Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Cade
I woke to the sound of rain tapping softly against the windows and the echo of Missy’s absence beside me. The sheets were still warm where she’d been, faintly scented like her. For a second, I lay there staring at the ceiling, letting the reality settle in.
Missy. In my bed. In my life, in a new way.
Yeah. That wasn’t something I was getting over anytime soon.
I finally rolled out of bed and stretched the stiffness from my shoulders.
Then I headed for the shower. Hot water beat down over my neck as my mind replayed the way she’d slipped out before dawn, the quiet kiss she’d pressed to my mouth, the way she’d smiled like she was carrying a secret just for herself.
I’d wanted to drag her back under the covers and keep her there. Instead, I’d let her go.
Progress. Or stupidity. The jury was still out.
By the time I pulled on clean jeans, a gray Henley, and my worn work boots, the house felt more awake than it usually did this early. With all the work I’d done, the place was finally starting to feel like a home.
I grabbed my phone and fired off a group text to my crew.
Meet you at the bakery in twenty. Breakfast is on me.
I’d done this a handful of times since Missy opened her doors. It was half bribery, half morale booster. One hundred percent in support of her dream.
My guys never complained about starting the day with fresh coffee and pastries instead of gas station burritos.
Sweet Expectations was already lit up when I parked in the front spot.
The rain had slowed to a mist and the streets were still quiet except for the gulls and the distant sound of the harbor.
I pushed through the front door, and the smell of cinnamon rolls and fresh bread wrapped around me like a damn hug.
Missy was behind the counter with her hair pulled back in one of those sexy messy buns. She glanced up and looked a little surprised to see me, but then her smile softened.
“Good morning,” she said. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied honestly. “Are you okay?” I whispered and glanced toward the back, where I could hear her workers still moving around.
She nodded and rolled her shoulders. “I’m practically floating today for some mysterious reason,” she said quietly.
That word hit me right in the chest. Floating. Yeah, that’s how I felt too.
I didn’t get a chance to say anything else before the bell over the door jingled behind me and my crew piled in one after the other.
First in the door was Ryan Cole. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and perpetually chewing gum like it was part of his personality. He’d been with me the longest and was steady and dependable. Ryan was the kind of guy you trusted with load-bearing beams and coffee runs.
Behind him came Mark Ellison. The older man was shorter, stockier, but had a sharp eye for details and a sarcastic streak a mile wide. He was the one who caught mistakes before they became expensive problems.
Last through the door was Ethan Brooks, the youngest and newest crew member. The kid was fresh out of trade school and eager as hell, still amazed this was his real job.
They slid into one of the red-cushioned booths like they owned the place.
“Smells better than my apartment,” Ryan announced.
“That’s because your apartment smells like protein powder and regrets,” Mark shot back.
Missy laughed as she poured them each a cup of coffee. Something about that sound made my shoulders loosen. Being around Missy always had that effect.
Once the food arrived—a croissant sandwich, a biscuit sandwich, a breakfast quiche, and a blueberry muffin large enough that it probably violated some kind of nutritional guideline—we settled in.
“So,” Ethan said around a mouthful of food, “what’s the plan today, boss?”
“How are things looking up at Harbor Ridge Estates?” I asked.
“When the rain stops, we pour the foundation on lot four,” Ethan answered. “Framing on lot seven is almost done. The electrical rough-in should be finished today on lot nine. The rain might slow us down a little, but we’ll make it all work.”
Harbor Ridge Estates was my dream. My baby.
The new community sat at the very edge of town, where the land rose and fell naturally instead of being forced into neat little squares.
I’d sunk almost all of my inheritance from my grandparents into it, along with every spare dollar I hadn’t already poured into restoring my own place.
I’ll be honest, some days that fact kept me up at night.
Other days it grounded me. This wasn’t a side project or a gamble; I was all in.
The lots were generous, intentionally so.
I wanted space between homes, room for kids to ride bikes without hugging the curb, for porches wide enough to sit on in the evenings.
Some of the higher lots overlooked the water, the kind of views that stopped you mid-sentence when the sun rose over the water.
Others sat along the bluff, giving you a clear look down over the town, the lights twinkling at night a reminder that you were close enough to everything without being swallowed by it.
I had purposely designed the streets to curve with the land instead of cutting straight through it.
I’d made sure the roads were tree-lined, quiet, the kind of neighborhood where people slowed down without thinking about it.
In the center of the development, I’d set aside land for a large park with open green spaces for walking paths, a playground, and a small pavilion that could host birthday parties or summer movie nights.
I envisioned a place where neighbors would actually run into each other. Where community wouldn’t just be a buzzword on a brochure.
The new middle school was less than two miles away, close enough that kids could bike there if their parents let them.
The center of Silver Cove was five miles away, far enough to feel like a choice, not a necessity.
Harbor Ridge wasn’t meant to be flashy or exclusive.
There would be no gated entrances. No grand entrance signs meant to impress.
Just solid, well-built homes that were meant to last. The kind of place families would grow into, not grow out of.
“I still can’t believe how fast those houses are going up,” Ryan said. “This town is changing.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But not in a bad way.”
Mark nodded in agreement. “Yeah, what you’re making is better than another overpriced condo complex.”
Missy leaned against the counter, listening to them talk between dealing with customers. Her eyes flicked to me now and then like she was making sure I was happy about last night. I was.
I caught her gaze and held it just a second longer than necessary. Until I could see color flood into her cheeks. Then I smiled and she had to turn away.
Yeah, floating sounded about right.
Before I left, I wanted to find a way to sneak a kiss, but there wasn’t an opportunity. A line had formed at the counter, and Missy looked way too busy.
So I followed the last of my guys out of the bakery and stepped out just as the rain let up.
“See you up at the site?” Mark asked, tugging his jacket on.
“Yeah,” I said.
After they piled into their trucks and headed out, I lingered a second longer, catching Missy’s eye again between customers. I waved goodbye and headed out.
I spent the rest of the morning driving from lot to lot on the job site. A framing crew was busy on one site, while the roofing crew was finishing up on another. Everything was moving the way it should, and that steady rhythm of construction settled something in me.
Late morning, I was still out at Harbor Ridge, dealing with the issues that rose up.
I slowly drove up the hill, taking it all in like I always did. Fifty-some homes would someday spread across the rolling land. One day the neighborhood would look like something from a postcard.
This wasn’t about flash or status. It never had been.
Lot one sat at the entrance of the neighborhood and would serve as the model home once it was completed. It was ninety percent done.
I parked in the parking spot and stepped inside.
The smell of fresh wood and paint greeted me like an old friend.
The place was coming together exactly how I’d pictured it.
It had an open layout and big windows that overlooked the street and the backyard.
There were clean lines and simple high-quality finishes. It was practical and warm.
I walked through each room slowly, mentally checking off what still needed to be done and putting pieces of blue tape on areas that needed attention.
Then I headed back out and drove farther up the hill.
Lot four was just as far along as the model home. This place, however, had a contract on it already. A young family that lived in town had purchased the place before I’d even cleared the lot. Four other homes had contracts on them as well.
The inside of this one was finished and landscaping would come next. I walked through the quiet rooms, my plastic-covered boots echoing softly on the hardwood floors. I paused in the living room and stared out the back windows toward the Atlantic Ocean, admiring the view. What a view it was.
I could live somewhere like this. Not just for the view; I had a pretty view of the water myself, though my place didn’t sit this high up. I was close enough to the water that I could practically taste it. The edge of my yard was a row of rocks the water lapped at.
The fact that I was thinking about living in a new home surprised me a little.
Because the truth was, I loved my old house.
I loved the creak of the stairs as I went down them and enjoyed knowing that I’d taken something worn down and brought it back to life with my own hands.
There was something deeply satisfying about that. Something that felt like… me.
But then my mind drifted, uninvited.
What would Missy like?