He called them for me.
He cares enough to assemble an army to help me win this battle against the jungle that is my yard, so I didn’t feel so behind. My heart does a weird flip, and I press a hand to it like I can calm it with just my touch.
“You okay?” Tucker asks.
I nod, but my voice is trapped somewhere in my chest. “It’s just…a lot.” I gesture to everything around us with my hand. “Everyone is helping today as if it matters to them.
“It does matter to them.”
“It feels like…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Like belonging.”
“You already do.” His gaze softens. “Whatever you need from here on out, you tell me. I’ll make it happen. You want tomake sure we’re on time? I can do that. You want a break? Consider it done. No more stressing about this project alone.”
My eyes sting with hope as everything inside me shifts.
Tucker held me when I cried on his porch, and today, he made sure I wouldn’t have to do any of this alone. He reminded me that I won’t ever have to.
He breaks our stare first, not because he’s cutting off the moment, but because he’s giving me space to feel it.
But I’m not hiding from it anymore.
Not from him.
My eyes sting with hope as everything inside me shifts.
The yard slowly settles into a rhythm with the town working together and the hum of conversation blending with the buzz of power tools.
I find Nan by the porch, directing two kids who look terrified of disappointing her, while attempting to untangle a hose that has seen better days. Once they get it done and Nan looks satisfied, they smile and run off.
I step closer, glancing back toward the yard where Tucker stands laughing at something Griffin is saying. I smile and return my attention back to Nan.
“Hey, Nan.”
“Ah. There she is. How ya holdin’ up?”
I shrug. “Not too bad. But I want to ask you something.”
“If it’s about ripping up that bush, it needed to go.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Definitely not about the bush. That really did need to go. It…smelled funny.”
“Like cat piss? Yeah. You’re right.” Her expression shifts—not dramatic, but softer when she notices my lack of reaction. “Now, since it’s not about the bush, what’s going on in that head?”
I hesitate. For someone who can flirt with danger five minutes ago, this feels so much harder.
“What was she like?” I ask. “My grandmother.”
Nan stares at me, registering my words. For a moment I don’t think she’s going to tell me. Then she reaches toward me and wipes a smudge of dirt from my cheek with her thumb. The gesture feels so maternal it nearly undoes me.
“You don’t remember her at all?” she asks gently.
For a bull-in-a-china-shop type of woman, this softness from her feels so different.
I shake my head. “I keep trying. I keep thinking if I stand in the right room or touch the right thing, it’ll just…click.” I swallow, looking from her to the house behind her. “But it doesn’t.”
“She was stubborn.”
I blink. “Stubborn?”
