Chapter 46
Seth
The morning sun was already hot enough to burn the dew from the grass by the time I walked across the yard with a fresh cup of coffee.
Madison stood on the porch of the guesthouse, tugging Olive’s hair into a loose braid while she squirmed and complained that the flowers would miss her if she didn’t say goodbye.
“They’ll survive a few hours without you, O,” I teased, setting my coffee on the railing.
Olive scowled, her little hands clutching her plastic watering can. “They like me better than you.”
Madison’s laugh bubbled out before she smoothed Olive’s braid. “She might not be wrong.”
I shook my head, grinning despite myself. “Guess I’ll have to earn their approval back.”
Madison tied off the braid with a pink elastic and brushed Olive’s shoulder. “Go grab your shoes. We’ll be late for Evie.”
Olive darted inside, leaving the two of us alone in the golden light. Madison looked down at me from the porch, her hair twisted up in a knot, the soft curve of her mouth still carrying last night’s kiss. My chest tightened in a way I was still getting used to.
“Big day?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Site inspections, more paperwork, and a meeting with the adjuster. Nothing exciting,” I said. “Half the town’s roofs still need repairing. I’m juggling crews and blueprints until my brain’s fried.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, sympathy flickering in her expression. “You’ll make it better. You always do.”
The certainty in her voice startled me. Not many people said things like that to me, not with such conviction. I swallowed past the tightness in my throat. “What about you?”
“Evie’s got me on a double shift, but Olive loves helping behind the counter. She’ll be fine.” Her smile softened. “You’ll be fine too.”
Before I could answer, Olive came bounding back out, Bunny under one arm, sneakers on the wrong feet. “Ready!”
I bent to fix her laces. “You’re gonna trip in these.”
She wiggled, impatient. “Hurry, Uncle Seth. Mommy has to work.”
I tied the bow, ruffled her hair, and stood. Madison glanced at me once more before leading Olive down the path. “Dinner tonight?” she asked, her tone casual but her eyes holding mine.
“Dinner,” I said firmly.
And it was enough to carry me through the day.
By midmorning, I was at the edge of town, hard hat under my arm, blueprints tucked into a leather folio.
The storm that had swept through Wisteria Creek a few months ago had left scars everywhere.
Roofs peeled back like open tin cans, windows shattered, and porches sagging with water damage.
Half my job was drawing plans for repairs.
The other half was convincing anxious homeowners that time and patience would see them through.
I walked to a job site where a crew was tearing off shingles, the air thick with the smell of tar and dust. The hammering echoed through the humid air as I spread the blueprints across the hood of my truck and pointed out reinforcement beams to the foreman.
“This section will hold,” I said, tapping the paper. “But don’t cut corners. We’ll brace the joists before you set the new trusses. If we do it right, this roof won’t budge in the next storm.”
The man nodded, wiping sweat from his brow.
I gave a few more instructions before moving on, but my mind wasn’t just on load-bearing walls and waterproofing.
It kept drifting back to Madison in her sundress on my porch, to Olive’s innocent questions at dinner, to the way the guesthouse no longer felt like a separate building but part of my home.
By the time I wrapped up the meeting with the adjuster in the afternoon, my patience was fraying.
Another delay, another stack of forms. Madison’s house would be at least a few more weeks, if not more, before she could even think about moving back in.
I should have been frustrated for her, and I was, but another part of me wasn’t ready to let them go. Not yet.
When I pulled into the drive that evening, the sky was washed in orange and violet. Madison and Olive were walking back from town, Olive skipping in uneven circles while Madison carried their tote. Olive spotted me first, bolting across the yard.
“Uncle Seth!” she cried, waving a cookie like a trophy. “Evie said I’m the best helper ever!”
I caught her mid-run, careful not to crush the cookie. “I don’t doubt it.”
Madison reached us, her hair loosened from the day, her smile tired but genuine. “Long day?”
“Too long.” I looked at her, letting the weight of the words soften. “I’m glad it’s over now.”
She held my gaze for a beat, the corner of her mouth curving in that way that made my pulse trip. “Me too.”
Dinner was simple: grilled chicken, sweet corn, and the blueberry scones Evie had tucked into their tote.
Olive chattered between bites, her words spilling like marbles across the table while Madison and I found each other’s hands beneath it, fingers brushing, resting, curling together.
Little touches, secret and grounding, like anchors thrown in quiet water.
Later, when Olive started yawning mid-sentence and Madison tucked her under a blanket on the couch, we drifted to the porch. The cicadas droned, fireflies blinking in the dark. Madison leaned against the railing, and I stood beside her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
She looked at me, her voice low. “You said today was too long. But you don’t look tired.”
“Not anymore,” I said.
Her breath caught, and when I kissed her, slow and certain, she melted into it, her hand pressing against my chest.
For years, work had been everything. But tonight, standing there with her, I realized Wisteria Creek wasn’t just a town I was fixing. It was a place where I could finally put down roots of my own.