Something that’s been pacing the halls, waiting.
The rafters creak. The chandelier gives a satisfied clink. The house, damn her, approves of this rash decision.
I break away first, drunk on wine and want and recognition, and stagger two steps up the stairs before spinning back.
He’s still there. Two fingers pressed against his mouth, eyes fixed on me like he’s not sure whether to laugh or follow.
I point at him. “That’s the last kiss you get until the designation goes through.”
He exhales—slow, wrecked—and I flee before I can take it back.
Door. Quilt. Bed. I collapse once more. Letters crumple beneath me, ink pressing into my spine. I stare at the ceiling, breathing hard.
This house. This town.Him.
I can’t sell this fucking inn. I can’t tuck it into a trust and walk away clean. Blue Willow isn’t just timber and ledger. It’s every stubborn hand that once held me. Every voice that waited for me to speak.
Maybe I don’t have to carry it alone. Maybe I don’t have to disappear to survive it.
My grandmother isn’t gone or buried. She’s here—woven into every hinge, every blossom, every light that flickers on before I reach the switch. Every snowfall in this beautiful, tragic, magical little town.
This is where a Hart belongs.
I press my palm flat over my ribs, where something warm and brutal begins to unfurl. It’s not grief this time. It’s home, waking up.
28
WELLS
Correspondencefrom the county arrives sooner than anyone expects. Three days after Elsie kissed me in a blur of wine and grief—and spent the next morning flushed, skirting my eyes, blaming everything on “too much plum”—Bobby turns up before breakfast with an envelope clutched in one fist.
He’s half-frozen, nose red, boots tracking slush across the floor, but his grin is so wide it looks painful.
“From Wicklow County,” he declares as he strides into the dining room. “Figured you’d want the honors. It should have gone to Elsie in the first place, but, as it stands, the county sent it to town hall. Perks of being mayor, I guess—first peek at all the good gossip.”
Jack and Alma arrive within the hour. The four of us gather around the table. Elsie sits wrapped around her cinnamon coffee, hair pinned back in an uneven knot. Alma draws a penknife from her pocket and slices the envelope cleanly across the top.
She reads aloud in her measured tone. “The Blue Willow Inn has been approved for official historical designation by the Wicklow County Office of Heritage and Preservation, effective immediately.”
Silence. Half a breath. Then Bobby lets out a yell that could wake the dead. Jack hides his smile behind his mug. Alma only nods once, satisfied.
Me, I fold my hands and stare at the table. It’s real. After six weeks of inventory and interviews, floorboard measurements and town testimony—it’s finally real.
And Elsie. She looks at the letter like it might disappear if she blinks. Her lips part in astonishment. For a moment, she’s the same child I once saw on these steps, chasing sparrows with her palms stretched wide, certain she could catch the sky if she moved fast enough.
It’s real; I remember now.
The memories returned after she asked me about the kiss. The girl in the yellow dress. The tart she pressed into my hand. The shy, unexpected brush of her lips beneath the roof of the best place I’d ever been, back when I was thirteen and didn’t know what to call the hole she left behind.
The bog takes things. Wears down the edges of joy and grief alike until all that’s left is the shape they once made. It feeds on feeling, and most people are glad to give—sacrifice to soil and water, hoping it’ll turn into something they can use. But not everything it takes is gone forever.
Sometimes, if the spark is strong enough, the past fights its way back.
And I’m grateful. Grateful for the memory. Grateful, most of all, that the kiss ever happened in the first place.
Alma clears her throat gently. “It’s rare for the county to approve anything on a first submission. Most petitions sit for months.”
“She’d be so proud,” Elsie says quietly. Then, almost sheepish: “If only I hadn’t waited so long to come back.”
