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“He came up to the house last week to talk through ideas with your dad. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Noble built this?”

“He was pretty proud of it,” she says. “I’m shocked he kept the secret.”

I look a little closer at the arch. It’s beautiful, and the stain matches the chairs I have stored in the shed. In my mind, I see my checklist and all the things Noble checked off of it. I had no idea he even remembered I’d mentioned this arch.

“Shoot,” Momma says. “I hope we didn’t just spoil the surprise.”

I blow out a stream of hot air, avoiding her gaze.

“Hattie?”

I find her watching me, and the second our eyes meet, I feel the knot in my throat. I look away. There’s something about being around her that makes all my emotions bubble to the surface. She’s always had a sixth sense about what I’m really feeling that makes it impossible to pretend.

“What is it?”

I walk over to the stone ledge on the perimeter of the space and prop myself against it. How do I say that my feelings for Noble are so strong they scare me? How do I admit out loud that I don’t know how to move past our past? How do I tell her that I don’t want to doubt anything he’s done or said, but trust doesn’t come easily to me?

I don’t have answers to any of those questions, so instead I say, “Noble’s manager is at the lodge.”

“His manager?”

“Nell.” I go still. “She came to compliment him on his grand plan to show up in town just to fix his reputation and land some big sponsor.”

Momma’s frown lines deepen. “Well, that doesn’t seem likely.”

Doesn’t it?

There are conflicting waves of hopefulness and doubt washing through me.

“Have you ever known Noble to care about his reputation?” she asks, half-laughing like the whole idea is ridiculous. I wish I were that certain.

“Before now? No,” I say. “But he sure did care about making things right with the people in town.”

“Because he’s thinking about moving back here,” she says.

“Or because if they sing his praises, he’ll seem like a hometown hero and his sponsor will believe he’s not the guy who drinks and parties and sleeps around.”

“Hattie. That is not fair.”

“Fair? You want to know what’s not fair? Him showing up after thirteen years and acting like he can just say some nice things and everyone will just forget. Or, better yet, me thinking that he’s—” I stop myself.

Why can’t I just let this go? Why am I stuck on how I felt right here in this place all those years ago?

She studies me for a long moment. “What’s this really about?”

I shake my head and hug my sweater around me tighter. Because I don’t know.

“Hattie.”

I inhale a slow breath, then let it out, hoping to expel some of my emotions too. “What if we’ve all been taken for a ride? What if what Nell said is true?”

She pulls a face. “You really think he’s only here because he wants to try and please some sponsor? The boy who always bucked authority, carved his own path?” There’s sarcasm in her tone.

“I mean, no,” I say. “It doesn’t really sound like him.”

“No,” she says. “It doesn’t. So what’s got you worried?”