Page 63 of Peaks and Promises

It looked like something on a postcard. An actual log house, with a big front porch decorated with spring flowers. Trees rose all around and the side yard had a picnic table and a swing set.

“This is your parents’ house?” I asked, more than a little bit awestruck.

“Yeah.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Pretty much.”

“It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he said, as if that hadn’t occurred to him before. “It is.”

We got out and I gazed at the trees rustling in the light breeze. The air smelled fresh and clean, and the sky above was clear and blue. Although we’d gone up a hill, we were still surrounded by taller mountain peaks.

Nate and I followed Reese up the porch steps. He knocked and waited. Nothing happened, so he knocked again and opened the door.

“Dad? Mom? It’s me.”

“We’re in the kitchen,” a woman called.

We went inside and Reese shut the door behind us. I took slow steps down the short hallway, gazing at dozens of framed photos on the wall. Some looked old—they had to be pictures of Reese and his siblings when they were young. Others were newer. Wedding photos, and quite a few kids. The next generation of Havens.

It was such a big family. It was going to be hard to remember everyone’s names.

Reese’s parents were busy in the kitchen. His mom looked up with a warm smile. Her hair was cut in a chin-length bob, her eyes bright behind blue-rimmed glasses.

“You must be Summer.” She came around the island and opened her arms to hug me. “Welcome. I’m Marlene.”

I stepped into her hug. “Thank you so much. This is my son, Nate.”

“Hi, Nate. I think Reese told me how old you are, but I’ve already forgotten.”

“Ten.”

“Will you be in fifth grade next year?”

“Yeah, and I’ll be eleven in October.”

“Wonderful. My grandson Thomas isn’t much older than you.”

Reese gestured to the man in the kitchen. “That’s my dad, Paul Haven.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

He tipped his chin. Although I knew Reese wasn’t related to him biologically, there were definite similarities between them. Maybe it was just coincidence. Or maybe it was his size. He had a large frame, like Reese, with broad shoulders and thick arms. Dressed in a plaid flannel, he looked like he’d be at home with an axe in his hands.

“I figured you’d be hungry,” Marlene said, circling back to the kitchen. “Can I get you coffee before we put everything on the table?”

“I would love coffee, but can I help with anything first?”

She poured a cup and slid it across the island. “We’ve got everything in hand, but thank you. Nate, do you like hot cocoa, or would you prefer lemonade?”

“Lemonade, please,” he said.

“I got it,” Paul said.

He got a pitcher out of the fridge and poured lemonade into a blue glass. Right as he gave it to Nate, the front door opened, and a male voice carried down the hallway.