Page 60 of Where the Music Grows

We dive in. Aggie starts with the totes, sorting through them. “Keep,” she mutters, setting one aside. “Donate,” she says, pushing another toward me.

I grab the donation pile and start carrying it down the hall to the living room where we’re stacking everything for thrift store. The bed is next, adding more stuff to the donation pile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep this in here?” I ask. “I don’t have anything. We can stack stuff against the wall.”

She shakes her head. “I want it gone. I’m sick of it taunting me.”

I laugh. “Okay.”

“What color do you want?” she asks, holding up two sets of sheets—one a faded floral, the other plain white.

“White’s fine,” I say.

She tosses them to me and I go to work making the bed. The mattress is old but firm, and once it’s made up with clean sheets and a patchwork quilt, it doesn’t look half bad.

“Looks cozy,” Aggie says from the doorway.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Definitely beats sleeping on the ground.”

A couple of hours later and it’s a perfect guestroom.

Aggie surveys our handiwork with a satisfied nod. “Not bad.”

“It’s perfect,” I say honestly.

I run a hand over the quilt—handmade, probably by Aggie herself. “Thanks. For everything.”

She waves me off. “Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”

“I’ll be back after I clean up my site,” I tell her.

It’s weird saying goodbye to the tent and creek. I pack everything up and take a second to look around. Stumbling upon this place turned out to the best damn thing to happen to me.

I head back to the house. It’s our night off and I’m secretly grateful. After a simple dinner, I head to bed early.

This feels...permanent. Or at least, more permanent than a tent by the creek.

Is this enough? Playing weekends at The Hollow Log, sleeping in Aggie’s sewing room and stealing kisses with Jinnie when she’s not buried in bakery work?

What would my dad think of me sleeping in Aggie’s sewing room? Of the crowds at the bar? Of Jinnie?

The old anger simmers—at Dad, at Aiden and the others, at every person who ever made me feel small. Part of me still wants to hit the road, chase fame like it’s some kind of revenge.

But another part of me, the quieter, stubborn part, thinks that maybe this is enough. Maybe more than enough.

Chapter Twenty

Jack

The screen door slaps shut behind me as I step onto Aggie’s porch. I stretch my arms over my head. That has been the best night’s sleep in a while. I feel refreshed and ready to tackle the world. The last couple of nights sleeping at Aggie’s house felt a little strange at first, but I was settling in.

Aggie’s already out in the greenhouse. She started using it almost immediately. That made me happy. I step inside and immediately inhale the scent of the potting soil. She’s got several plants she picked up at the nursery already potted and thriving. Aggie kneels by a table, her hands buried in soil as she carefully transfers a young plant into a larger pot. She looks up and flashes me a smile, her cheeks smudged with dirt.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from her face with the back of her wrist. “Thought you’d never wake up.”

“I needed it,” I admit, leaning against the workbench.

“Yes, you did.” She smiles.