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I look over at Lennon, and that’s when I realize she’s crying. Ribbons of salty water streak down her face, the fading light still enough to illuminate them.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay to what?”
“To all of it. You just described my perfect life.”
I stare at her, emotion clogging my throat.
I was worried about how this conversation might go. No matter my intentions, I went behind her back and undermined a decision she made. Best case, I thought it would take her a few days to get used to the idea. To think everything over and consider keeping the property.
“I’ve gotten estimates from a few construction companies. The farmhouse really needs to be gutted. New electric, new plumbing, new well. And all but one has suggested leveling both barns and building new. And then on the fencing it seems like—”
“Caleb.” She interrupts me.
I look over. “Yeah?”
“You know I’m in love with you, right?”
I exhale, long and low and relieved. “I know.”
“Good.”
She walks over to me, not stopping until our bodies collide. Her face gets buried in my neck, her arms wrapping around my waist.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For telling me that and for every single thing you’ve done to show me how you meant it. Especially this.”
CHAPTERFORTY-ONE
LENNON
Six Years Later
“He’s home! He’s home! He’s home!” Tiny feet pound the hardwood floor.
Hazel breezes past me, almost taking off the screen door clear off the hinges before she reaches the front porch.
“No running in the house!” I call after her, rising from my seat at the kitchen table.
Hazel doesn’t reply, not that I expected her to. Not that I actually thought she would listen to me. And if shehadanswered, it probably would have been to tell me she’s no longer inside, so she can run.
Unfortunately, she inherited my love of logic. And arguing.
I follow her outside, reaching the top of the porch steps just in time to see Hazel leap into Caleb’s arms. He spins her around, the sound of her laughter carrying across the air in the October breeze.
Hazel starts chattering away immediately, filling him in on the drawings she did this morning. The peach pie she helped me make that’s currently in the oven. About how she galloped on Stormy yesterday. By galloped, she means trotted, but Caleb is ignorant enough about horseback riding I’m not surprised when his expression isn’t concerned.
Instead, he looks completely at ease as he watches our daughter fill him in on everything he’s missed in the past two days since they spoke.
Caleb only looks away from Hazel when I step on a squeaky stair. I’m surprised one even exists. Matthews Farm is almost unrecognizable from my adolescent memories. There’s no longer an inch of this property that hasn’t been repaired, painted, or trimmed.
Caleb’s gaze meets mine, and he gives me the secret, special smile that still gives me butterflies.
I descend the rest of the stairs slowly, trying to compensate for how my center of gravity seems to shift daily.
Hazel scrambles out of Caleb’s arms and starts racing toward the house. “I’ll be right back,” she calls over one shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Mom,” she tells me as she passes by.
“Okay.” I laugh. I’m guessing she’s just remembered she left the art project she worked on all morning upstairs in her room. The excitement of Caleb’s arrival was clearly enough to make her forget about it until now.
