She nodded once.“Ok.But you can change your mind.I will back up whatever you choose Cassidy.”
Chapter 52
The tour was an incredible success both professionally and personally.
Professionally, the book is a huge success, and everyone wants to know what I will write next.
Personally, I got to experience the first part of my tour with Brody by my side, we got to have a taste of being together all day, every day...even at the chaotic pace of the tour.And then, when Brody left to help his family, I got to prove to myself that I could stand on my own and fight my demons...literally.
Coming home, I feel good, tired, but like something feels settled in me.
Chase had picked me up from the airport, saying that he had to head back to the clinic, but he would see me later.The house was quiet in that way that tells you people were just here.A mug drying upside down.A dish towel folded but crooked.The kind of quiet that belongs to a room catching its breath.
“Hello?”I called, half expecting my mother to answer from the kitchen with a plate of something I didn’t ask for but would definitely devour.No answer.The house was empty in a way it hadn't been in so long.I moved around, taking in the space with what felt like new eyes and a new appreciation, and that is when I saw it.
A slip of paper waited on the hall table, written in Brody’s writing, which I always thought was prettier than mine.
Meet me at our maple.
My heart did a tidy somersault, and a smile took over my face.
He had said he'd be waiting for me when I got home...
I swapped my flats for boots, the ones that knew the path home and tucked my phone in my back pocket.The door clicked behind me, and the air met me cool and clean, that almost-winter sharpness that makes everything feel more in focus.I crossed the yard, passed the garden boxes stripped to their bones, and slid through the gap in the fence like a kid taking the shortcut.I moved through the trees and open spaces with a feeling of contentment.The field opened in front of me, our field, gold going gray at the edges, the grass bending in a low breeze.
I’d taken this walk angry once.I’d taken it numb.Today, I just followed my heart.Not away from anything.Toward.
The maple showed itself the way it always did, generous and certain.And then I saw what wasn’t usually there.
At first, it read as two white trailers parked near the pines, but the closer I got, the less temporary they looked.Fresh trenches cut clean lines in the earth, already filled.Conduit stood like punctuation marks.A stovepipe rose from one roof, small and stubborn and sure.The doors were open.Warm lamplight moved across plywood and paint like a promise.
Brody stepped out of the nearer one, brushing sawdust off his shirt with those hands I had missed so much.He looked like he always did when he’d been working, hair a little wild, cheeks a little flushed, something bright under his skin like he was doing exactly what he was meant to do.
“What am I looking at?”I asked, breath fogging the space between us.
He grinned, shy and proud somehow at the same time.“Our now,” he said.“Not just our later.”
He took my hand and tugged me up the steps.Inside smelled like pine and new beginnings.A small galley kitchenette hugged one wall: a sink, counter, and a compact stove waiting for its first scorch mark.Opposite, a tiny table under the window, the kind of spot that turns coffee into a ritual.Beyond that, a pocket door opened onto a bathroom that made efficiency look cozy.Hooks already waited for towels.He’d thought of hooks.
He tapped a corner beside the window where a narrow desk had been built into the wall, as if it belonged there.“For your next book,” he said, almost offhand, and my throat got tight.“I figured if we wait to live here until everything’s perfect, we’ll be waiting forever.We can start like this.We can start now.”
The second trailer was a small living room made from not much that felt like plenty.A low couch against the far wall.A lamp glowing warm.A bed tucked in an alcove with crisp sheets that made me want to press my face to them.The stovepipe I’d seen outside rose from a small pellet stove in the corner, quiet and ready.
“How...”I started and then tried again.“How did you do this so fast?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.“I didn’t sleep much while you were gone,” he admitted, then winced.“That sounds weird.I mean, my brain wouldn’t sit still.So I drew it out, and when everyone was feeling better, they chipped in.Dad and Mason came by, and your dad pretended he didn’t like helping, but then took over.My mom fed anyone who touched a hammer.The well’s in.Septic’s set where the shop will go.Electricity’s running temporarily from my parents’ until we trench our own line.”
He looked at me like he was waiting for me to tell him he’d gone too far.Like he’d built me a spaceship when I’d asked for a bike.
“Brody,” I said, and my voice went soft without permission.“It’s beautiful.It’s…us.”
He exhaled, some small, tight thing leaving his shoulders.“Yeah?”he asked.“You’re not mad I did all this without asking?”
“I don't think I would have done it this way,” I said.“This is better.”
We stood in the middle of the small room, the two of us plus the hum of something beginning.He reached for my hand and didn’t drop it.His thumb traced that familiar path across the inside of my wrist, a habit that had become a language.
“I thought,” he said, steady now, “maybe we let our land hold our first real beginnings.Not when everything’s finished.Not when it looks like a magazine.Now.While it’s ours and messy.”
