Page 65 of Restored By You

“It’s a quick stop,” Rhett says for the third time.

We’re supposed to be at his parents’ by two. It’s 1:35 PM and Tyler’s in the back seat in the least-wrinkled hoodie I could bully him into, a pie balanced on his lap.

“Rhett.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Where are we going?”

“Told you. Quick stop.” He smirks. “Two minutes.”

We pull onto a quiet, tree-lined street and Rhett slows the truck in front of the house nestled at the end. And my heart stops. It’s a 1920s craftsman, from the look of the deep eaves and the tapered porch columns, smaller than the Hargrove place but with the same—dare I say—good bones. The paint’s tired and the porch sags a little and there’s a realtor’s SOLD sign staked crooked in the snow-covered front yard.

I know this house.

“I looked at this house online before I bought the Hargrove place. This was on my list and I loved it, but Hargrove had better shoot options for the show.” I turn to him, my heart slamming. “Why are we here?”

“You mentioned it once.” He puts the truck in park and turns to face me, something nervous and hopeful I’ve only seen a handful of times transforms his rugged features. “Took me about a week of asking around to figure out which one.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It went up for sale again last month.”

“Rhett.” I can barely breathe. “What did you do?”

“I bought it. Closed on it Tuesday.”

The world tilts.

“You…” I stare at the house, then at him, then at the SOLD sign. “You bought a house.”

“Well.” A crooked, bashful grin. “You bought the first one. Figured it was my turn.”

Behind us, Tyler lowers his phone. “Wait. For real?”

“Whitetail Mercantile was a bit of a stretch, I admit.” Rhett doesn’t take his eyes off me. “So I bought this back when I still thought you might get on that plane,” he says quietly. “Figured if I couldn’t give you a reason to stay, I could at least give you a reason to come back.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I know it’s crazy. I know it’s fast. And I know we haven’t talked about what we’re going to do long term, but…”

He pauses as I begin to cry. He reaches over, grabbing my hand. “Shit, baby, don’t cry. Fuck. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I shake my head, fanning my eyes with my free hand. “No, no. It’s not—” I blow out a shaky breath, then laugh. “You’re crazy.”

Rhett stills, worry creasing his handsome brow.

But there isn’t a thing he needs to worry about.

“Yes,” I choke out. “To the house, all of it. To you.” I’m laughing and crying at once, launching across the console into his arms, and he catches me. “I’m staying, Rhett. I’m staying. I was always going to stay, I just didn’t know how to say it, and now you’ve gone and bought me a whole house!”

“Our house,” he corrects into my hair, and I feel him grinning.

I squeal, kissing him over and over and over again.

From the back seat, Tyler clears his throat. “So, like…does this mean I get a room? Because I’m not sleeping in an attic. I’ve seen how that goes in movies.”

And I laugh, wet and helpless and so full of love I can hardly stand it, tucked against the chest of the man I’m going to build a whole life with. Live my dream with.

“Yeah, Ty,” I say. “You get a room.”

“Cool.” A pause. “Can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

The Montgomery house on Thanksgiving is less a dinner and more of a beautiful, chaotic mess.

I’ve been here two hours and I’ve lost count of the people. There are too many Montgomerys, all of them loud, half of them holding a baby or a beer or both, and the whole house smells like turkey and woodsmoke and cinnamon whiskey that Levi keeps trying to get everyone to try, “For the spirit of the holiday. It’s festive.”

“It’s paint thinner, is what it is,” Julie says, breezing past with a gravy boat. “Put it away before your father drinks it and tells the story about the elk again.”

“Who wants to hear the time I took down an elk with my own bare hands,” Clayton calls from the living room where several people groan.