Page 55 of Restored By You

“He said the pin-up dress was costume enough for the both of us,” Callie stage-whispers. “For the record, he’s very into the—”

“Callie.”

“—costume.”

Before I can enjoy Beau’s ears going red, a small black-clad missile launches out of the crowd and collides with Tyler’s legs.

“Tyler!” Parker, in full ninja regalia, has attached himself to Tyler like a barnacle. “You’re Ghostface! So cool.”

I watch my too-cool stepbrother look down at the six-year-old worshipping him, flip his mask up, and say, “We gotta hit the hardware store first. They’ve got full-size bars.”

Parker’s face transforms in awe. “Full-size.”

“Come on.” Tyler offers a fist for Parker to bump, and the two of them head off down the sidewalk.

Lily calls, “Stay where I can see you!” after them from where she stands, glittering in a full princess gown, looking every inch the former model even with a plastic tiara on her head.

“He’s good with him,” Lily says, drifting over as we watch the boys hit their first spot. “Parker’s been talking about ‘the big kid’ for two weeks.”

I smile. “I think he likes being looked up to for once.”

Lily glances at me, something knowing and a little sad in her pretty face. She nods. “Yeah.”

Rhett’s hand finds the small of my back, warm through the polka dots. “Walk with me?” he murmurs against my ear. “Ma’s got the little ones for a bit. I want to show you something.”

I let him steer me away from the family cluster and down the sidewalk. We walk hand in hand like we truly are together, that I’m his, and he doesn’t care who knows it. After the jobsite incident, the difference is uncanny.

And the town—the town knows me now. That’s the thing that keeps catching me off guard. Peggy from Cup O’ Joe waves from her cider station and calls, “The usual’s on the house tonight, hon. Happy Halloween!” The man from the hardware store nods at Rhett and then at me, “Miss Shea,” like I’ve been walking these sidewalks for years. A woman I helped once, simply held a door while she wrangled a stroller, stops to tell me she loves my dress.

He stops us in front of an old brick building at the end of the street. Wavy, ornate glass and a faded WHITETAIL MERCANTILE sign painted high on the side, barely legible.

“There,” he says, nodding up at it. “1911. Same year as your craftsman. Whoever built your place built half this street.” He slides his hands into his suspenders, staring up at the old brick. “I used to walk past it as a kid and think somebody ought to bring it back.”

I look up at the beautiful, tired old building, and then at the beautiful, tired man beside me, and something in my chest cracks wide open.

“We should,” I hear myself say.

He glances down at me. “We should what?”

I lean into his side, resting my head against his arm, looking up at the sign so I don’t have to look at him. “I mean, we could, but…we’re both pretty busy, and this one needs ten times the work the Hargrove place does.”

“Yeah, it does,” he says slowly, almost carefully. “It doesn’t have to be all at once, though. That’s the thing about a place like this. You don’t gut it and flip it in three months. You take your time. Do it right. A room here, a room there.” He nods up at the old brick. “Something like this, you’d be working on for years. Longer, even.”

Years.

The word hangs in the chilly air between us, and I know he’s no longer talking about the building. A possibility dressed up, but I hear it for exactly what it is.

You could stay. There’s more here. There’s a whole life here, if you want it.

If you’d let yourself want it…

My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it where I’m pressed against his arm. “That’s a big commitment,” I say, and my voice comes out smaller than I mean it to. “A project like that.”

“It is.” He’s watching me now, really watching me, and there’s no teasing in it. “But the right things usually are worth sticking around for.”

The plane ticket in my inbox flashes through my mind with the return flight I booked before I ever met him. Before I knew a man could look at a hundred-year-old building and a woman with a hundred reasons to leave and see the same thing in both.

Something worth saving.