“Even if that happens. I want to stay on Belle Island with you.”
The words had barely left her lips before she launched herself into his arms. He wrapped them around her, holding her close as if he never wanted to let go. She buried her face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the warmth of his embrace.
“And I choose you, Evie,” he whispered against her, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise we’ll make it work.”
Tears of joy and relief streamed down her face as she clung to him. All the uncertainty and fear that had plagued her melted away in the face of his support and love.
“I’m sorry I ever considered leaving,” she said, pulling back to look into his eyes. “I was just so scared of losing the cottage, of not having a plan. But I realize now that none of that matters as much as being with you.”
He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. “I understand. I’m sorry I couldn’t see it from your perspective before. I was just so afraid of losing you. Of you leaving me.”
She leaned into his touch, relishing the feeling of his rough, calloused hands against her skin. “You won’t lose me. I’m here to stay, no matter what happens with the cottage.”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way she loved. “We’ll figure it out together. I promise.”
She nodded, her heart swelling with love and gratitude. She fiercely wanted to stay here in the cottage, but if she couldn’t, at least she would be with Randy, where she belonged.
She looked up at him, her heart swelling with happiness. “Say, how about we open another item from the Christmas box? I think it’s getting a little lonely without us.”
He grinned at her. “Then I think we should open another one.”
They sat on the couch, close together, as she chose another item. “There’s only one left after this one,” she said as she carefully unwrapped the one she’d chosen.
She broke into a smile as she unfolded the paper. It was an old crayon picture she’d drawn when she was just a child. It showed her and Nana—in very rough stick figures—standing on the beach with a pail between them. The lighthouse towered above them—slightly crooked. Her signature was scrawled in the corner. “I can’t believe she kept this all these years.”
“Of course she did. She loved you so very much.” Randy squeezed her hand.
“And I loved her just as much.”
CHAPTER 21
Randy came over to her cottage bright and early on the day the debt was due to be paid. She’d heard from Mr. Barlowe that he’d come by first thing this morning. Her heart was breaking at all she was losing, softened only by knowing that even without the beloved cottage, she still had Randy.
He stepped inside, carrying a box from The Sweet Shoppe. “Figured we’d have some breakfast while we wait.”
“It’s that or pack more boxes.” She motioned to a half dozen boxes still open on the floor, half-packed. “I assume he won’t kick me out today. Though, maybe he will?”
“No matter what happens, I’m here for you.” he squeezed her hand as they went into the kitchen.
She poured them coffee, and they put the cinnamon rolls on plates. The familiar sharing of breakfast that she’d come to love now felt more like their last meal. She tried to keep up her part of the conversation and choke down some bites of breakfast.
A brisk knock sounded at the door. Loud. Insistent. That had to be Mr. Barlowe. She rose, and Randy followed her to the door. With a deep breath for courage, she opened it.
Mr. Barlowe stood there, his face a bit red and his eyes showing a hint of anger.
“Good morning, Mr. Barlowe. Do you want to come in?” she said politely. Well, almost politely.
“No, this will do.” He barked the words. “I don’t know how you did it.” He looked over her shoulder, gazing bitterly into the cottage. “Like I said, I don’t know how you did it, but the loan is paid off.”
“I—I don’t understand,” she stammered, confused.
“I don’t either.” Mr. Barlowe’s face flushed a deeper red, his voice clipped, barely concealing his anger. “My lawyer just called and said the loan was paid. We have no claim on the cottage.”
“You—don’t?” Her heart beat faster and faster, each beat echoing in her ears, afraid to believe this was true. “How?”
“I have no idea.” His words came out in a growl, his jaw clenched. “I just know it’s paid. Here’s a signed copy that shows the debt is paid.” Mr. Barlowe thrust a paper toward her, crushing it into her hands. “Good day.”
He gave one more disgruntled gaze at the cottage, his eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle. He stomped down the steps. With a grunt of displeasure, he yanked open his car door, slid inside, and slammed the door shut. He peeled away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.
