Page 27 of Restored By You

She follows me to the porch. The maple in the front yard has gone full fire-orange overnight, it feels like, and the whole street is quiet and cold and gold, and she stands there hugging her elbows with her breath clouding in front of her, and I have to physically turn toward my truck to keep from doing something about it.

“Hey,” she says.

I stop. Turn back.

She’s looking at me with something careful in her face. “See you later?”

I could cross the porch right now and finish the half-inch I didn’t take on the dance floor last night. But not like this. Not on my way out the door with one eye on a clock. When I take it, if I take it, I’m not going to be leaving twenty minutes later.

“I’ll see you at six,” I say instead.

Her smile is small and knowing and it follows me all the way up the mountain.

I’m signing in at the resort at 8:29 AM, one minute to spare, when Levi rolls up and hands me a gas station breakfast burrito.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the burrito as we head up for the day.

“How was your morning?” he asks, all too curious.

“Floors are up at the Hargrove place. Saved the oak.”

“Uh-huh.” He unwraps his own burrito, watching me over it. “That why you’re smiling for no reason on a Monday?”

Am I? “I’m not.”

“Brother.” He claps me on the shoulder as we enter the elevator. “You’re grinning like a man who took your wisest brother’s advice.”

I scoff, shaking my head. I don’t tell him he’s right.

But I don’t tell him he’s wrong, either.

Ten.

Shea

Callie shows up at the suite with a bottle of wine, a bag of kettle chips, and the excitement of a best friend whose been dying for this conversation for five whole days.

I let her in with a look that has her squealing as she shimmies past me—Hulk hot on her heels with his big head and cute blue service dog vest on.

The suite is lived-in in a way I didn’t expect after only a week. Tyler’s hoodie is slung over the back of the couch. My sketchbook is open on the coffee table beside a half-empty mug, and the camera sits charging on the end table.

Callie takes it all in with a small, knowing smile. “Homey.”

“It’s a mess,” I correct, gathering the throw blanket off the couch to make room for us, then promptly plop onto it. “How was California?”

She sets the wine and chips on the coffee table, taking her spot at the other end of the three-seater couch. We turn to face each other, feet comfortably between us. “It was good. Long. The studio wants reshoots on the third act, so I was in a windowless room arguing about a kiss for four days.” She uncorks the wine with ease. “Beau flew out for the last two. He complained about the traffic the whole time, and then he bought a pair of fifty-dollar sunglasses he refuses to admit he loves.”

I snort. “There’s no way Frugal Beau spent that much.”

“Aviators. He looks like a divorced dad at a Costco.” She pours two generous glasses and hands me one with a smile. “It’s honestly the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

I take the wine, tuck my feet under me, and for a second, it’s just this—the two of us, a bottle between us, the mountains going purple through the big suite windows. I’ve missed her so much it’s physical, a tightness under my ribs that only loosens now that she’s here. A true best friend will have that effect on you. And ever since she moved here, I haven’t wanted to admit how terribly I need her most days.

“Enough about me.” She takes a sip, watching me over the glass rim. “How’s the house?”

That’s a deceptively safe question if there ever was one.

Monday was the first day of restorations at—what I’m now also calling, thanks to Rhett—the Hargrove Place. It’s now Friday and…well, we’ve made a lot of progress in five days of a few hours in the mornings and a few more in the evenings.