Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
The next day, after her last class, Lily drove out to the farmhouse. She rolled the window down, letting the cool March breeze ruffle her hair. Spring was showing herself in Northfield more every day, teasing her with soft warmth in the afternoon and stealing it back at night.
She slowed as she drove past the canal, bare now without its holiday lights or skaters.
The waterline sat low, a muddy ribbon where the ice had been.
Soon the dams would open, the water would rush back, and boats and rowers would take the place of ice skaters.
For now, it was quiet, suspended between seasons.
She turned onto Rush’s long driveway. Her gaze caught on the wooden planter by the road.
The For Sale sign was gone.
A sharp ache pierced her. So it was really over. Rush had sold the house and moved on. And here she was, coming to collect the old box of Christmas decorations he’d left behind. Metaphorical, really, but she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.
Maybe the new owners would put their tree in the corner by the fireplace, so the lights glowed through the windows. Next year, she promised herself, she’d have her own place. She’d drag home a big imperfect Christmas tree, string it with lights by herself, and make a new tradition.
The studio was thriving. It was time. Evie had sworn she’d be lonely without her in the guest room, and Lily would miss her too. Maybe she’d get a roommate. Better yet, maybe she’d get a dog. Did they let people adopt retired police dogs? She seemed to have a thing for Belgian Malinois now.
She gripped the wheel tighter, and suddenly the back of her neck tingled with awareness.
Her breath caught when she saw him.
Rush, leaning against the porch column. He didn’t have a jacket on, just a navy flannel over a white T-shirt, and his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
Her heart kicked so hard it hurt. God, she’d missed him more than air.
She got out of the car slowly and walked to the porch, steadying herself.
I am a still lake.
“Hi.” She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She looked past him. “Where’s your car?” Details. They seemed easier than what she really wanted to say.
I love you.
I’ve missed you.
Please come home.
“Hi, Lily,” he rumbled, the rough sound as dear as ever. “Rachel gave me a ride from the airport.”
The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them. “Did you sell it?”
She couldn’t see his eyes under the brim of his hat. Were they cool as stone or darker, like a storm threatening a soft spring evening? It seemed suddenly very important that she know.
“It’s not for sale.”
Confusion twisted through her. She barely felt her feet carry her up the steps.
“Come in,” he said quietly, opening the door for her.
Inside, the house was stripped bare except for the box of Christmas things in the corner. Their tree was gone. Without furniture, her ballet flats echoed on the hardwood as she followed him into the kitchen.
“I’d offer to make you tea, but there’s nothing here,” he said.
Her hands twisted together. “Rush, why are you here?”
He turned then, leaning against the sink, and her breath caught at the expression on his face.
“Because I love you, Lily,” he said simply.
“Oh.” Her knees nearly buckled.
He took a deep breath. “I kept telling myself if I stayed away, I couldn’t fail anyone again. That lie nearly cost me everything I want.”
Her throat tightened, but she held his gaze.
“I had lunch with the Whitmores yesterday,” he went on. “I needed to face it—to hear from them what I couldn’t tell myself. That her daughter would’ve wanted me to live, not bury myself in guilt. I had to do that before I could come to you.”
His beautiful face suddenly blurred in the wash of her tears.
“Rush…”
“I want you to know I’m putting in the work,” he said fiercely, stepping closer and taking her hands in his. “I’m trying to be the man you deserve, Lily. Because I don’t just love you—I want to build a life with you.”
He eased her closer. Outside, the sunset lit the orchard, the rows of bare apple branches glowing copper against the horizon.
“I want this house filled with your laughter. I want our kids running wild through that orchard, fishing in the pond, dragging in Christmas trees too damn big for the door.”
She brushed away the tears as he pulled her tight into his chest, turning her so they faced the orchard. He wrapped his arms around her, his voice low in her ear. “And if you’ll let me, Lily… I want to marry you under that apple tree.”
She whirled, sobbing now, and pushed his hat back to see his eyes. Beautiful gray eyes, no longer shadowed with guilt or pain. They were pewter bright and full of love.
He dropped to one knee and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside gleamed a delicate gold ring, the square-cut diamond catching the last light.
“This was my mother’s,” he said, his voice gravely with emotion. “I want you to wear it. I want you to be my family. To build our family here, in this house. Lily Hart, I love you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
For one dizzying heartbeat, she saw it all—what she’d once tried to have with Tucker, the safe but hollow life she’d clung to because she was afraid her real dream was out of reach.
And Rush—the man who saw her clearly, who never made her feel foolish for wanting more.
The man who, even at his most guarded, made her believe she was enough.
Her hand flew to her heart, tears streaming hot down her face. “I will,” she whispered. “Oh, Rush—yes.”
He stood up, scooping her into his arms, and kissed her through both their tears. When he spun her around the bare kitchen, she realized it didn’t feel empty anymore.
It felt like home.