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He turned toward the grand staircase, meaning to clear his head, and saw his father standing midway up the steps, studying the banister.

His father looked out of place dressed up as he was, the bow tie already tugged loose. In the hush that followed the music, Sully could hear the quiet rasp of his father’s hand running along the rail.

“You built this,” his father said, not looking up.

“Yeah,” Sully answered. He was already braced for his father’s criticism.

His father nodded slowly, as his thumb traced a carved rosette at the base of a post. “Your grandfather did his share of staircases, but none like this.” He paused, letting his palm slide down the curve. “Damn fine work.”

The words were simple but sincere. For a breath, neither of them moved.

Sully managed a quiet, “Thanks.”

His father finally turned, eyes moving to the art hanging around the room. Several of the canvases wore the small red dots of sale.

“Those are yours, aren’t they?” James asked.

Sully nodded once.

His father stepped closer to study one—the harbor piece, all muted blues and golds. “I heard this one had a bidding war.” The man’s mouth twitched with a faint, disbelieving smile. “Never thought folks would pay good money for this stuff.”

Sully swallowed deeply, unsure whether to take it as a compliment. But his father’s expression stayed thoughtful, even reverent.

“I used to think art was a waste of your time,” James said quietly. “Didn’t see the work in it. Guess I was wrong.” He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat.

Suddenly, the air felt different. Sully held his breath. His father’s gaze swept the hall, and when he looked back, there was something unfamiliar in his eyes.

“I know I don’t say this kind of thing much, and maybe the bourbon has helped,” he said roughly. “But I’m proud of you, Sully.”

It wasn’t grand or lyrical, just a handful of words dropped like anchors.

Sully felt something unclench beneath his ribs.

He didn’t trust himself to answer, so he just nodded once.

His father gave the banister one last pat. “Smooth as glass,” he murmured, as if to himself. Then he smiled—not wide, but enough to crease the corners of his eyes—and patted Sully’s arm.

As his father walked away, Sully let his hand rest on the rail a moment longer. The wood held a faint warmth, as if it still remembered every pass of his hand, every long night of sanding and stain. He drew a slow breath and let the silence settle around him like something earned.

Across the room, Amy looked up from a cluster of guests, their eyes catching for the briefest second before she turned back to laugh at something one of them said. The sound reached him through the hush. It was light, certain, and alive.

Sully smiled to himself. Between the house, his father, and the woman he hadn’t dared to hope for, he finally felt… whole, as if all the pieces had found their place.

Chapter 33

Sunlight poured through the restored windows of the front parlor, catching the grain of the polished floors. The room smelled faintly of lemon oil and sea air.

Amy handed Sully a check across the rebuilt table. “That’s the last,” she said. “Final payment for everything, and the miracle you worked out there.”

He didn’t look at it right away. Just stared at her with that quiet half-smile that had undone her ever since he stopped frowning. “Feels strange to be finished,” he said.

“Finished?” she teased. “It’s an old mansion; I doubt we’ll ever be finished.”

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “When I first walked through here, I wasn’t sure you had the fortitude for the work. But you proved me and everyone otherwise.”

“I had my doubts, as you well know,” she said, breathing in deeply. Then, she smiled. “The network money helped enormously. Settlement or not, I wasn’t going to fight them in court. Shannon handled it gracefully, and the publicity from those extra episodes has been incredible. We’ve got a waiting list for retreats until next spring.”

“You did it, Amy,” he said simply.