Page 41 of Suddenly Yours

“Sounds good,” I said smoothly.

They left behind warmth and the comfort of friendly conversations. Missy looked around the busy room and said, “I hadn’t realized how much I would enjoy this,” she said quietly. “Being known by everyone in town. Knowing everyone as well.” She laughed.

I watched her take a bite of pizza, and she smiled like the weight of the earlier conflict had completely loosened.

Several other townspeople stopped by to chat with them. They all knew Missy and talked about how much they appreciated her bakery. I knew more than a handful of them and handed out a few of my business cards to a few new people after Missy introduced me.

When we finally stepped back outside, the sky had darkened and the streetlights were flickering on one by one.

I opened the truck door for her. “Home?”

She hesitated and took a deep breath. “Actually… would you show me the progress you’ve made on your house?”

The question landed heavier than it should have.

“You sure?” I asked. “It’s still a mess.”

She smiled. “So am I.”

That did it.

“Sure,” I said. I shut the door once she climbed in.

As I pulled away from the curb, heading toward my place instead of hers, I had the strangest, quietest thought settle in my chest:

This might be the start of something.

Or the end of pretending it wasn’t already there.

I pulled onto my street and slowed, nerves hitting me in a way they never did when I came home alone.

My house sat a little back from the last road along a small cove. It backed up to the water, but was still in town. The front porch lights were casting a warm glow across the restored clapboard siding that I’d installed the first week after I’d moved in.

I’d stripped the old paint last week during a hot wave and had repainted it a soft, weathered white that felt right for a coastal Maine home. The color was classic, quiet, and didn’t look like I was trying too hard. The wraparound porch was still bare except for a couple of rocking chairs that I’d salvaged and refinished in my garage when the weather was bad during the winter.

Missy leaned forward slightly in her seat. “Wow,” she said softly. “You’ve really fixed up the outside.”

“I painted and put up a few shutters,” I explained. I’d painted the shutters a deep royal blue, which somehow made the house feel more like a home.

“Come inside but be aware that I may apologize for everything that’s still unfinished,” I warned, killing the engine to my truck.

The second I opened the front door, the scent of wood hit us.

The old carpet was long gone, showcasing the refurbished wide-plank hardwood floors that stretched from the entry through the living room and into the dining space. I’d sanded them down myself, stained them a rich honey brown, then sealed them until they gleamed.

Missy stepped inside and stopped dead.

“Oh my gosh,” she breathed. “Cade… these floors. Are they new or the original?”

“Original,” I answered, trying, and failing, to sound casual. “They were just hiding under fifty years of bad decisions,” I joked. “The tile in the entryway too. I still have a few minor repairs to do there, but they’re looking much better.”

She laughed, bending slightly to run her hand over the wood. “It’s so beautiful.”

That word did something stupid to my chest.

I led her through the living room first. The fireplace took center stage. The stonework that had been a bitch to rebuild from the ground up practically gleamed now. So did the old mantle that I’d restored and refinished. I’d kept every scar I could, every mark that told of the home’s real age.

“Did you rebuilt this?” she asked, running a finger over it.