1
RYLEE: NOW
The wind funnelsthrough my truck’s open window as we drive down the winding mountain road. The air is crisp with the smell of pine trees, and I take a peek in the rearview mirror, smiling at my truck bed full of HomeGoods finds. I have to take the turns slower than usual because I’m afraid something might tumble out. I should have strapped it all down, but I’m too antsy to get everything home and into place.
“You literally found the perfect rug for that room. Your followers are going to love it.” Trish takes a sip of her Coke from grabbing lunch, having shopped all morning. “It has the perfect mixture of creams and greens to go with your guest room.”
The perfect furniture and finishing touches are always easy to find once I complete a project. It’s like all the pieces fall into place after the hard work is done and the mistakes have been fixed. The guest bedroom renovation in my home has been a fun journey, but I love seeing it all come together.
“The store had a ton of new stuff this time.” I smile, glancing at her. “I also always have the best luck finding exactly what I need.”
“I know. I need you to remodel my bedroom. I’d love to reap the benefits of your DIY brain.”
She knows I would always be willing to do a project for her. Trish is my best friend, and I don’t know what I would do without her. She was a year ahead of me in high school, but we weren’t ever close. After moving back to town, I ran into her, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
“It’s going to kill me a little inside to watch you cover the new wood floors you just laid, though. Even though that vintage rug is better than the ratty carpet you ripped up.”
“It was the worst, right?” I cringe as I remember the stains on the guest bedroom carpet. The people I bought the house from had kids, and there wasn’t a rug big enough to hide all the dark and sparkly spots that littered the floor.
“I thought you should have ripped up that carpet when you did the rest of the house.” Trish tucks a strand of windblown, short, blonde hair behind her ear.
“I couldn’t afford to lay the luxury vinyl in the entire house. I had to plan and save.” I wish I could remodel my entire house all at once so it’s not a constant chaos of unfinished projects, but that’s not the way life works. I always have unfinished projects. It’s part of the job. Tools are everywhere, dirt covers the floor from walking in and out the front door toward my saws, and I get completely sucked into the project that all the other daily chores fall to the side.
My truck’s tires slow as I round another curve through the Georgia mountains. The mountains and roads are gorgeous, with woods and rocks everywhere you look. Another day, I might take the long way and admire the scenery, but today I’m too eager to get home.
Rolling into town, I pass the “Welcome to Ravenwood, Georgia” sign and stop at a crosswalk as a few men cross the street. My heart hammers inside my chest as I watch one man inparticular. His dirty blonde hair is longer than I remember, curling at the nape of his neck, and his sharp jaw lines have a short beard covering them. A white T-shirt stretches across his broad chest, and the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He carries himself differently. Gone is the boy I knew who liked to stick to the shadows and not be noticed. This man has determination in his walk.
My body wants to shimmy down low in my seat, hoping he doesn’t see me. I’ve been back in my hometown for three months, but I was hoping to delay this inevitable reunion. I’m not ready to see him. It’s been almost seven years, and it’s too little, too late.
“Ry?”
I jump in my seat when Trish touches my arm, accidentally honking the horn, and even more panic sets in. As the men are fully out of the street, I waste no time turning in the opposite direction as quickly as I can. Taking a glance in my rear mirror, the men all watch as I peel away with questioning looks on their faces.
“I’m guessing that was Clayton back there?” Her voice is gentle, like she’s afraid to spook me even more.
“Huh?” My eyes jump around, as I’m not sure where I’m driving now since my house is in the opposite direction.
She sighs. “I didn’t get a good look at the men, but by the way you’re acting, I’m going to take a wild guess and say one of them was Clay.” She angles her body toward me as her head tilts to the side.
I hate when she tries to read me like a book. “So you want me to remodel your bedroom?” I say, deliberately avoiding her question.
Her eyes narrow, but I can’t talk about him. I don’t even want to think about him. Anytime I do, it hurts. I knew moving back here after six years in California would be hard,but I tried to convince myself I would be able to avoid him. Wishful thinking, especially living in a small town. I also made a huge deal about leaving and never coming back. I studied design for three years before getting a job at a marketing agency. I told everyone I wanted to move and make something of myself,notin Georgia. But in reality, it was his big, brown eyes that haunted my dreams and made me leave without looking back. I kept my days busy, but after the agency closed, I realized how much I missed my family and friends back home. So here I am.
“Once I finish my guest bedroom, I’m sure I can squeeze you in before remodeling my kitchen.”
She exhales. “I don’t think I’m ready just yet, but pencil me in for after you finish the kitchen. Do you have it all planned out?”
I send her a small smile of thanks. I know she’d rather pepper me with questions abouthim. “Everything from the cabinet color down to the brick flooring.” I refuse to let my home be another cookie-cutter house. I worked hard to buy a place to call my own, and I can design my space any way I want. That happens to be: cottage, bright, and cozy. An inviting space filled with warm color palettes and natural textures with a touch of vintage charm.
I love having my own place. Somewhere I can be completely myself and not have to consider someone else’s opinion. Thinking of a hypothetical roommate putting their chunky espresso maker on my soon-to-be white concrete countertops makes me cringe.
I turn the truck down a road that will eventually lead me home, but it’s like going around your ass to your elbow. I used to take this road to get to my parents’ house from town. I moved back in with them after moving home and remodeled rooms in their house. That was how I started my social media presence.After a few successful renovations and viral videos, I was able to get my own house and do more projects to share.
Pulling into my long driveway, Socks flies out the doggy door, runs toward my truck, and barks. As soon as I open my door, I love on my favorite furry friend all over. I know she’s antsy since we didn’t go for a run this morning. “Hey, girl.” I scratch her ears. “Alright, let’s get this stuff inside.” She wags her tail, her entire body moving with it. Hoisting the large rug over my shoulder with a huff, I take it inside. Walking right into the guest bedroom off the living room, I drop it on the ground. I lean over, placing my hands on my knees, and heave through my breathing. Socks sits with her nose in my face, panting. “What? You carry it. See if it makes you tired. That was a huge rug.” I point to the rug as if she knows what I’m saying. Her tail thumps on the ground as she peers toward the front door. She’s begging for our run, but that will have to wait.
“Little help?” Trish rasps out, waddling inside with a wooden nightstand dangling from her hands, between her legs.
I run toward her and grab a corner, helping her place it by a window.
