Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Avery
I woke up with a dull throb behind my eyes. The kind that came from too little sleep and too much thinking. It had been a long night of tossing and turning. The bed felt empty without Reid. It was cold without his arms around me.
Or maybe it was just the ache in my heart from his absence.
My mind had spun all night with the mess I’d made. I’d turned it over a million ways in my mind, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out a way to sort it. The truth about our marriage was out. Or, it would be as soon as Jacob opened his mouth and found someone who’d listen to him.
And they would. Because he wasn’t wrong, and as soon as people learned about the clause in the will, they’d see our quickie marriage for what it really was.
Everything was slipping through my fingers. It was a reality I’d finally accepted sometime before dawn.
I was going to lose the inn. And all my savings. I’d be bankrupt with the debts I owed.
But that wasn’t the reason my chest felt tight.
Reid .
I never really had him, and I’d already lost him.
Never mind the fact that I wouldn’t be able to pay him the rest of the money we’d agreed on and that he needed for his wood shop. I’d kept the financial details from him as much as possible, but I owed it to him to tell him the truth and give him a heads-up. It wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to.
With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed. Lying there wasn’t going to change anything. As much as I would have liked to hide from reality a little bit longer—or forever—I knew it wasn’t going to hide from me.
Stepping outside, I took a minute on the porch to take in the lawn and the half-dug-up gardens, waiting for all the plants we’d picked out the day before. I wondered what had happened to them. Had Lauren taken them, or were they still down at the festival grounds?
It didn’t matter anymore.
I turned slowly, unable to look at the upturned dirt any longer without crying. That’s when I saw it.
The swing.
It hung from two new chains exactly where the old one had been.
Reid.
I walked toward it slowly, still not quite believing what I was looking at. My fingers brushed over the smooth wood. It was beautiful and obviously made with so much attention to detail.
The edges were rounded, every inch of it carefully sanded until the wood was almost soft. The seat was wide, with plenty of space to curl up with a book and cup of tea. Or a lover.
The craftsmanship was unmistakable—Reid had made this. Not just thrown together, but made with care and precision.
For me.
I swallowed back the lump in my throat.
A breeze stirred the swing a little, swaying it back and forth. Something inside me moved along with it.
This was real.
It wasn’t an act. Or part of our deal.
He’d built me something beautiful. Something strong. Something that would last.
And I had no idea what to do with that.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I sat.
And I cried.
For my grandparents and what they’d built together and the love they’d shared. The same love they gave to me and impressed upon me for all those summers I spent right here with them.
I cried because I missed them more than I’d let myself even think about. Being at the inn had been a way of having them back. Even for a little bit, in the smallest way.
It hadn’t been much, and there was still so much to do, but every day when I grabbed a paintbrush or a hammer and set to work putting things right and bringing life back into the old building and the home that had brought so much joy to so many, I felt like I was bringing them back.
It was stupid, sure, but…it also wasn’t.
Saying goodbye to the inn was saying goodbye to them.
Tears streamed down my face as I tucked my legs up under me and gently swayed back and forth.
I gave in to the tears and let myself grieve properly for the first time since I’d said goodbye to my grandfather.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was long enough for my tears to dry on my cheeks and for the emptiness in my chest to bloom into a dull, unrelenting ache.
It wasn’t just the loss of the inn I was grieving, and I could be honest enough with myself to admit it. It was Trickle Creek, too.
The community.
The people.
The new friends who very quickly were feeling like old friends.
It was Reid.
It was so much Reid.
I let my hand slip from my lap and rest on the hard wood beside me. He’d built this for me.
Even after we fought. Even after I told him to go and that I wanted him to leave me alone. Even after I’d given him every reason not to, he’d still done this.
For me.
That meant something. It had to.
I hugged my legs close to my chest. I let my other hand drape over the back of the swing, and that’s when I felt it.
There was something carved in the wood.
I couldn’t see it from my angle, so I unwound myself, stood, and walked around the swing.
“Oh.” My hand moved to cover my mouth as fresh tears slipped from my eyes. “Reid.”
My fingers traced over the carving he’d made in the back of the swing.
A mountain range in the background, with two larch trees side by side in the foreground.
Just like the trees my grandparents had planted.
A sign of resilience, strength, and change.
Resilience.
Strength.
Change.
I traced my fingers over and over the carving until finally, I knew what to do.