You gonna message him?
Lo Lo
I don't know. He works in "finance."
That means he sells insurance.
Phiny
Or he's in a pyramid scheme.
Sage
Ask him what his favorite flower is. That tells you everything.
Wade
If he says "beef" like that one guy, run.
Lo Lo
That was ONE TIME, and we've been over this.
Kipp
Still can't believe that happened in our town.
Sage
Lots of things happen here that are hard to believe. I think you should pass Lo Lo.
51
Easton: One Year Later
Wildwood Meadows in late spring was green, and the promise of summer was right around the corner. The river that curved along the ridge ran wild with snowmelt and practically burst along the seams with all the water we’d been getting.
A year ago, I’d been gutting walls and helping Lila patch together her life, and maybe, if I was honest, patching up my own. The grief that had been haunting me had felt sharp around the edges when I’d arrived back home. Things had still felt raw because I’d isolated myself instead of leaning on my family. Now that I was home, his memory wrapped around me, and while it still hurt, I let myself remember him and the joy that had been my life with him.
Standing at the edge of the ridge with the sun slantinggold across the valley, it all felt like the kind of peace you didn’t dare take for granted. I was going to try to live with my arms and my heart open from now on.
The land we stood on had once been just another line on a map — the thirty acres Nora Merrick left behind. Behind us, the first framework of a small structure stood, half-built, the lumber pale and new. Kipp and I had started the project weeks ago, with help from Wade and a few of the locals. Lila had decided to sell the property to Kipp for more vacation rentals, with the agreement that she’d help with brainstorming the marketing. Lila wanted to call itThe Wildwood Annex, and I hadn’t stopped smiling since she said it out loud.
Lila stood a few paces away, her boots half-buried in the grass, hair whipping across her face. She was staring out toward the valley, one hand tucked into the pocket of her faded jeans, the other holding a travel mug. She wore my flannel again — the old gray one she’d stolen sometime last year.
I watched her for a long minute. The way she tilted her head, the way the sunlight threaded through her hair, the small, easy smile on her lips — all of it hit me at once. That familiar punch to the ribs that came every time I realized she was mine. She didn’t know it yet, but today I was going to ask her to marry me.
She turned, catching me watching. “You’re staring,” she said, grinning.
“Can’t help it,” I said. “You’re the view.”
Her laugh rolled across the ridge, warm and bright. “You’ve been spending too much time with Sage. That was practically poetic.”
“I’ve been spending too much time in love, that’s what it is.”
She blinked at that, smile softening as the breeze caught her hair. “I love you, too, big guy.” Leaning in for a kiss, I loved on her for a minute, taking my time tracing her lips and letting my thumbs find the spots along her jaw that she liked until she moaned. My girl liked her kisses, and I liked to oblige.
We’d spent the morning walking the property lines, checking on the survey markers Wade’s office had set last summer. It had taken months of paperwork and patience, but everything was finally all settled.
