Chapter 29 – Cole-Present
Chapter Twenty-Nine
LAKE IT OR LEAVE IT
COLE-PRESENT
The hardware store smells like history. It’s a mix of aged wood, dust, and faint traces of paint.
This place has been around for decades, holding secrets in the creaking floorboards and worn-out shelves.
It’s been part of the town, part of me, for longer than I can remember.
I’ve spent so many days in here, wandering through the aisles with Old Man Harris, learning the ins and outs of this place, his gruff voice explaining how the store used to be the backbone of the town.
He is always a quiet man, always with that slow, deliberate way of speaking, and when he talks about the store, it’s like he breathes life into it.
Today, he’s here, but not like usual. I still remember the day I found him slumped on the old stool behind the counter, clutching his chest with a pale, ghost-like expression on his face.
My heart nearly stopped. I rushed him to the hospital, hands shaking the entire way.
It turned out to be angina—scary, but not fatal. Still, it rattled him. Rattled me, too.
Now, weeks later, we’re back at the store. He insisted on coming back, said he needed to “be in it one more time.” I tried to argue, but there was something in his eyes that told me not to.
He’s sitting now, sipping from a chipped coffee mug like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this side of the ground.
“You know,” he says after a long silence, “when I was sitting in that hospital room, I kept thinking what if I die before I tell him?”
I glance up from where I’m sweeping, heart still not recovered from the day’s scare. “Tell me what?”
He looks around the store, like he’s seeing its bones in a new way.
Then his eyes land on me. Steady. Intent.
“That what you’re doing here—it matters.
It’s measurable, Cole. I’ve seen what you’ve done to this place already.
And I waited too long to say it, but you’re the right man for this. You always have been.”
I don’t know what to say. The broom stills in my hand.
“I thought I had time,” he goes on, voice rough.
“Time to pass the reins gently. Time to watch from the sidelines while you figured it out. But I realize…maybe I don’t.
Maybe none of us do.” He sets the mug down, slow and deliberate.
“So I’m saying it now. I trust you with this store.
I believe in what you’re doing here. And I’m proud of you. ”
The words hit harder than I expect. Old Man Harris has never been the man to hand out compliments. After everything, hearing them now is like a key turning in a lock I didn’t even know was tightly shut inside me.
I nod, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I mumble. “That means everything coming from you.”
He nods back, but says nothing more. We sit there for a long minute, just two men surrounded by years of wood and rust and memory.
I wipe my hand across the counter, feeling the familiar grit of dust clinging to my palm, like the past refusing to let go.
The wood beneath is scarred and weathered, each groove etched with years of use and neglect.
But there’s a quiet dignity in the decay, like this place once mattered.
If I put in enough work, it could matter again.
There’s a certain reverence in this space, even in its dilapidated state. I stand still for a moment, letting the weight of it all sink in. The silence here isn’t empty. It’s expectant, like the building itself is waiting on me.
I know the task ahead of me is no small feat. Renovating this store will take time, sweat, and a lot of effort, but there’s something in the air here that tells me it’s all worth it. Something that tells me it’s all going to come together.
Maybe it’s foolish to feel this certain. But hope isn’t logical. it’s stubborn. And I’ve been clinging to it like a lifeline.
I grab a broom and start sweeping the floor. With the bristles scratching across the wooden planks, each sweep sends a cloud of dust into the air. I pause, letting my thoughts drift, and they always find their way back to Cohen.
I can already imagine him being here. Darting around the place, full of questions. His curiosity mirrors mine at that age, always wanting to know more. It’s easy to almost hear his little voice asking how something works or how to fix it.
“What’s this do, Dad?” I imagine him saying, wide-eyed, pointing at some old tool.
The idea of him here, by my side, helping me with this store, fills me with a warmth I can’t quite put into words.
Cohen is still young, only eight, but I can’t help but imagine what it will be like when he’s old enough to truly contribute. Fixing up old shelves, learning how to work with tools, maybe even learning to run the register. The thought is overwhelming in the best way.
I’ve spent so many years missing out on moments with him, but now I finally have a chance to make up for lost time. This store, this renovation, could be something we build together. It could be our thing.
Maybe this is more than a renovation. Maybe it’s a second chance.
I shove the broom aside, pushing those thoughts aside for a moment.
I need to focus. The store is a mess, and I’ve got a long day ahead.
I grab a box and start hauling out old stock that’s been sitting on the shelves for years.
Old tools no one buys anymore. Rusty nails and screws that have probably been here longer than I have.
As I work, I let my mind wander again, this time remembering a night not too long ago when Cohen and I were having dinner with Kenna.
I was grilling burgers on the back porch, and Cohen, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He kept asking questions, trying to get us to talk about the things he cared about. At one point, he started rambling about how much he wanted a boat. He talked about how it was time for us to get back on the water.
The way he said it with so much confidence, hopeful, like it was already a done deal made me pause. He had the same spark Kenna used to have when we were young. That quiet certainty that the world could still be good.
I couldn’t help but laugh, remembering how, as kids, Kenna and I used to talk about getting a boat one day. It had been one of those promises we’d made to each other when we were younger. The thing you say, not knowing how you’re going to make it happen, but hoping one day you will.
That night, I promised Cohen that we’d get a boat. He didn’t know what I meant by that yet, but I could see the excitement in his eyes. That promise was not made lightly. It wasn’t just a passing thing. It was something I’d been thinking about for a long time.
The thought of getting a boat for us, for Cohen, for Kenna—it fills me with a kind of urgency, a need to make this right.
I’ve spent too long being apart from them, too long wondering if I could ever give them what they deserved.
But this I can do. I can give them this.
I pick up my phone and call a friend of mine who works at a boat manufacturer.
He’s a guy I’ve known for years, and I know if there’s anyone who can help me get my hands on the perfect boat, it’s him.
His voice comes through the phone quickly, almost as if he’s been waiting for my call. “What’s up, Cole? You need a boat, don’t you?”
I laugh, even though I’m nervous. “Yeah, I do. I need the best boat you’ve got. The best one. It’s time.”
He doesn’t ask questions, which I’m grateful for. He just agrees, tells me he’ll make it happen, and says that it’ll be ready soon.
I hang up, and my heart races. I know this is a big step, a huge purchase, but it feels right. It feels like it’s time to make the promise I made to Kenna all those years ago come true.
Weeks pass.
The renovations at the hardware store continue. I’ve put in long hours sanding down the floors, repainting the walls, and fixing up the shelves. It’s coming together, slowly but surely.
I can’t help but think about Kenna. She’s been so supportive of everything I’ve been doing, from the store to the boat, and she deserves something for herself too.
I know Cohen is going to be staying at Kenna’s parents’ house this weekend, so it’s the perfect time for my surprise. Just the two of us, no distractions, no interruptions. I want to do something special for her, something that’s just for us.
I head to the market and pick out a bouquet. I smile to myself as I imagine her face when I hand them to her.
When I arrive at Kenna’s house, I take a deep breath, my nerves suddenly hitting me hard. I’m standing on her porch, holding the flowers, and for a split second, I feel like I’m seventeen again. Nervous and unsure of myself.
But I’m not seventeen anymore. I’m here, a man who’s spent years growing, changing, and becoming the person I always wanted to be. And Kenna is still here, the woman I’ve loved since we were kids.
I knock on the door, my heart hammering.
She opens it, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Kenna is standing there in a tiny tank top and shorts, her hair pulled back loosely.
The warmth of the sun has kissed her skin, and she looks effortlessly beautiful.
She’s the woman who makes my heart race just by breathing.
I can’t help but let my eyes linger on her, feeling a wave of desire crash over me.
“Hey,” she says, her voice light, like she knows exactly what’s coming. She glances down at the flowers in my hands and smiles. “What’s this?”
I hold them out to her, trying to keep my cool. “These are for you. And you need to get ready. I’ve planned a surprise.”
Kenna’s eyes sparkle with curiosity. “A surprise? You know I’m not very good at waiting for surprises, right?”
I chuckle softly. “This one’s worth the wait. I promise.”