I shook my head. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Sorry, but it’s already done.” She shrugged, not seeming apologetic at all.
It felt like the universe kept tossing unexpected gifts into my lap. First the cottage, then the money, and now a free meal from the gorgeous chef who made my body spark to life for the first time ever.
“I’m leaving a tip,” I insisted.
“Go for it.”
I left an embarrassingly large one and slid out of the booth before I could overthink any of it. If I stayed another minute, I wasn’t entirely convinced I wouldn’t try to go peek into the kitchen just to get one more look at Bexley.
The moment I stepped outside, the wind slapped a strand of hair straight across my mouth. I sputtered, shoving it aside as another gust whipped the ends behind me. Thunder grumbled somewhere deep in the mountains, rolling closer by the second.
A couple passing by tugged their jackets tighter as one muttered, “Storm’s rolling in fast tonight.”
“Too fast,” the other agreed. “Hope folks are home before it hits.”
What a way to end a life-altering day. And the perfect excuse not to circle back to Timber’s Treasures under the guise of forgetting something just to see if I could accidentally-on-purpose catch another glimpse of Bexley.
I hurried to my rental car, my tote bag clutched against my chest as the air turned colder by the second. The drive out of town didn’t take long, but the sky got darker the farther I went. Clouds thickened overhead just as my GPS chirped that I’d arrived.
I didn’t see anything at first, just a narrow gravel turnoff lined by trees. Then my headlights swept over the cottage. It was small and weathered but also charming.
I pulled into the short drive and cut the engine. The wind rattled through the branches overhead, and I just sat there, gripping the steering wheel for a moment. So much had alreadyhappened today, and I didn’t yet know how to mentally unpack it all. And now I had to walk into the place my grandmother called home, with an urn full of her ashes on the mantel.
The wind picked up even more, and I finally forced myself to open the car door. Gravel crunched under my feet, and the porch light flickered as another low growl of thunder rolled across the valley.
Pulling the keys from my tote and grabbing my suitcase from the back seat, I hurried up the steps and unlocked the door. It creaked when I pushed it open, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the storm outside as rain started to fall behind me.
Once inside, my gaze landed on the fireplace first. More specifically, on the urn sitting on the mantel.
I’d braced myself for it, but the sight still made my breath catch in my lungs. It was a simple brass vessel, nothing ornate. But knowing what it held made my chest tighten uncomfortably.
The lights flickered when I flipped the switch, blinking once before filling the room in soft gold. Thunder boomed outside again, but it was closer now.
I forced myself to explore the living room. The place was small but cozy. Two armchairs were angled toward the fireplace, a bookshelf overflowing with paperbacks lined a wall, and a knitted throw was folded neatly over the sofa. Everything was tidy and cared for, which made me wonder if someone had been looking after the place in the months since my grandmother passed away.
I felt a pang of loss, wishing I’d known her. I wondered if she’d tried to get my parents to let me spend time with her growing up, but they’d refused.
As I was straightening a few toppled books on the shelves, I noticed a slim wooden box tucked toward the back. It looked hand-carved, and the latch was tipped up. I hesitated, thenpulled it free and walked over to the small dining table in the eat-in kitchen.
Flipping open the lid, I found a watch and a couple of pairs of earrings on top. They looked old and expensive, but it was what I discovered beneath them that was the real treasure. Letters.
Some were loose, others were in envelopes labeled with years in descending chronological order. Toward the bottom, they were addressed to my parents and marked with Return to Sender.
Picking up the first envelope that hadn’t been mailed, I tugged the letter from it and started to cry when I saw it was addressed to me.
My dearest Rowan,
I’m sorry to say I’ve given up hope of your parents letting me see you again.
I love my son, but I don’t like the person he grew into. One who values money over family and the city life over simple things. I’ll never understand how he could grow up in Timber Ridge without learning how important love is.
Unfortunately, he didn’t like some home truths I shared with him during your visit ten years ago, and he refused to speak with me ever again. A threat he’s followed through on, much to my despair.
Please know you have all my love, and I will always be thinking about you.
Love,
