What had I done?
I was so afraid of making the wrong choice that I made the worst choice of all. I kept secrets. I built walls. I pushed away the one person who’s been honest with me from the very beginning.
And now I might have lost him.
When I finally get back to my apartment, I sit on the sofa in the dark and let myself fall apart. I cry for Wyatt. I cry for Meredith, who will be disappointed in me. I cry for Mavis, who believed I could be a real person and whom I’ve now proven wrong. I cry for my mother, who wanted me to be something I’m not sure I can be. I cry for myself, for the girl who grew terrible tomatoes and talked to her plants, for the woman who learned to love a honky-tonk bar in a mountain town, and for the version of Eleanor who was finally, finally starting to figure out who she was.
I don’t know how long I sit there. Maybe hours. The moon rises and sets. The darkness deepens and then slowly begins to lighten.
And somewhere in the middle of the night, something shifts.
I think about what Meredith said about choosing the life that makes you happy, not the life that looks good on paper. And I think about what Presley said about making the decision for myself, not anyone else. I think about Mavis’s letter, about being graceless and still being loved, about finding a place to be yourself.
But most of all, I think about Wyatt and the way he looked at me when I told him I loved him. The hope and hurt all tangled together.
I do love you. I just don’t know if that’s enough.
But what if it is enough?
What if love, messy, complicated, terrifying love, is exactly enough?
I pull up my laptop and open Genevieve’s email.
And this time, I know exactly what to write.
Dear Ms. Ashford,
Thank you so much for thinking of me for this incredible opportunity. The position is everything my mother dreamed of for me, and I’m deeply honored to have been considered. However, I must respectfully decline.
Six months ago, I inherited a honky-tonk bar in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Georgia. I came here expecting to fulfill the will’s terms, then sell the property and return to my real life. But what I found instead was something I didn’t know I was looking for: a community that has welcomed me, work that matters to me, and people I’ve come to love.
My mother taught me that success meant prestige, accomplishment, and the approval of others. And while she was a remarkable woman and I will always be grateful for the skills she gave me, I’ve now learned that success can mean choosing happiness over ambition, choosing connection over advancement, choosing a life that feels right even when it doesn’t look right on paper.
I hope you find just the right candidate for this position. The Institut is extraordinary, and whoever fills the role will be very fortunate.
With gratitude and respect,
Eleanor Whitfield
I read it three times, and then before I can second-guess myself, I hit send.
The email disappears into the digital void, and I sit back with my heart pounding in my chest. It’s done. I just turned down two-hundred thousand dollars and a life in Switzerland. I just chose Copper Creek. Again.
I wait for the regret to come, the panic, the voice of my mother telling me I’ve made a terrible mistake. But it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s just quiet, the kind of quiet that must feel like peace.
The sun is rising over the mountains when I finally move from the sofa. I shower, change into clean clothes, brush my hair, and skip makeup because my face is still so swollen from crying that there’s no hiding it. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror.
“You made a choice,” I say out loud. “Now follow through.”
Of course, this isn’t the first choice I’ve made. When I turned down the Gary Allen deal, that was a pretty big choice too.
It’s 6:47 a.m. when I pull into Wyatt’s driveway. His truck is there. Smoke is not rising from the chimney. The cabin looks quiet, still, like a painting. I sit in my car for a moment, trying to gather my courage.
He may not want to see me. He may slam the door in my face. He may tell me it’s too late and that I’ve broken something that can’t be fixed.
But I have to try.
I get out of the car and walk to the porch. My hand is shaking when I knock.
