Chapter 5
TUESDAY
CHELSEY OPENED THE kitchen window and breathed in the scent of summer rain, one of her favorites.
She dropped heavily onto her sofa and moaned; her back ached, her feet were sore, and her stomach grumbled.
The day had been long and stressful, thanks in part to the OSHA list. She was a little surprised that Taylor said he’d take care of it; one less thing for her to worry about, right? But why? Why was he helping her?
Her stomach growled loud enough that it startled her into action. She needed sustenance and she knew exactly what she craved. Chelsey pushed off the couch and dragged herself to the small, bright kitchen.
The yellow–and–white house sat on prime land and realtors came knocking on Chelsey’s door too soon after her mom passed away. Did Chelsey want to sell? The answer was a resounding no. This home was filled with memories of her mom and Chelsey didn’t want to lose those.
Chelsey leaned her hip against the kitchen counter and glanced around.
She loved her house, or cottage, as her mom used to call it.
She fingered the cheery curtains with daisies they’d picked out together.
Since neither of them could sew, they’d enlisted Heather’s help, who was a whiz with a sewing machine.
Daisies had been her mom’s favorite flower.
They were scattered throughout the house in the décor—from paintings to dishes—and planted along the white picket fence.
Every year, the two of them had planted sunflowers and daisies in front of the house.
The flowers were a perfect combo together. Like we were.
It still hurt to see daisies and a pang of sadness usually followed.
The first summer after her mom passed away, Chelsey grabbed the shovel and struck it in the dirt, determined to get rid of the white flower.
A cloud moved across the sun and a cool breeze touched her face.
She dropped the shovel and fell to her knees.
She didn’t want to wipe out the beautiful reminders of her mom, she wanted to get rid of the pain lodged in her heart.
That summer, Chelsey planted a daisy to replace the one she’d dug up.
She opened the freezer and grabbed a box of frozen Junior Mints and popped one in her mouth.
She had most of the box eaten by the time she changed into her gray yoga pants and baby-blue hoodie.
She opened the app on her phone that kept her organized.
Now that she was comfy, she could think about her to-do list, which seemed to be getting longer instead of shorter.
It seemed as soon as one problem was taken care of, two more came up.
But it didn’t feel like everything was going to go well.
Did they have enough bachelors to raise the money to build at least three small houses?
Mason McCormick would bring in a large sum, but it couldn’t hurt to have one or two other bachelors.
Maybe she’d find someone from her graduated class who was visiting Juniper during Strawberry Days.
Chelsey found her senior yearbook in the back of her closet. She thumbed through the pages as she carried the book back to the couch for any inspiration she could find She smiled as she scanned pages with friends’ signatures and arrows around cute boys. Someone drew hearts around her picture.
Someone whose name was Taylor Compton.
Chelsey hurried past that page. She was looking for possible bachelors, not a trip down memory lane. Why were so many married? She sighed. Because high school was years ago. Friends had moved away, gone to college, got married and settled into careers.
No one stuck out to her. Now what?
As Chelsey idly flipped through the pages of her teen memories, her fingers stopped at the two-page spread of the Homecoming Dance.
A girl named Madi was Homecoming Queen and Taylor won King.
They stood on a makeshift stage together in the gym as they were presented as Homecoming Royalty to the whole school right before the dance.
Madi was crying and beaming at the camera, her arm entwined with Taylor’s.
In the picture, Principal Hunt was lowering the crown on Taylor’s head as he looked off to his left with a gentle smile. For me.
Chelsey’s throat tightened as she remembered the moment and what it felt like to be the recipient of Taylor’s smile. She traced the glossy edge of the photo with her forefinger, the gym lights frozen in time, the banner overhead declaring Homecoming Dance in block letters that felt suddenly loud.
She’d been standing off to the left, close enough to hear the applause roar in her ears, close enough to feel like the whole world held its breath with her.
It was her first formal dance with Taylor and the moment she realized she’d lost her heart to him.
She remembered the exact shade of blue of her dress that night, how her mom had helped her pin up her hair and told her she looked like she belonged anywhere she wanted to be.
Taylor had looked at her like that before. Like the rest of the room blurred away.
Off to the side she’d drawn two hands, fingers intertwined to form a heart. She’d added the classic teen equation: T.C. + C.H.= TLF
Chelsey snapped the yearbook shut and pressed it to her chest, the ache blooming sharp and unexpected.
Seven years. She’d done just fine for seven years without reopening this door.
And then Taylor Compton walked back into Juniper Valley like he’d never left, like he hadn’t disappeared without so much as a goodbye, like he hadn’t taught her the precise way hope could fracture.
She set the yearbook on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch cushions, staring up at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily above her.
The hum was comforting. Familiar. Everything in this house was familiar.
The creak of the floorboard near the hallway.
The faint lemon scent of her mom’s cleaning spray still clinging to the baseboards.
The chipped paint near the window they’d always meant to fix.
This house understood her. It had held her grief, her growing up, her quiet victories. It had been the place she came back to every time the world felt too loud and too messy.
Selling it would feel like erasing her mother’s laugh from the walls.
And yet.
Taylor’s face rose uninvited in her mind, older now, sharper somehow, but with the same eyes. The same voice that had once whispered plans of faraway places like promises. Cities with lights that never dimmed, markets bursting with color, a life that moved instead of stayed.
She rolled onto her side and hugged a pillow to her stomach. It wasn’t fair. Not after all this time. Not when she’d finally convinced herself that staying didn’t mean settling, that loving Juniper Valley wasn’t the same thing as being afraid.
Right?
Her phone chimed softly with a reminder notification, pulling her back. Strawberry Days Auction: finalize bachelor list.
Chelsey groaned and dragged the device closer, scrolling through her notes. Names were highlighted, crossed out, questioned. The auction had always been something she poured herself into every year. It mattered. It kept families afloat. It made the town feel like home.
Taylor had stepped in today like it was nothing. OSHA compliance, logistics, permits. He’d said it casually, like he wasn’t rearranging her carefully balanced world with every small kindness.
I can take care of it, he’d said.
She hated how much relief she’d felt.
She hated it more that she still remembered the cadence of his voice and leaned toward it when he spoke.
Chelsey pushed herself up and wandered down the short hallway, pausing in front of her mom’s bedroom.
She hadn’t changed much in the past three years.
The quilt was still folded at the foot of the bed.
The dresser still held her mom’s jewelry box, the one with the chipped corner and the tiny mirror inside.
She padded across the quiet room and slowly lifted the lid. She smiled at the familiar chaos. Earrings tangled together, a broken clasp her mom swore she’d fix someday, a pressed daisy tucked between folded tissue paper.
Her chest tightened again.
“You’d tell me to be brave,” Chelsey whispered to the empty room. “Wouldn’t you?”
Her mom had always believed life was meant to be lived forward, even if it scared you a little. Chelsey had inherited the fear. Her mom had carried the courage.
She closed the jewelry box and returned to the living room, dimming the lamp. Rain tapped against the window, the sound rhythmic and soothing. Juniper Valley in summer always had a crisp scent of freshly cut hay, like clean air and home.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Taylor.
The name alone sent a jolt through her chest.
Wiped down the banisters. Dust mites banished!
His message brought a smile to her lips. She sent a thumbs-up.
Outside, headlights passed, briefly illuminating the daisy curtains before fading away. Life moving on, as it always did.
Chelsey curled back into the couch, the yearbook still closed on the table, the past pressing in from all sides. She thought of the roller rink, the downtown, the way Taylor had stood in front of her earlier that day like he belonged again.
Maybe that scared her the most.
Because if he belonged here again, what would that mean for her?
And for the first time in a long while, the thought of staying felt just as frightening as the idea of leaving.
The rain picked up, steady and sure, washing the streets clean. Chelsey closed her eyes and let the sound settle her racing thoughts.
Tomorrow, she told herself. She’d deal with it tomorrow.
But deep down, she knew something had already shifted.
Juniper Valley felt the same.
She didn’t.