“Plenty,” Eli replies.
Isaac moves closer, offering a polite nod. “Morning, Miss Ruth.”
Ruth’s eyes spark with amusement as she studies him, then flick toward Grace, who’s suddenly sitting a little straighter, her cheeks coloring. “Well, aren’t you two a sight,” Ruth teases lightly, her grin widening.
Grace ducks her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Isaac pretends to busy himself with the mug Eli slides his way, but the way his hand brushes hers when he reaches for the sugar bowl doesn’t go unnoticed.
Ruth chuckles under her breath, clearly delighted. “Mm-hm. Thought so.”
Eli leans back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the three of us like he’s measuring the moment. Then he clears his throat, his voice steady but warm. “Speaking of this place keeping hold of people…” He looks at Grace directly. “Your grandmother’s decided to stay at Devil’s Ridge.”
Grace blinks, the words hitting her like stones dropping into still water. “She’s…staying?”
Clara’s hand trembles in mine, but she lifts her chin, silent, her eyes brimming. Eli continues for us, his tone gentle, almost reverent. “She and Marcel—well, they’ve had a long road. But they’ve found their way back, and they want to take advantage of whatever time they’ve been given now.”
Grace’s breath hitches. Her hands fly to her mouth, tears gathering and spilling before she can stop them. “Oh my God,” she whispers, voice cracking. “That’s…that’s beautiful.” She swipes at her cheeks, laughing softly through the tears. “I didn’t even know this kind of love could exist outside of stories.”
Beside me, Clara shifts. She leans forward, her gaze fixed on Grace, her lips parting. For a moment, the room feels charged, the very air holding its breath.
And then—soft. Fragile. Like wind through tall grass.
“Grace…”
The sound is faint, but it’s there. A whisper of a voice carried between worlds.
Grace gasps, her eyes going wide, her whole body jolting. “I—I heard that,” she stammers, voice trembling. “I swear, I heard her.”
Eli’s hand settles on the table, steadying the moment. His voice is calm, certain. “Sometimes, when love runs this deep, voices can carry further than we expect.”
Grace looks at me, then back at the space where Clara sits, her tears falling freely now. “Grandma…? Was that really you?”
Clara’s hand grips mine tighter, her whole being alive. I can feel it—her heart, her hope, her joy that our granddaughter heard her.
Grace sits stunned, her hand pressed to her lips, eyes still wide from the whisper that brushed across the air. The silence stretches, tender and fragile, until her breath steadies. She sets her mug down with trembling fingers and lets out a shaky laugh, almost disbelieving.
“Well,” Grace says softly, blinking through her tears, “if Grandma can be brave enough to stay…then maybe I can too.”
Eli tilts his head, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “What are you saying, Grace?”
She turns toward where Clara and I sit. “I came here thinking I’d just find a few old stories—maybe get some closure. But what I found feels…different. It feels like home.” Her eyes flick to Isaac sitting quietly beside her.
He meets her gaze, his smile slow and certain. When he slips his arm around her shoulders, she exhales—a small, shaky sound that carries more truth than words.
Ruth leans forward, her chin propped on her hand, watching them with a knowing grin. “Well, I’ll say this much,” she drawls. “You two look at each other like you’ve already decided. You don’t need our blessing, but you have it.”
Grace laughs, the sound fragile but genuine. “I guess I might’ve found a reason to stay.”
“Looks like this old ranch gave you that reason,” Ruth replies, her smile softening.
Isaac gives a small nod, his thumb tracing idle circles over Grace’s shoulder. “I reckon it did.”
Eli leans back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Seems Devil’s Ridge is still working its old magic. Hasn’t failed yet.”
The laughter that follows is quiet, easy, threaded through with relief. For the first time in years, the kitchen feels alive again—full of coffee, ghosts, and love that refuses to fade.
Isaac nods quietly, his hand still resting easy on her shoulder, like he’s anchoring her. Grace leans into the touch, and for a moment she looks younger—lighter—than when she first walked through the door yesterday with her questions and grief.
Eli lifts his mug, raising it like a quiet toast. “To new roots. May they take deep.”
