Chapter 20
Remy
Islip out of bed, careful not to wake Ivy, and pad to the kitchen. The coffee pot gurgles, filling the air with the warm coffee smell I love. I pour a mug and sit at the counter, taking my first slow sip.
This is my favorite time of day. The sun isn’t up; the world is still fast asleep. No customers yet, no chores, no questions. Just me and the sound of the heater kicking on and keeping us warm on this cold winter day.
I let my eyes wander around the room, taking it all in.
Every morning, I notice something new these days.
Ivy is always quietly fixing things up, making the house homier without making a big deal about it.
It’s like it’s her love language to make this house a home for all of us, and one of my favorite things is seeing what she’s done.
Today, it hits me all at once. There are framed photos everywhere now.
On the mantle, on the entryway table, even by the kitchen sink.
Me and Junie grinning in front of the tree lot.
Me and Finn with fishing poles on the dock.
My mom holding baby Junie, her face soft and proud.
There’s even one of me, Tate, and Finn when we were barely out of high school, arms slung around each other and grinning like idiots.
She must have gotten these from my mom. My heart warms at the kind gesture of doing this.
Then my throat tightens when I see the one of me and my uncle, taken years before he passed. He’s got his hand on my shoulder, both of us covered in dirt from working at the tree farm all day.
I whisper into the quiet, “I hope I’ve made you proud.”
It hits me right in the chest that Ivy thought to put that photo out where I could see it. She knows how much he means to me.
But then my gaze moves across the wall, and I notice something else. There are no pictures of Ivy. Not one in any of them. Not in the kitchen, not on the mantle, not even tucked by the coffeemaker.
My stomach knots. What if she doesn’t see herself staying here after all? What if she left herself out of those photos on purpose because she doesn’t want to take up space?
The thought makes my blood run cold.
I grip the mug a little tighter and force a slow breath. No. I tell myself not to think like that. Not after everything we have been through. Not after the nights we’ve shared and the way she looks at me like I’m hers. We talked about this, and we were on the same page. I thought so, anyway.
She is meant to be here. Surely, she has to feel that, too.
I finish my coffee and rinse the mug in the sink. The sky outside is starting to lighten with the sun trying to break through. Time to get to work.
Before I leave, I stop by Junie’s room. She is curled up under her blanket, hair a mess, breathing deep. I press a kiss to her head and whisper, “Love you, bug.”
Then I go back to my room and pause in the doorway. Ivy is still asleep, dark red hair spread over my pillow like a halo. The sight of her there makes my chest ache in the best way.
I sit on the edge of the bed and lean down to kiss her temple. She stirs, sighs softly, and settles again.
“My girls,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
I grab my coat and head out into the crisp morning air. My boots crunch on the frost as I cross the yard, my mind already turning over the thought that won’t let me go.
She belongs in those pictures.
And I am going to make damn sure she knows it.
The house is quiet when I come in from the barn that night, only the soft glow of the lamp over the couch lighting the room. Ivy’s curled up under one of the quilts, reading. She looks up when she hears my boots and smiles that small smile that always hits me low in the gut.
All day I replayed this conversation we’re about to have in my head, and I braced myself for the worst. Even though I know that’s not how it is with Ivy.
It would always be the worst with Sloane.
I had to brace myself for everything. But with Ivy, she makes everything easy and for that I am grateful.
“Hey,” she says softly, setting the book aside next to her.
“Hey.” I hang my jacket on the hook and sit beside her, my knee brushing hers under the quilt. For a second I just sit there, staring at the pictures on the wall.
“You did all this,” I say finally, my voice rough. “The photos.”
Her smile widens, shy but proud. “Yeah. It felt…right. I wanted Junie to see pictures of her family and feel loved here.”
I nod, throat tight. “I love it. Every single one. But…” I hesitate, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. “You’re not in any of them.”
Her brow furrows with confusion. “What?”
“There’s pictures of me, of Junie, Finn, Mom, even Tate,” I say quietly. “But none of you. Not anywhere.”
“Oh.” She blinks, surprised. “I just…I didn’t think to put myself in them. It felt like it should be about you and Junie.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Ivy, you belong in this house. You belong with us. And I guess…I just need to know if you’re going to stay.”
Her eyes go wide, her book forgotten in her lap. “What do you mean? Why would you ask that?”
I watch her and make myself say it. “I want to know where you see this going.” I hold her gaze even when my throat tightens. “You have moved a lot. Jobs. Places. And I…” My voice frays. I steady it. “I cannot go through losing someone again. Junie cannot, either. She has had enough people leave.”
Her lips part like I have knocked the wind out of her. “Remy. This is not just a job. I cannot imagine leaving unless you wanted me to. I thought we talked about this.”
Something in my chest loosens. That hard knot from this morning eases.
I nod, but I don’t let it end there. “We did. I just need to hear it again sometimes.” I reach for her hand.
“And I need to say it back. I want you here. Not just because of how good you are to Junie. I want you because you are you. This is your home with us if you want it. Not just for the season. For good.”
She scoots closer until her knees press against mine. Her eyes shine, careful and hopeful all at once. “I feel like I have been searching for my place forever. Maybe it was here all along. With you and Junie.”
I exhale and cup her face and kiss her, slow and sure, relief making the room tilt.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.
“I know forever is a hard word,” I say quietly.
“It’s hard for me, too. But I love you. And I can’t picture this place without you in it.
” I swallow and let the last piece out. “I don’t want to. ”
She closes her eyes, then opens them and lets me see what’s there. “I love you,” she says. “I want this. I want you. I want us.”
I press her hand to my chest so she can feel the way it kicks. “Then we do it together,” I say. “When it gets hard, we say so. When the old fear shows up, we talk about it.”
She nods, a small, shaky laugh breaking loose, and tucks herself closer like she is choosing the spot that already fits. The knot inside me is gone. In its place is the steady weight of something I want to spend the rest of my life keeping.
I press my forehead against hers. “Then we’re taking pictures of you tomorrow,” I murmur. “And putting them on every damn wall in this house.”
The school gym smells like old cafeteria food and construction paper, with the little stage strung with twinkle lights and dangling paper snowflakes.
The whole town must be here. Donna’s in the front row with Pete, a tissue already clutched in her hand.
Lilith waves us over to save seats, Tate and Willa tucked in beside her.
Even Finn and Rowan are here, bickering softly but sitting close enough that their shoulders touch.
Junie bounces nervously backstage, her new Christmas dress sparkling under the lights. Ivy crouches in front of her, braiding her hair one last time while Lola sits obediently at her feet.
“You look perfect, Juniebug,” Ivy whispers, kissing the top of her head.
Junie grins and runs to join her class. I snap a picture just as she turns around and waves, and the whole row of us laughs and waves back.
When the music starts, the kids sing with all the enthusiasm of five-year-olds, Junie the loudest of all. My chest swells so hard it almost hurts. I sneak a glance at Ivy, who’s smiling so big she’s practically glowing.
Pete claps so hard at the end I’m surprised he doesn’t throw out his shoulder, and Donna’s wiping at her eyes like she just watched Junie graduate from college.
Afterward, we all spill into the cold night air, our breath puffing in little clouds. “Dinner?” Tate calls, and everyone agrees.
The Wisteria Cove diner is packed but we cram into two big booths, eating burgers and passing plates of fries and onion rings back and forth, laughing until my cheeks ache. Junie is still buzzing from the performance, proudly showing everyone the glitter star the teacher pinned to her dress.
Afterwards we head to the bookstore to hang out.
“Remy,” she says, smiling up at me.
I pull her close and kiss her, slow and deep. “You make me so damn happy,” I murmur against her lips.
And I realize it’s true. Life can’t get any better than this.
The night felt perfect. The bookstore is closed, but we’re all just hanging out inside, even though the closed sign is on the door.
The fire is low, the lights twinkling, everyone lingering with cocoa and half-empty dessert plates.
Willa is curled up with Tate near the fireplace, Rowan is perched on the counter teasing Finn, and Ivy is humming quietly as she stacks mugs by the sink.
Junie is on the floor coloring, still wearing her glitter star from the program.
Then the bell over the door jingles.
The whole room goes still. I turn around to see who came in that’s making everyone go silent.
Sloane steps inside, snow dusting her coat, hair perfect as always.