“She did the work. I just helped build it.”
“You helped her believe she could. That’s worth more than carpentry.”
The door chimes again, and Alban walks through with Neve at his side.
My brother looks better than he has in years. His arm is around Neve’s waist, and she’s laughing at something he said.
They spot me simultaneously. Alban crosses the space and pulls me into a brief, solid hug.
“You look different,” he says when he pulls back. “Lighter.”
“So do you.”
“I have help.” He glances at Neve, who’s already examining the shop with professional interest. “You do too.”
Tilly appears at my side, and I make introductions. Neve’s smile is warm and genuine. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Your shop is beautiful. The way you’ve arranged everything creates such a welcoming flow.”
“Thank you. Davin helped with the layout.” Tilly’s hand finds mine, fingers lacing tightly. “I couldn’t have done it without him.”
“That’s what he does,” Alban says. “Builds things that last.”
The weight in his words isn’t lost on me. He’s talking about more than furniture. He’s talking about the life I’m building here, the choice I made to stop punishing myself.
“Let me show you around,” Tilly offers. Neve follows her eagerly, already asking questions about sourcing.
Alban stays beside me. “She’s right for you.”
“I know.”
“I was worried after the fire. Worried you’d stay locked in that cabin forever.” He turns to face me fully. “But you’re building again. That takes courage.”
“So does letting yourself be happy.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
“I’m glad you figured that out.” His hand claps my shoulder. “Now when do I get to see this mysterious wrapped thing you told me about?”
“Soon.” I check the time. “After the ribbon cutting.”
Evelyn positions Tilly in front of the door, holding oversized scissors, as the crowd gathers. I stand with Alban and Neve, tracking Tilly’s movements.
“Thank you all for coming,” she says, her voice carrying across the space. “This shop has been a dream for longer than I want to admit. Opening it here, in Lovesbury, feels like coming home. Thank you for welcoming me and believing that old things can have new life.”
She cuts the ribbon, and the crowd erupts in applause. The Matchmakers’ Brigade whistles. The veterans nod in approval.
I cross to where the wrapped piece leans against the wall and lift it. The weight is substantial but manageable. I carry it to the center of the shop and set it down, then unwrap the canvas.
The crowd goes quiet.
It’s a sign that shares the same oak grain as the armoire. Two feet tall, three feet wide, the wood sanded smooth and oiled to bring out the grain.Tilly’s Vintage Shopis carved in letters that took me hours to perfect, each curve and line deliberate. The detail around the border carries meaning, interlocking vines and flowers, the kind that grow wild on the mountain, the kind that survive winter and bloom again.
I want to pull her against me right here in front of everyone, show them she’s mine in ways that would make Mabel blush. Instead, I keep my hands steady on the wood and let the gift speak for me.
Tilly’s hand covers her mouth. Her eyes fill with tears.
“I thought you needed something permanent,” I say. “Something that says this place is yours. That you’re permanent here in town.”
She crosses to me, and I catch her when she reaches me, arms wrapping around her waist. She’s shaking slightly, her face pressed against my chest. The scent of lavender soap fills my lungs.
“It’s perfect,” she whispers. “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever made for me.”
