pockets brings up nothing, "shit, wait, did I leave it in that jacket?"

Cautious, you reach into the pockets of the jacket you're wearing. There's something heavy on your right, a smooth and cold object in your hand. Another broken horn.

"Nope, but that must be where I misplaced that thing," babbling to himself, Rhett rechecks his pockets, searching through all the nooks he can find. He's just beginning to stand when he spots it; a little blue box sitting in the grass behind him. "Close your eyes for me?"

Obedient, your eyes close, struggling to remain that way when he takes your hand. All you can focus on is how hot his palm is, burning up with an invisible flame.

"I know this isn't much, but..." he pauses, audibly licking his lips, "I want you to have this." Something cold settles into your hand. "So that every time you look at your finger, you remember."

Big hands curl around your cheeks, coaxing your eyes open. All you see is him, messy hair, and those ocean blues that never fail to wash you away in their beauty. The dainty object in your palm is long forgotten; you can't bring yourself to tear your gaze away from him.

Is this real?

"I can't imagine a day in my life without you," his voice breaks, gradually becoming watery, "and I promise you that as long as my heart's still beatin', I'm gonna be there." With every word, he shakes a little harder, trembling just like your quivering heart is.

Pushing your noses together, those final words tumble off his tongue, "I love you," breath hitching, "and ain't nothin' in this world can get between that."

It's the ring. The one you'd been staring at when you visited the jewelry store a few months ago. Even tinier now that it's in your hand, shining with the light of the sunset.

He went back and got it for you.

"Rhett," it's all you can say, tongue suddenly heavy, vision becoming blurry as something wet runs down your cheek.

But in typical Rhett fashion, he doesn't need words to understand what you're trying to tell him. Instead of waiting for you to force words off your lips, he kisses that tear off your cheek. One, two, three, four kisses that eventually lead up to your forehead.

He saves the best one for your lips, something borderline fragile that soothes the quiver in your bones; this is just you and Rhett, after all. There's no need to be so nervous.

The ring slides onto your chosen finger perfectly. You've got a sneaking suspicion that he must have measured your finger while you were asleep because nothing fits this well.

A large nose presses into the side of your head.

"Nyx!" Squealing, you push her nose away; how long has she been there?

"She's been tryin' to sneak up for a while now," Rhett's comment garners the mare's attention, turning her nosiness on him. Not even his cowboy hat can stop her from shoving her nose into the side of his head, knocking it clean off.

Here you have this perfect sunset and a picnic, and Nyx is terrorizing your cowboy.

There is only one way to memorialize this; you fish out your phone and take a picture.

"Wow," feigning hurt, "and you're not fixin' to save me? What next, y'gonna take my hat too?" Well, now that he mentions it...

Those eyes roll so far back that you can hardly see his pupils; his hat is still too big for your head, but you can see the appeal of these things.

As quickly as she had arrived, Nyx heads off, bothered by something further up the fence line. Probably that snake again. The little dude has set up camp here, and she's taken it personally.

The ring feels strange on your finger, your body not entirely adjusted to the sensation of it yet. You can't wait for a day when you feel odd without it on. There are so many details in the design, things you could barely see in the showcase; the longer you look at it, the giddier he becomes.

"I thought I was gonna explode when I had to hide it from ya'," he admits, popping the cork from the wine bottle.

"You're a horrible liar," holding your glass out so he can pour it easier, "buying supplements that you just got? Really?" Maybe it's your teasing that drives him to take the first sip, immediately making a face. Surely it can't be that bad.

"Heurgh," holding the glass as far away as you can get it, "that should have stayed on the fridge." It tastes like alcohol and cheap, grape-flavored medicine. The kind that's meant to taste good but feels like a personal insult once it touches your tongue.

Rhett's beyond words, face scrunched, "cheap beer would have been a better move."

Hooves thunder across the ground, a shrill hiss rippling through the air, livid. Nyx stops next to you. Her ears lay flat against her neck. Hissing for as long as her massive lungs will allow.

"Autumn?" Abruptly, Rhett stands, "how many times have I told you not to come onto my property?"

Autumn stands halfway down the hill. Frozen stiff now that you've laid eyes on her. The only thing that moves is the hair on her head, blowing idly in the wind.

And then she smiles. Toothy. "I found something that I believe belongs to you."

Reaching into her pocket, she produces a notebook. Suspiciously similar to the one you returned to Royal a few weeks ago. Nyx fusses loudly as she heads down the hill, holding out the notebook for you to take.

Your fingers close around it, but she doesn't let go.

Her eyes meet yours, "you don't belong here."

Purple hits you in the face.

What?

Blinking, you rub at your face, brushing whatever she threw onto the ground. She's already halfway up the hill, heading back to where she came from.

Overhead, thunder rolls, small waves rippling through Perry's pond. How long have those heavy clouds been up there? Surely they weren't there this entire time...right?

"You alright?" Rhett's asking, dusting something from your shoulders, "what are these? Flower petals?"

The hair on the back of your neck stands up as an invisible gate squeals open, deep, heavy. Bringing with it the rain. Heavy. Thick sheets of white that beat against you with such incredible force that it hurts. Wind howling like coyotes, whipping around your bodies. A hurricane in the blink of an eye.

Flower petals.

Purple flower petals.

"She opened up the hole." Your voice feels detached. Like it's already been sucked away.

As if burned by the ground, you jump away from where the petals lie. A black goo bubbles up from beneath the Earth. Rhett's got ahold of you, pulling you back toward the safety of the fence line, away from it. Neither of you can speak. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

Lightning strikes the ground beside you, an ear-splitting crack ringing out.

"I've got you, I've got you," Rhett's pulling you into him, barely audible over the wind, rain, and the angrily splashing waves from Perry's side of the fence. Even the Kelpies dislike it. Fleeing the waters. Whistling. Hissing.

Hands tremble as you cling to his body, holding him tightly. You can see the hole. A dark pit opening up from the ground. Widening. Feels like it's coming toward you.

"Please don't let go of me," quivering like a leaf, you squeeze as close to Rhett as possible.

"'m not gonna let you go," he promises, stepping further down the fence line, away from the hole, "I promise, baby, you're not goin' anywhere."

The candles that sit by your picnic spot are the only indication of where you are, faithfully glowing. The rain is so thick that you can hardly see a few inches from your face, even when Rhett's old hat blocks most of it, the water draining off it like a damn gutter. By your feet, water sloshes in from Perry's side, the tide rising angrily.

"It'll close," stepping in tandem with you, Rhett's a brick wall between you and the elements, shielding you from them, "we're okay; we're not close to it."

Gradually, the lights become closer, until finally, you're standing right on top of your ruined picnic. Shivering, squirming into Rhett's chest to escape the cold.

"We're okay," he repeats, blurring his face into your neck, "it can't get to us."

For a moment, your world goes dark, quiet.

Pain explodes in your back. Tumbling head over heels as something sweeps you off your feet. A tidal wave right off Perry's farm. Something sharp nips at your exposed skin, tangling around your legs. Lungs burning. You can't figure out which way is up or where you're moving.

Until something seizes you by the collar. Rips you up to the surface.

"Are you okay?" You hear Rhett before you see him. Gasping for air. Struggling to open your eyes. He's yelling your name. Capturing your attention.

On their own, your hands grab on. Grasping each other's forearms with everything you've got. Your right arm stings. You can't move it, don't know why.

"Rhett!" Fighting against what's latched onto you.

Your hands are slipping. Too wet. Too much movement.

"I'm not letting go," coughing, he grabs onto you with his spare hand, holding tight, "I promise."

Wriggling, your arm slips free of what's holding onto you. It stings. Fresh cuts oozing blood. You don't care. You're grabbing onto Rhett, and you're not letting go.

Again, you pull yourselves closer, fighting the water that has swallowed you up. There's so much of it. You can't see where it ends.

"See?" Rhett's wet nose bumps into your cheek, "what did I say?" He hasn't let you go.

This time, you see it before it hits. A large, towering wave aiming directly at you. Time seems to slow as it begins to fall, gravity carrying it back down. The light in Rhett's eye fades, face falling.

He knows.

You know.

Like a heavy fist, the wave strikes you. Rhett's got your wrist in an iron grip, bruising. Your nails claw at his skin, scrambling for more purchase. The water slips through your fingers, working its way into the gab.

It rips you apart.

And the wave carries you back under. A pair of invisible hands dragging you below the surface. You're too weak to fight it. No matter how hard you kick and flail. It only pulls you further down. Throwing your body around like a rag doll.

A whistle ripples through the water.

Nyx.

Her legs no longer look the same. Instead, they're a mass of vines. You can't see them, but you can feel them. Wrapping around you. Pulling you into her robust and sturdy body. She's turning around. Attempting to retreat to safety on dry land. But it's not enough. Darkness encompasses around your vision as you're momentarily thrust out of the water.

Rhett cries out your name.

and you

fall.

You think you might fall for the rest of your life.

The hole is silent, but your head is loud. Rhett's voice bounces around your skull like a spring. All you can hear is him crying your name. What once was mind-numbingly loud slowly becomes fainter.

No,

no,

no.

"Rhett?" You call out.

This is just a dream. This is all just a big, fucked up nightmare. You're still in bed. Rhett's right there with you. That's not Nyx. That's Rhett. That's him who's wrapped around you. Snuggling you into that big chest until you can wake up from this hell.

"Rhett!"

But he doesn't come.

He can't.

And then that strong gust of wind catches you, blowing you back toward a blinding light. You wish it were bringing you back to your cowboy. Your boyfriend. The man you're so, completely, utterly in love with.

But as Nyx's body starts to warp, muscles painfully contorting and bones clicking into place, you know you're not returning to that magical world. Her whiny is foreign, pitchy, and unlike any sound, she's ever made.

Rhett. Your home. Is gone forever.

All you see is green as you come crashing into it with a painful thunk. Nyx lands next to you, and for a moment, her pained squeal is enough to make you forget.

"Are you okay?" Rubbing her neck. She seems confused by her own noises but gets up to her feet all the same. Not minding any of her legs. Hasn't gone lame. She's okay. Wetly, something hits the ground nearby, startling both of you.

Rhett's hat.

Absolutely soaking wet, but it's his hat. Same tear and all. As you bend down to pick it up, you hear your name. And there, you see your mother's face for the first time in months.

You've been missing for nearly seven months. Not one person believes your story.

They try to take you to the hospital. You've disappeared without a trace and reappeared months later with a horse that nobody has seen before. Nobody hears your ramblings about a cowboy who doesn't exist; the girl stitching your wounds suggests drugs, but that doesn't explain Nyx. Or the cowboy hat that they so desperately want to admit as evidence.

Now, you realize that you got caught on Rhett's barbed wire fencing. Mauling your skin, some places require stitches, but you can hardly feel a scratch. How are you meant to pay attention to such a thing when your heart aches for a man out of reach? Who doesn't exist in this world?

Your mother doesn't know what to think when you retell her the events of the past couple of months. You don't think she believes you when you talk about the golden-hearted cowboy who took you in, who you slowly fell in love with. She tries bringing you to a doctor, but they tell her you're fine.

The phone in your pocket is the only indicator that you may be telling the truth. It carries the only images of Rhett that you have, the only proof of his existence. You can hardly look at them, the phone lying hidden in your bedside drawer. Every time you see his face, your heart begins to ache with something you can never soothe.

"This was the night before I came back," you try to tell her one afternoon. The image of Nyx with her nose shoved into Rhett's ear shines brightly on your screen, that big old smile on his face that you'll never see again.

It's the first time she's seen him, and she has no idea what to say. You suppose you can't blame her.

The horn that Rhett forgot in your pocket is a miracle in disguise. As much as it pains you to do it, you make the call to sell it for the gold. It sells for more than it's worth because it's connected to a missing persons case. Come to find out, bidders will do anything for a piece of mysterious history that isn't theirs.

With the money, you buy the house and the land around you. It may not be the Abbott ranch you knew, but you'll be damned if you don't try to keep it together. A few locals volunteer to help build a barn for Nyx; it's constructed a month after your return. With two stalls. One nameplate has the name Nyx inscribed on it, and the other, Isabela. Nobody understands the reference.

And that ring.

You wear it around your ring finger. To anyone who asks, you tell them you're married to a man named Rhett. He'd probably roll his eyes if he walked in and heard you saying that, but you don't know how to say that your heart may never belong to someone else. You know it to be true when a friend surprises you by bringing along a man she thinks you'll be interested in.

He's nice, but he's not Rhett. He doesn't take his shoes off at the front door because he doesn't want to muck up your floors. Doesn't enjoy your cooking as Rhett did; the way he looks at you is nothing compared to how your cowboy did.

Rhett's hat sits on a special holder mounted to your bedroom wall. It's bad luck, you know, but you always place it on the opposite pillow when you go to bed; it's the closest thing you'll get to having him. Bad luck cannot get to you when you've nothing to lose.

There are flowers in November.

When you go to bed, the backyard is nothing but green, not a thing to be astray.

This time, you don't mistake them for Autumn leaves because this time, your heart cannot be fooled by their tricky colors. A sea of red, yellow, and orange cover every inch of your property. The simple sight of them has your heart stopping in its tracks.

Nyx thinks they're lunch.

Your mother thinks it's crazy.

You hunt all afternoon, but you find no purple flower. Only yellow, red, and orange. "I don't suppose you would know why these flowers only come in November?" You ask your unruly mare as she munches away. The vet says they won't hurt her, but this consumption of her's feels excessive.

Her tail swishes, the closest to an 'I don't know' that you're going to get.

As the sun sets, you decide that a ride is in order. You just went out for one yesterday, but you justify it by telling yourself that you've got nothing to better to do. This ride has nothing to do with your selfish hope of finding another purple flower.

Briefly, you consider wearing Rhett's hat, but the last time you wore it, the damn thing blew clean off your head. Too big to fit. Instead, you squirm into his old jacket; it no longer smells like him, but wrapping yourself in it feels like being wrapped in his arms. Big. Warm. Secure.

Nyx fusses at you as you get her ready; it's still strange to hear her make such horse-like noises, but they're her new favorite thing. So excessively loud any chance she gets, always so excited to make some noise. Never quite sounds natural; her whinnies sound more like chirps.

You wish Rhett could be here to see you doing all this by yourself.

You take only one route; a worn-down trail of grass marks it. Give it a few years, and you may have a proper dirt path. Looping down where the fence line should be, heading straight for the North pasture, where that old rickety house lies.

Walking up to it is like walking up to an old friend. You know these walls better than you know yourself; can hear the secrets they tell. Nyx's ears never fail to prick at the sight of it. Of course, she would never admit it if she were a human, but you can tell she misses her friends too.

Even Rhett, though she probably hasn't forgiven him for the fireworks.

And then it's back down the driveway that doesn't exist, but you know it so well that you can almost see that path of dirt and rock. Following the road until you can locate the shortcut back to your home, just around where Royal and Cecelia's home should be.

These flowers cover every inch of the land like a big blanket. Nyx is determined to snatch a few bites; they must taste good; you'd give them a try if you didn't fear what they'd do to you. For all you know, eating too many may also turn you into a flower. It gets a little warm, forcing you to push your sleeves up.

Scarring sprawls across your right arm, where you became tangled in that barbed wire. The skin on your legs looks much of the same. The doctor says it'll fade with time, but you're not sure about that. Even the sight of it pains you, but your heart doesn't know if it wants them to stay or vanish forever.

Darkness has fallen by the time you get back. Nyx is ready for you to get off, eager to return to what she was doing before you interrupted.

"Will you hold on?" Nyx is so dead set on getting that saddle off that she's decided to start 'helping.' Reaching back to bite at what little she can grab. Asshole. Only serves to make your job harder because God forbid she gives you an easy day.

"There!" Throwing your hands up when you're done. "Are you happy now?"

Very, actually. She looks at you and darts out into the connected pasture, trotting along the fence line. All that fuss, and for what? To roll in the damn grass until she changes color again? Then she stops short; ears pricked as she stares toward your house. But there's nothing there; your porch light is bright enough to illuminate most of the backyard, and you don't see a damn thing.

Something thin swooshes through the air and falls around you, tightening around your waist.

...no

Turning, you come to face a dark figure who has stepped out from the side of your barn. The barn flood light shining behind them makes it impossible to see their face; all you can see is a dark silhouette. Your breath catches in your throat.

That smile.

That goddamn smile.

You're hallucinating. There's no way that this is what you think it is.

But then tears well in those big blue eyes, and he breathes your name so softly that it's lost in the breeze that blows past.

One step forward, and you find yourself crushed in his arms, completely lifted off the ground. This doesn't feel real. But only Rhett Abbott smells of petrichor, fresh-cut hay, and leather. Only Rhett has arms that hold you like you're made of glass, and only Rhett looks at you like you've hung the moon and stars in the sky.

There's no way.

"How...?" You refuse to believe this is happening, but Rhett's cheeks feel very, very real beneath your palms.

"I made you a promise that I intend to keep," his voice barely a whisper as he speaks, like this will end if he says it too loudly, "didn't I?"

The ring on your trembling finger glistens.

And for the first time in forever, he kisses you. It's too shaky to amount to much, a locking of trembling, unsure lips that don't know what to do with themselves, but it's everything you could have ever asked for.

From around the side of your house emerges Isabela. One-headed, looking somewhat confused, until Nyx whinnies, and she bolts toward the fence. Yanking her lead out from the hands of...

"Cecelia?" She's the last person you expect to see, but there she is. A little worse for wear, her hair is a mess, but it's her.

There are so many things to be caught up on; you can see it in both of their eyes, but now, Isabela is about to take down the gate. There's no stopping her, the best you can do is one it up and let her bolt inside.

"It's weird seeing her with only one head," you can't quit looking at her; can't quit looking at Rhett and his momma.

"I don't think I'll ever recover from watching them morph together," Rhett's nose scrunching as he recounts it. His hair is shorter, barely long enough to curl around his ears.

They begin to talk as you head into the house. You really wish you'd cleaned because the place is a wreck, but neither of them seems bothered. Rhett hardly even perceives it; all he sees is you.

As it turns out, the land you live on once belonged to Cecelia's father, and that flower in the frame was the one that brought her to Royal's world. She, like you, woke up one day to find flowers at the end of November.

"I picked the same flower when I was twenty-three," Cecelia tells you, sitting across from you in the armchair, "I had a whole life, a family here, just like you. And in a couple of seconds, I lost all of it."

Rhett squeezes your hand as if he's reassuring the both of you that this is real; it's so strange to see him sitting on your couch.

"Royal knew there was a way for me to go home," she croaks, biting her nails, "and for forty-three years, he kept that to himself." Vaguely, you recall their argument when you were given the notebook.

Shortly after your disappearance, the police started investigating Perry for the death of the horse. Ransacking the ranch for evidence of the crime. Dogs found some of the pieces Rhett buried, and all of a sudden, he was the prime suspect.

"I gave up on coming back a long time ago," weakly, she smiles at her son, "but Rhett has been so hell-bent on finding you that it made me want to try again."

Those pale cheeks light up something fierce, bright red, as he buries his face into your shoulder. Around his neck lies a thin leather necklace. It's turned around, the golden pendant resting on the back of his neck.

His birthday present.

God, how have you managed to forget about it?

Cecelia's dead on her feet, more than happy to trudge off to the spare bedroom for the night. You think she's snoring before she even hits the mattress.

Just as you shut her door, Rhett sneaks up behind you, wrapping his big body around yours as he peppers your cheek with kisses, "you wouldn't happen to have my favorite hat, would ya?"

Rather than speaking, you take him by the hand, guiding him into your bedroom, and it's so, completely, utterly mind-boggling to see him standing in this room. The room that you never thought he'd get to see.

"On a normal day, I'd call you crazy for puttin' this on the bed," lifting it by the crown, he places it on top of his head. And all is right in the world. "But I'd like to think today isn't a normal day."

The mattress squeaks as he sits on the edge, opening his arms for you to step into. You've almost forgotten what it feels like to have these arms wrapped around your waist, but nothing in this world can make you forget what it feels like to see that loving grin as he looks up at you.

"You found your necklace," you mutter, turning it around to sit correctly on his neck.

"I'm glad you weren't there to see me ballin' my damn eyes out over it," but that watery grin tells you that you may witness it anyhow.

A tear escapes; is quickly wiped away by your ring finger. He catches the glint of the stones in the light, grins, and presses a kiss to it when he finds the chance.

"I hope you didn't find that stack of letters," you never did finish them, did you?

"I read every single one," and then Rhett curls his hands around your cheeks, guiding you down to press your foreheads and noses together, "I love you too."

It's not the story anyone is expecting, never was the fairy tail that you thought you'd live through, but you wouldn't exchange it for anything else.

The police at the station are awfully surprised when a missing woman steps in to reclaim her identity forty years later. Just as surprised as you are when you notice two backpacks downstairs, full of every bit of gold they could carry. Rhett thinks it's hilarious because why would he ever leave his gold to his father and brother?

"Gotta take care of my baby, right?" He chuckles, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. He's brought his other baby, too. Toast. His little head poking out the top of the bag.

In the Spring, you hire a contractor to rebuild a little, rickety house out on the North pasture, with a barn and a gravel driveway that leads to the road. It takes months, but the final product is so spot on that you can hardly tell a difference. Except for one thing; the addition of two more bedrooms.

Cecelia takes up a job at a local store and insists on paying rent for your old house because she stays when you move out. She's got the opportunity to move to other places, but she's content to keep that old place warm. Of course, he'll never tell her, but Rhett takes the rent money and hides it in a basket above her fridge.

She'll find it eventually.

Rhett's the same man you fell in love with. This alternate world of yours takes a while for him to adjust to. Square pizza boxes are his nemesis. The altered street names confuse him. More than once, you have to come out and help him navigate this crazy new world.

He loves you the same way he did in his world. Kisses you before he leaves and as soon as he returns. He kisses your scars, too. Vows to never use barbed wire fencing again because he hates how it hurt you. You like to think that the scars fade because of how much he's loved on them.

There are flowers that November.

Rhett thinks they're Autumn leaves, freshly fallen from the old Oaks, but those trees shed the last of their leaves weeks ago. Just before December's start, flowers decorate every inch of your yard, splotches of red, yellow, and orange.

Something tells you that they'll do this every year, that you're going to wake up every November to find them. Dainty petals waving their hello's, in the same way as old friends do.

Nyx and Isabela think they make a fantastic lunch, eating them by mouthfuls. So do the new herd of cattle, a small bunch of heifers that come in every color. They're still skinny; Cecelia found them in a backyard auction, and Rhett's big old heart broke at the sight of them. Eleven more mouths to feed isn't that bad.

You're about to start cooking dinner when you get a phone call from Rhett, asking you to meet him in the pasture when you get a chance.

"Do you see this?" He chirps once you're within earshot.

A few paces away from his feet lies a dainty purple flower. Remarkably short, its petals fluttering in the wind.

"I see it," you wish you didn't, but you do.

For a while, all you can do is stare at it. Waiting on something to happen, but it never does. Rhett tosses a bucket over it to prevent the cows from thinking it's dinner. And then he waves you on to follow him.

"Where are we going?" You find yourself asking as he takes your hand into his own.

He smiles, big and wide. "We're goin' to the store and gettin' a bag of concrete mix."

There will always be flowers in November.

Just like there will always be a handsome cowboy to take you by the hand and whisk you off your feet.

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