A laugh breaks free, and it’s Dad’s turn to let out a curse. The two manage to wrangle the mattress in my room and nearly toss it on the bedframe. No one says anything more about my aunt and uncle’s freaky ways.
Dad presses a kiss to my temple. “It’s good to have you home, kiddo.”
I smile at him. “It’s good to be back.”
He claps Nate on the shoulder. “Let’s grab the sofa.”
While the guys head back outside, I make my way into the kitchen, where a few shopping bags are propped on the kitchen table. Rummaging through, I dig out the new bedding Iordered. My credit card must feel like it’s running a marathon with how much I’ve used it in the past two weeks.
When grunting and grumbling come from the living room, I abandon the bags to check on the commotion.
Dad wipes his brow with the back of his hand, straightening. “That looks like it belongs there. What do you think, pumpkin?”
I sink onto the slip-covered cushions, bouncing lightly as I run my hand over the fabric. “Feels like a fresh start.”
Dad’s gaze lingers on me, soft but searching. I know he knows there’s more to my reappearance, and I love him even more for not pushing the conversation. Everyone’s aware that my engagement ended. When asked why, I explained I missed home, but Elias would never move to a small town. Our differences started to show and there were some things I couldn’t accept anymore. I ended the engagement before it ended me.
One day, I’ll tell him, and everyone, everything, but today isn’t that day.
He walks into the kitchen, and I give Nate a confused look, but it’s quickly replaced when Dad comes back into the living room, carrying two dining chairs.
“Didn’t want to risk your white couch.” He lowers himself onto a wooden chair, answering my silent question. Nate takes the other, while Gramps takes the spot opposite me on the couch.
I nod in understanding.
“Feels good having you home, Wren. Feels right. I know there’s more to what brought you back, but I’m glad you’re here.” He shakes his head, emotion clouding his face. “I’m proud of you. For stepping up and helping with your mom’s work. I know it’s a lot, and it can’t be easy, and if you don’t want to do it, just say the word.”
“No, Dad.” I shake my head, clearing my throat. “I’m happy tohelp. I want to.”
He claps his hand on my thigh and gives it a slight squeeze. “Okay then, kiddo. Job’s yours.”
Nate tugs at the collar of his shirt, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. Gramps doesn’t say too much, always the listener. All the males in this family are good, hardworking men. They get sentimental when the time is right, but don’t often show their emotions. Instead, it’s in their actions. Like checking the wiring in the cottage or helping move someone in. It's how they show their love.
Digging deeper into the sofa, I watch my dad and brother rib each other about a hunting trip they took. When they got home, Dad begged Mom to turn this old cottage into a hunting space—a trophy room and glorified man cave. She denied him, obviously.
Everything feels as if I hadn’t moved away without a trace for ten years. The only person missing is Mom. She’d no doubt be telling her version of the story while sipping on an iced tea with lemon, a beaming smile stretched across her face at the excitement of having her family together.
The moment doesn’t last long. Gramps claps his hands on his thighs and rises from the couch. “We better head back, Mark. The crew doesn’t wait.”
Dad stands from his chair and presses a kiss to my hair. “Don’t work too hard tonight. Let Nate help you.”
“I can handle it, Dad.”
“I know you can, Pumpkin. But you’re home now, you don’t have to do things alone.”
I offer him a watery smile.
“Nate, be nice to your sister.”
He scoffs. “I’m always nice.”
Dad gives him a pointed look before heading for the door. The screen claps shut behind him, his boots crunching down the gravel.
As Dad’s truck and trailer disappear from the driveway, Nate and I are left in the tiny cottage. With the silence comes a changein energy. I look across the room to where my brother sits, body leaning over, elbows resting on his knees. He’s changed over the years, no longer the twenty-one-year-old I left behind. His shoulders fill out his shirt, the tiniest hint of silver streaks through his brown hair, and his face is more matured.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
His jaw tics. “Depends.”
