Epilogue
NELLY – TWO WEEKS LATER
The house smells like fresh paint, new wood, and endless possibility.
I stand in the middle of the living room with my arms folded over my chest while a couple I've never met walks through the kitchen with a realtor, and I swear I'm going to throw up. Not because anything's wrong, though.
It's just the anticipation of it all.
The late-afternoon sun streams through the windows I spent days restoring, catching on the freshly refinished floors and the soft cream walls.
The trim is crisp. The ceiling is smooth.
The front porch doesn't sag. The shutters are repainted.
The upstairs no longer looks like a war tried to rip the house apart from the inside out.
And the kitchen?
My God, the kitchen turned out beautifully.
The wall is rebuilt. The electrical is safe.
The plumbing has been checked twice. The cabinets I salvaged have been sanded and refinished, and the ones that couldn't be saved have been replaced without making the entire space look mismatched.
Even the little breakfast nook I carved out near the window looks like it's always belonged there.
I did this.
Well…
I glance around at the men standing with me.
We did this.
Ford and Knox handled more work than I'll probably ever be able to repay them for.
My pack carried food through the front door so often that I'm pretty sure the neighbors started assuming we were running a restaurant.
Nash showed up almost every morning before work.
Levi came after closing the tattoo shop, usually with dinner and some smart-ass comment about whatever state he found me in.
And Beau? He made sure I didn't bankrupt myself. Which, according to him, was a much more difficult job than any of the physical labor.
The realtor's laugh carries in from the kitchen, and it makes my stomach flip.
"They hate it," I whisper.
Beau looks up from his phone. "They've been here forty-three minutes."
"Exactly."
He blinks. "That's a good thing."
I worry my lower lip. "Or they're cataloging everything they hate."
Levi leans against the wall beside me. "Pretty girl, no one spends forty-three minutes in a house they hate unless they're being held hostage. And since Nash is standing right here, I'm assuming that's not the case."
Nash rolls his eyes as I rub my palms against my jeans.
"The husband frowned at the upstairs bathroom," I whisper.
"He was looking at the tile," Beau says.
"He frowned at it."
"He told the realtor he liked it."
"People lie."
Beau lowers his phone. "Sweetheart?"
"What?"
"Take a breath. You're mentally spiraling."
Nash steps behind me and settles both hands on my shoulders. The contact grounds me immediately.
His voice is low and soothing. "Breathe, little one."
I draw in a slow breath, and his thumbs press into the tension near the base of my neck.
"You've done wonderfully with this house, and if this isn't the couple for it, then we'll find them. You know we will," he says.
I look over my shoulder at him and find a soft, certain smile on his face.
"I watched you rebuild this place, Nelly," he says as he continues his massage. "You've done well. Now it's time for the realtor to find the right buyer, and that might take a while."
"But we've got you, in the meantime," Levi murmurs as he nudges me.
Something warm catches beneath my sternum. I look away before I start crying in front of some strangers.
But then, the realtor appears in the kitchen doorway. "Nelly?"
Every muscle in my body locks. "Yes?"
The realtor smiles. "The Hensleys were hoping they could ask you a few questions about the renovations."
"Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. Bring on the questions, of course."
The couple steps out behind her, and I straighten automatically. The woman smiles at me first. She looks to be somewhere in her early thirties, maybe, with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and one hand resting over the slight swell of her stomach.
I noticed that when they first came in.
"This is Nelly," the realtor says. "She's the local renovator who purchased the property and oversaw the work."
"Oversaw?" Levi murmurs behind me.
I elbow him without looking.
The woman's smile grows. "You did all this?"
"Not alone," I say quickly. "I had a lot of help with the work, especially after the storm. But the design choices and most of the restoration plans were mine."
Her husband looks toward the kitchen. "Can I ask why you kept the cabinets?"
Oh, thank God. A question I know how to answer.
I unfold my arms. "Because most of them were still good.
The lower cabinets on this side had water damage, so those had to go.
There wasn't any sense trying to save them.
But the uppers were structurally sound, and the boxes on the opposite wall were still in excellent condition.
" I make my way into the kitchen and open one of the cabinet doors.
"Solid wood. They were ugly as sin when I bought the place, but ugly isn't the same as useless. "
The woman laughs, and that makes my nerves loosen.
"So," I say as I turn back toward the man, "I stripped them down, repaired what needed repairing, and refinished them. The replacements were matched as closely as possible, but I didn't want to rip out perfectly good cabinetry just to say everything was new."
The husband nods slowly. "That's actually one of the things we liked."
My heart skips. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says as he runs his hand along the counter. "It doesn't feel like one of those flips where someone covered everything in gray paint and called it renovated."
I let out a laugh before I can stop myself, and then I clear my throat. "Sorry."
"No, please," the woman says, laughing with me. "That was one of my concerns."
"Mine, too," I admit as I look at the space where the massive hole in the kitchen used to be. "I didn't want to erase the house."
Her voice pulls me back to the present. "What do you mean?"
I look around the kitchen as I think on my answer. I watch the light spilling through the windows. I take in the trim and the little imperfections I chose not to sand away completely.
I smile as I speak. "This house has been here longer than any of us.
It was one of the first homes to be built when Honeysuckle Grove became, well, Honeysuckle Grove.
It's been renovated over the years, but it didn't need someone to come in and force it to be something else.
It just needed someone to pay attention to what was still good.
Its old-school character is what makes it so bright. "
The woman looks toward the breakfast nook. "Was that already there?"
"No, that was me." I smile and nod them over toward it.
"There was wasted space here before. Nothing huge, but enough that it bothered me.
And because of the window placement, I didn't want to block the natural light with more cabinetry.
So, I added seating with storage beneath it.
I figured it could be a breakfast nook, homework space, coffee spot, whatever someone needs it to be. "
Her hand drifts back to her stomach and it makes my chest ache in a weird way.
"That's one of my favorite parts," she says.
From there, the questions keep coming, and somewhere along the way, I forget to be nervous.
They ask about the upstairs ceilings, and I explain the storm damage.
They ask about the exterior walls, and I walk them through what I found and how it was repaired.
They ask about the electrical system, and I show them what was updated and why.
I show them which windows were repaired and which ones had to be replaced. I point out the original trim I managed to salvage. I show them the bathroom storage I added because the old layout drove me absolutely insane.
The husband laughs when I explain that part before his wife asks if the porch is new.
"Mostly," I say as we take a walk outside to stand on it. "The original footprint is the same, but too much of the material was compromised to pretend it could all stay. I kept what was safe, replaced what wasn't, and reinforced the whole thing."
The husband raises his eyebrows. "You did that yourself?"
I nod. "A lot of it."
She stares at me. "That's incredible."
I shrug. "I like working with my hands."
Behind her, Nash smiles, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of it. Just a second of it, but the pride on his face is pure and unmistakable. It almost knocks the breath from my lungs. Not because he never smiles, but because he isn't looking at me like I've done something strange or weird.
He's proud.
Of me.
I have to choke down the knot in my chest as the realtor clears her throat.
"Well, I think that covers everything," she says.
I nod and turn to the happy couple. "You guys stick around and look at things as long as you'd like."
"Actually," the woman says as she steps toward the realtor, "we'd like to submit an offer."
My brain stops as someone claps me on the shoulder.
The realtor smiles. "Wonderful. We can get one submitted by the end of day, if you'd like."
"Sounds perfect," the husband says. "We're hoping to move as soon as possible. What are the closing terms?"
The realtor ushers them back inside. "Let's go sit down and work through the details."
That's my cue.
I grab my purse from where I left it near the front door. "We'll get out of your hair."
The woman turns toward me. "You don't have to leave."
I just shake my head and smile at her. "You should be able to talk numbers without the person who renovated the place hovering over your shoulder.
Take your time. Ask whatever you need to ask.
The realtor has all the documentation, invoices, permits, inspection information, and my number in case you have any other questions. "
The husband holds out his hand. "You did beautiful work, Miss Nelly."
I take it and shake. "Thank you. I hope you guys enjoy it."
Just as I release his hand, his wife hugs me and that catches me off guard. But it doesn't stop me from wrapping my arms around her.