Page 120 of Until You

“What the . . .”

I drove all night to get back home. The plan was to get here, to drop off Hani with the pet sitter, and then to beg and grovel with Crew over the phone until he agrees to let me fly out to Chicago and make it up to him.

To figure out how we can make this work.

Because that’s all I want right now is to make it work.

But the driveway is paved.

I turn onto it and drive super slow as if I’m going to damage the fresh asphalt. But instead of pulling into the cottage, curiosity has me driving past it.

Each foot feels like a mile.

To the big oak tree.

I’m almost afraid to look. Almost hopeful what this paved road might mean.

I startle when a truck turns the bend in the drive, right in front of me. But it’s not Crew’s truck. It’s not his tattooed arm resting on the open window.

It’s not Crew.

My heart sinks into my stomach.

He’s gone.

The house was sold.

Crew’s back in Chicago. The girls are back—

“Ma’am,” the man says out of his rolled-down window as he pulls up to a stop beside me. If he had a hat on, I swear he’d tip it at me. But I don’t want to see him here on Crew’s driveway. I don’t want to talk to him in a truck that Crew should be in. I don’t want to see his arm hanging out of his window with a hint of tattoos beneath his shirt because it reminds me too much of my first glimpses of a man I ran away from.

“Are you the new owner?”

He chuckles, and its deep tenor rumbles louder than the engine of his truck. “Owner? No. I work here. Name’s Rhys. Rhys Palmer.”

“You work here?” I ask, his name already lost to me as I try to understand. To believe. To hope.

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward the house I can’t see. “Yep. Hired last week. Came in to finish up my paperwork. Now I need to find a place to live in this . . . ” He looks around, his expression all but saying he’s not used to small towns. Not in the least. “Place.”

“Oh.” It’s all I manage to say.

“Are you here for an interview? He seems like a pretty cool guy. Like he’ll be a decent boss. Plus, he knows his shit.” He nods while my head spins over what he’s talking about. “Good luck. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Position?

But before I can respond, he eases off the brake and drives past me, allowing me to do the same.

If I owned this place, if I lived here permanently, that would be the first thing I’d do.

Pave the driveway.

Look up, Tenny.

Dare to hope.

And when I do, it’s my own strangled cry that fills the cab. Crew’s truck is in the driveway.

He’s still here.