Page 31 of Not Until I Found You

She lifts her gaze, her eyes peering into mine as she weighs whether to agree with me or not.

Wren pops up suddenly. “Yes! You should use your time here this summer to do just that.”

“To do what, exactly?” Maxinne asks, tilting her head, almost suspicious of Wren’s enthusiasm.

“To rediscover yourself,” Wren says, her grin spreading wide as she waves a hand animatedly. “Try new things, explore new places, build new relationships. Anything you want to do. Discover what makes you, you. Or better yet, become the version of yourself that you’ve always wanted to be. There’s so much beauty in starting over.” Her voice grows brighter. “And you know what? I’m going to do the very same thing.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, raising a brow at Wren, though my lips tug upward at her statement.

“Yes. Starting with taking Mrs. Burner up on her offer to teach a dance class to her teens.”

“Since when have you wanted to teach kids how to dance?” I ask.

“Since always,” she says without hesitation. “I’m ready to rediscover myself after this divorce. And I’m going to start with my passion for dance.”

Before I can tease her further, Maxinne straightens, like Wren’s words flicked some hidden switch inside her. She slides a marshmallow onto her stick, determination settling in the set of her jaw.

“You know what? I’m going to do it. This summer is going to be all about me. I want to go hiking, and spend more time with my family, and…other things I’ll figure out along the way. And then maybe I’ll feel rejuvenated before I start my college classes in the fall.”

Her smile is radiant, lighting up more than her face, as it spills into the night around us. It sparks something in me I didn’t expect. I think it’s optimism, or maybe it’s hope. But right as it comes, a heaviness settles in my chest.

There’s a small warning voice in the back of my head, reminding me of the rules I set for myself to guard my heart. A list Maxinne doesn’t fit, not even close. I’m not sure of her relationship with God, and she’s lost herself within a relationship, so having a clear idea of who she is or what she wants out of life is something she’s trying to discover. Most of all, she doesn’t live in Covewood.

That list has been the only thing keeping me safe this long. I force myself to look away from her, back to the fire, back to the things I can control. I made that list for a reason, and I’m not about to let one woman make me forget it.

Chapter Eight

Maxinne

“Man, that smells good.” Ashton leans over the pot I’m stirring, inhaling the scent of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and basil.

“Someone’s hungry,” I say.

“Oh yeah. This week’s been a rough one.” He gives my shoulder an appreciative pat.

“For you and me both,” I mutter under my breath.

“Well, I’m going to take a quick shower,” he announces before disappearing down the hallway of Dad’s cabin. I bite back a humorous laugh because rough doesn’t even begin to describe how my week has gone. The past few days have been an endless loop of chores and spiraling into loneliness.

Over the weekend, I told myself I’d try new things and shake off the heaviness from everything currently going on in my life. I felt a glimmer of excitement after hanging out with Zane and Wren, but when the sun came up, so did the weight that had been settling over me like a damp blanket. Instead of doing some self-discovery, I ended up curled up on the couch, reading one of Ashton’s books or falling asleep while watching trashy reality TV.

I’ve spent the week trying to keep myself busy. By day, I’m tending the garden, scrubbing floors, and tackling whatever daily checklist Ashton leaves for me. It’s easier to exhaust my body during the day than it is sitting alone with my own thoughts at night.

The silence between Dad and me during the day is heavy, and it’s not because of his usual quiet nature. It’s the weight of the years he missed, questions neither of us knows how to ask, and the strange uncertainty of learning how to be father and daughter again after so much time apart.

Still, the dirt caked onto my old sneakers is a badge of honor. I’m at least learning something new while I’m here. I’ve stopped ruining my good shoes, I can now feed the animals without spilling the grain everywhere, and I’ve even managed to cook dinner more than once.

Today might be the first day I’ve actually felt fully competent. The animals didn’t shy away from me. The garden rows look greener and fuller. Even though the moments with Dad are still wrapped in hushed awkwardness, I’m starting to find a strange sort of rhythm to my time here.

I glance through the wide doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Dad’s sunk back in his old lounge chair, a book balanced in his hands, his glasses low on his nose.

“The tomato soup and grilled cheese should be done soon,” I holler, my fingers still wrapped around the wooden spoon.

His dark eyes lift to mine briefly before he gives me a small nod and his gaze slides back to the page. That’s about as much as I’ve gotten from him all week. A nod here. A few fractured words there. I’ve tried to bridge the distance between us with conversations over dinner, working in the garden together, even sitting beside him in comfortable silence, but every attempt seems to meet the same invisible wall. Part of me wonders if it’ll always be this way. The other part stubbornly refuses to give up hope.

Fifteen minutes later, I guide the immersion blender through the pot until it’s a thick, velvety soup. By the time Ashton steps into the dining room, everything is ready. I ladle the soup into bowls, letting the steam curl upward before scattering fresh basil from the garden on top. The grilled cheese is stacked high on a platter, the sourdough crusts crisp, golden, and oozing with melted cheddar.

Ashton helps Dad up from his chair and steadies him as they make their way into the dining room. Dad leans heavily on the back of the chair when he sits, adjusting his grip on the table like he’s reminding his hand how to work. Ashton drops into the seat across from him and flashes me a tired but grateful smile.