45. Chapter 45
Caitlin
The gravel crunches under my tires as I park beside Adam’s truck.
I sit for a moment, hands still on the wheel, taking in the sight before me.
It’s been several months since I’ve been out here.
First, there were the restaurant renovations and festival preparations, and then the complete flood of customers since our reopening that has occupied my every waking moment.
While work on the house had been inching towards completion, it hadn’t been there yet.
I thought work had stalled and assumed we’d pick it back up when things calmed down.
But the pristine white exterior and freshly painted green shutters tell a different story. Adam hasn’t stopped at all.
I step out of my car into the cool autumn air.
The transformation is stunning. The sagging porch has been rebuilt; its weathered boards replaced with smooth new planking.
A porch swing hangs from sturdy chains, swaying gently in the breeze.
The overgrown gardens that once threatened to swallow the walkway have been cleared out, the soil freshly turned and waiting for new life.
Every window gleams with new glass, catching the afternoon sun.
“How did you…” I whisper to no one, shaking my head in disbelief.
I approach the front steps slowly, running my hand along the new railing.
The wood is smooth beneath my fingertips, the paint still smelling faintly fresh.
The stubborn door that has stuck and creaked for years, opens smoothly when I turn the knob, no pressure against my shoulder needed to force it open.
The entryway is painted a pale yellow and the trim white. A long bench rests against the wall.
The living room stops me in my tracks. The walls are painted a soft blue that reminds me of early morning skies; the crown molding is painted white.
The hardwood floors that had been hidden under decades of wear now shine with a warm honey glow, every scratch and dent buffed away.
The built-in bookcases that frame the fireplace gleam with polish.
The window seat where I curled up to read as a child has been rebuilt, with a new soft white cushion lying on it.
And there, in the center of the room, sits a coffee table I never thought I’d see again.
My breath catches. I move toward it slowly, almost afraid it will disappear if I approach too quickly.
The rich cherry wood gleams in the light streaming through the windows.
I run my fingers along the edge, feeling the gentle curve Adam had carved by hand.
He made this table for my birthday during our last year together in Colorado.
I’d left it behind when I fled Mount Pella, too heartbroken to take anything that reminded me of him.
Somehow, Adam brought it back to me, all the way from Iowa.
I straighten up, wiping away the unexpected moisture gathering in my eyes, and continue my exploration.
The dining room walls are painted light green.
White wainscoting runs around the lower half of the walls.
But it’s the table that makes my heart skip.
The massive oak dining table that I had thought damaged beyond repair dominates the center of the room, its surface gleaming under a fresh coat of varnish.
Every water ring, every scratch, has been carefully sanded away, the wood restored to its original beauty.
I run my hand along the edge, remembering Sunday dinners, homework spread out while Grandma made dinner, board games played during power outages. This table was the heart of the house, and Adam has brought it back to life.
My feet carry me to the kitchen next, and the sight that greets me nearly brings me to my knees.
The original cabinets that I was afraid would need to be replaced have been painstakingly restored and painted a crisp white.
The walls are the same soft green as the dining room, creating a seamless flow between the spaces.
The restored hardwood floors glow, making the white cabinets pop.
The butcher block countertops that had been scratched and stained and burned over decades of use now look brand new, sanded down and oiled to a soft sheen that invites you to run your hands across them.
And Grandma’s cast iron sink, the one I was determined to save no matter what, still holds pride of place, though the ancient faucet has been replaced.
In the breakfast nook, where Grandma and I ate most of our meals together, stands a new table with benches built into the wall. I recognize Adam’s handiwork immediately. He’s built it to fit the space perfectly, as if it grew there organically.
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them back.
This kitchen was where my grandmother taught me to cook, where I learned to roll out pie dough and make a perfect roast chicken.
It was where I found refuge after my mother left, where I learned that food could be love made tangible.
Adam has preserved every inch of its soul while making it beautiful again.
I wander through the rest of the house in a daze.
The bedrooms upstairs are painted in soft, soothing colors that complement the original woodwork.
In the upstairs bathroom, sits a clawfoot bathtub that looks like it could have always been here.
Every room has been thoughtfully renovated, modernized where needed but with all the original character preserved.
But where is Adam? His truck is outside, but the house is silent. Making my way back downstairs, I listen for any sound that might betray his presence, but hear nothing.
I wander back outside and head towards the back of the house, wondering if I might find him in the old garden sheds.
However, when I pass my grandfather’s old workshop, I see the door is propped open with a brick, and the sound of a sander drifts out.
I’d almost forgotten the old workshop existed.
Grandpa died before I was born, and after his death, Grandma simply locked the door.
As far as I knew, no one had been in there for years.
I peer inside, and there he is, bent over a workbench, completely absorbed in his task. He’s working on what looks like a chair, one of several in various stages of completion arranged around the space.
I watch him for a moment, the careful precision of his movements, the intensity of his focus. This is Adam in his element, creating something beautiful with his hands. He’s so lost in his work that he doesn’t notice me until I step inside, the old floorboards creaking under my weight.
He looks up, surprise giving way to a smile that lights his entire face. “Caitlin,” he says, setting down his tools and dusting his hands on his jeans. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”
“I just got here,” I tell him, moving closer. “Adam, the house… it’s incredible. When did you do all this?”
He shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. “I’ve had some time on my hands.”
“Some time?” I laugh. “You’ve completely transformed the place. The exterior, every room inside, and now you’re working on furniture?”
“Just a few chairs for the dining room,” he says, as if that explains everything. “Peter gave me the keys when I mentioned wanting to restore the old table. He said I might as well have access to the whole place since I was working on it, anyway.”
“But when? Between shifts at the restaurant and helping with the renovations there, when have you had time for all this?”
“I hired a local contractor to help me with some of the heavy lifting, and your uncle helped as much as he could,” Adam admits, fidgeting.
“Plus, I don’t need that much sleep.” He’s joking, but the shadows under his eyes tell a different story.
He’s been pushing himself, working here during every spare moment.
“Someone obviously needs to take better care of you,” I say, my voice softening as I reach up to brush back an errant lock of hair.
His eyes lock with mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. “Are you applying for the position?”
My heart thuds against my ribs. “Maybe I am.”
“I have something for you,” he tells me. “Turn around.”
I give him a puzzled look at the odd request, but do as he asks. “Lift your hair,” he says softly, his mouth near my ear, making me shiver. I do and a second later I feel something cool and metallic drape around my neck.
Looking down, I see the silver pendant that I’d left behind in Iowa. Turning it over I can see the familiar engraving, ‘home is where you are.’
“Adam,” I say turning back around and looking up at him
“I carried it with me everyday. To remind myself what I was fighting for.” He tells me, a soft look in his eyes. For a minute, both of us are lost in the intensity of the moment until I take a deep breath and step back.
“You know, this workshop. It’s perfect for someone who wants to, say, make furniture to sell.”
“I had noticed that, yes.”
“And it’s a pretty big house. One woman living there on her own, she might get pretty lonely.”
“What are you saying, Caitlin?” He’s standing so close to me now that I can feel the heat of his body, although he isn’t touching me.
“I love you, Adam,” I whisper, the words coming easily now that I’ve started. “I’ve loved you ever since you sat at one of my tables at that diner in Colorado. I’ve loved you every day for the past year, even when I was angry, even when I was hurt. I never stopped loving you.”
Adam inhales roughly, his eyes blazing with emotion. His smile is brilliant, transforming his face from handsome to breathtaking. When his hands come up to cup my face, his touch is infinitely gentle.
“I love you, Caitlin Hughes,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I’ll love you until my last breath.”
Then he leans down, closing the distance between us. The kiss is gentle at first, but when my arms slide up around his neck, pulling him closer, it deepens into something more. He kisses me like he needs me to breathe. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me flush against him.
Our tongues tangle, teeth clash. I grind against him, my hands in his hair.
We haven’t made love yet, although we’ve come close several times since the beginning of our reconciliation in that hotel room in Iowa.
Everything felt too new, too fragile, and neither of us felt ready to take that step.
Now, I have an entire year of longing for him built up, and I don’t feel like waiting any longer.
My hands go to the hem of his t-shirt, and I start tugging it up.
Breaking our kiss, chest heaving, he picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Not here,” he whispers as he carries me towards the house. “Sawdust. It’ll get everywhere.”
We make it to the kitchen. “I need you,” I moan, tugging at his clothes again.
Stepping back, he reaches behind him and whips off his shirt. And what I see when he does stops me in my tracks, emotion cutting through the fog of lust.
“Adam,” I step forward, touching his skin with gentle fingers. Because there, right over his heart, is my name in flowing script.
Taking hold of my hand, he brings it to his mouth and places a gentle kiss on my palm. “So neither of us will ever forget that you own me; body, heart, and soul.”
Taking me back in his arms, he makes short work of removing my clothes. Lowering us gently to the floor, his lips trail over my face and neck down to my breasts. He nips and sucks and tugs while I writhe beneath him, running my fingers through his hair and over his shoulders and back.
“Please, Adam, I need you,” I beg, hooking my leg around his waist and grinding up into him.
With a muttered curse, he rolls away just long enough to divest himself of the rest of his clothing.
Then rolling back, he gently flips us so he’s lying on the floor and I’m on top.
With a moan, I lower myself over him, taking him slowly until he’s fully sheathed.
The feeling of being joined with him again is so overwhelming that I have to close my eyes for a moment to savor it.
Opening them again, I look down at Adam. All the love he has for me shines in his eyes, and I know he can see my love for him in mine. We keep our gazes locked as I begin to move, slowly at first and then faster, bracing my hands on his chest and rocking against him.
He brings one thumb to my clit and begins to rub. My cries fill the room as I tense and come. Gripping my hips, he pounds into me a few times and then follows, my name on his lips.
I collapse against him, both of us breathing hard.
His arms wrap around me, and he buries his face in my hair.
I finally feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
The past year has been a long, winding road of pain and healing, of finding our way back to each other.
But lying here in Adam’s arms, listening to his whispered words of love against my hair, I know with absolute certainty that every step was leading us home.