Sunday-morning coffee. Bare feet against cool wood. Winnie curled up in a blanket, humming to herself as Austin pressed a steaming mug into my hands.
The image came so easily I could almost feel the warmth of a coffee mug in my hands and hear Winnie’s soft hum as she curled against Austin’s side on that porch.
I drew in a sharp breath and tore my gaze away, boots clicking a little too quickly on the cracked sidewalk.
It wasn’t real. He was too young, too untested, too full of possibilities I had no right to tether down ... but even as I told myself all the reasons this couldn’t last, hope bloomed in my chest anyway—quiet, stubborn, and utterly impossible to ignore.
TWENTY-EIGHT
AUSTIN
My SUV rumbledover the gravel lot, tires crunching in a steady rhythm that matched the thrum of contentment low in my chest. Outside the windshield, the world looked dipped in gold—maple trees flaming with orange and crimson, sunlight slipping through their branches in hazy sheets.
From the back seat, Winnie’s voice rose, bright and uncontainable.
“Do you think they have the giant pumpkins yet? The ones so big they need a wheelbarrow?”
“I don’t know, bug,” I said, throwing a grin over my shoulder as I eased the car into a parking spot. “You think you’re strong enough to carry one of those?”
“I’m very strong,” she declared, flexing her small arms with all the seriousness of a bodybuilder. “Look at these arms. I’m basically a superhero.”
I clicked my tongue. “I don’t know ...” I teased.
“Besides,” she said with a shrug, “I have you.”
“Fair point.” My grin widened as aching warmth spread from the center of my chest to my limbs.
As I cut the engine, the faint scent of hay and woodsmoke drifted through the cracked window. Star Harbor Family Farmsprawled out ahead of us like something pulled from a postcard—kids racing toward a towering tire mountain, hayrides lining up with red-cheeked families bundled in scarves and jackets, a farm stand surrounded by pumpkins in every shade of orange. The smell of cinnamon sugar doughnuts hung thick in the air, undercut by the earthy sweetness of straw bales stacked high along the barn.
The bright-blue barn itself loomed half finished beyond the pumpkin patch, its frame sturdy but already hinting at what it would become. I felt a flicker of pride tug at my chest.
“Wow.” Selene’s voice was thick with wonder as she looked out the window at the barn. “I haven’t been here in a while. You guys are making a lot of progress.”
“It’s really coming together,” I said as I cut the engine, nodding toward the construction site.
Selene’s gaze drifted to the barn, her expression softening. “I know how much this place means to them. It’s incredible to see Elodie’s dreams coming true like this.”
“It feels special, right?” I agreed, but then I hesitated, a smile tugging at my mouth. “Cal’s added a few quiet touches no one really talks about yet.”
Her brow arched slightly in curiosity.
“He had the crew carve Levi’s initials into one of the main support beams. Said he wanted him to feel like he’d left his mark on the place too. And there’s a little alcove in the dining room where they’re hanging a framed photo of the barn raising—the whole community out there lifting beams together. Even the Amish neighbors.”
Selene’s lips curved, and she instinctively found Winnie’s hand, which was clutching at her coat hem. “That’s really beautiful. So much history packed into four walls.”
“Yeah.” My voice came out softer than I meant it to. “It feels good—working on something that means this much to people.”
Winnie’s voice piped up before either of us could say more. “Will there be dessert?” she asked, craning her neck for a better look at the barn.
“You know your uncle Cal ... best desserts in Star Harbor,” I said solemnly. “That’s a requirement.”
Selene laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and I felt it settle low in my chest like it belonged there.
Together we wandered away from the parking lot, but we didn’t make it far before Elodie appeared. Her canvas work pants were streaked with dirt and tucked into a pair of green rubber boots, a grin splitting her face.
“Well, well. Looks like Winnie’s dragging you into fall festivities, huh?” she teased, hands planted on her hips.
“She’s convincing,” I said, smiling as I hooked my thumbs into the pockets of my jacket. My nails—still painted sparkly purple—caught in the sunlight, and Elodie’s gaze flicked there before her grin deepened.
