24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Lizzie
JAMES: Best night I’ve had in a long time, Red.
LIZZIE: Me, too.
JAMES: Wish you were still here. Sleep tight.
It was nearly one a.m., and I’d been home for an hour—laying on my bed, surrounded by the smells of fresh paint and the night air flowing in through my open window—along with far too many thoughts and feelings to name them all.
For a minute, I’d debated texting my Dearie Girls. Just so I could have someone else look at all of this objectively and confirm if men like James existed outside of the pages of one of my books. To reassure me that what happened tonight wasn’t just another one of my dreams.
And that feeling this way was ok and could actually be real.
God, I wanted to believe in it.
In the end, though, I’d kept my questions to myself—at least for tonight. I wanted to ruminate in this space for as long as possible, keeping it precious, with no room for doubt.
Because the evening with James had been, in a word, perfect.
I mean, first he cooked me an amazing dinner, not allowing me to do a single thing but sit there and enjoy it. It brought to light yet again how completely opposite James was from my ex, Randall—never in a million years would that man have performed even the smallest act of service for me, or anyone else for that matter. He expected it all for himself.
Now, for the first time within a relationship, I felt like someone’s priority. And weirdly, I felt almost guilty about it.
Later on, as we alternated between moments of kissing and talking on his leather sofa, it felt like the walls had been lifted—finding ourselves in the sort of late night confessional you only experience at the tipping point, when you know deep in your soul that this, this was becoming something special. When you’re in a moment where you feel like you can never possibly know enough about the person you’re with—so you keep pressing forward, ever deeper, hungry for more.
It almost seemed like maybe he’d felt that way, too, as we wove our stories together, filling in many of the gaps from our previous conversations. We talked about our school years, favorite movies, and guilty pleasures. Memories of growing up on the lake, embarrassing moments, and the paths we’d taken up until now. Regrets of the past and hopes for the future.
We talked at length about the family we’d found in our friendships, where we both seemed to have lucked out—and of course, our grandmothers, both powerful influences in our lives. I was surprised to learn how close the friendship between these two women had been—and I made a mental note to ask GiGi more about it. Learning more about that time in my grandmother’s life might make her feel closer, something that had seemed to be fading lately.
But the thing that struck me most was hearing about what James had gone through early on. I still couldn’t believe what he’d managed to become, considering where he’d started. I mean, there was some solidarity in that pain, as we were both without parents. But losing both parents as a child—one by accident, the other by choice—was something I couldn’t even begin to fathom. Sitting in that heartbreak alongside him had been gut-wrenching—but more than anything, it felt like I was right where I was supposed to be.
Now that I understood more of his past, it explained some of the guardedness I’d sensed at the very beginning—back when we thought we disliked each other, for one ridiculous reason or another.
It all seemed so silly now, looking back. First impressions can be so misleading and one-dimensional. And I’d made plenty of assumptions about this man at the start, based on practically nothing.
Because now I could see him so clearly—a thoughtful, hard-working, caring and sensitive man who’d grown into something greater than the sum of his somewhat broken parts. Thank God I hadn’t turned down his offer that first day at the dock—otherwise, I might never have known this .
It made me wonder again what he even saw when he looked at me—an awkward, thirty-year-old woman, living on her own in an old cabin after losing her job, failing at the one thing she was supposed to be good at?
Damn, what a catch.
Of course, I knew I was oversimplifying myself in the cruelest way possible. And taking a break from writing wasn’t ‘failure’... exactly.
But looking at James—a man who’d known true trauma, yet still found a way forward to follow his dreams and start his own business, plucking up the courage to just go for it—had made me realize a few things about myself.
I hadn’t been pursuing my dream with courage at all. All I’d been doing was floundering and running scared.
I’d thought I was supposed to fit within a very specific mold to be taken seriously as a writer, for anyone to believe in me or my abilities. So I’d worked my ass off trying to prove myself, all the while beating my head against the proverbial wall. And fear had been my fuel the entire time.
Now here I was, with countless years wasted on writing something that didn’t feel authentic—that didn’t make me feel anything , really, except inadequate.
It was why the words had refused to come. I’d been holding myself back, denying what I was supposed to be doing because I was goddamn scared. And it took this man to open my eyes.
But even while I worked to figure myself out, James somehow made me feel… I don’t know… better, about all of it. Like I wasn’t the mess I thought I was.
It was pretty ironic, considering the last man I’d dated had pretty much drilled into my head that writing what I loved would ruin me. But that was before he’d gone and done that himself.
Not that James and I were officially dating—were we? Despite all the objections I’d repeated like an oath these past two months, the reality was—I was acting like a chicken shit, yet again.
Because I wanted to be with him.
This was no longer about deadlines on a remodeling project or trying to be something I wasn’t. I’d swam way out past the point of calling this thing between us a distraction or a complication.
Because if this evening had made anything clear, it’s that I’d probably been feeling more for him longer than I’d realized. And it would be way too easy to just let go, to let myself get swept up in all of it. But could I do it, when I still felt a little afraid?
Lifting my hand to my chest, I fingered Grandma Cora’s key necklace where it lay, the metal warm from direct contact with my skin. I’d been wearing the necklace nearly every day since discovering it hidden in her book. At first, I’d hoped it would serve as inspiration, a creative talisman of sorts.
Now I wondered if it had instead unlocked the barriers to whatever I’d been hiding from in my head, opening the door wide to whatever was blooming between me and James. I mean, when you think about it, hadn’t the paper she’d enclosed read, ‘Key to my heart’?
I bolted upright in bed, my eyes fixed on the small painting of Lake Elska that the guys had discovered that morning. Even though they’d brought all the other furniture back into the room once they’d finished painting, I’d asked them to hold off on re-hanging the mirror. I was still so curious about why the painting was there, and if it was, in fact, a door—or just an odd sort of decoration. Knowing my grandmother, I wouldn’t put either possibility past her.
But it was still weird that the painting just happened to depict the abstract heart-shaped lake from right outside my door—the heart of Dearing Creek. The unique shape was the reason for Lake Elska’s name in the first place—taken from the Norwegian word for ‘my beloved’ .
I mouthed the words from that slip of paper once again to myself. ‘Key to my heart’.
Had Grandma Cora been sending me some sort of message—a clue of sorts—when she made the plan to pass down both her books and this cabin to me?
Standing up, I crossed over to the painting as I slid the chain from around my neck. Leaning in close, I studied the image of the lake and then the frame itself, trying to spot the answer I was seeking.
And that’s when I noticed a small heart built into the frame below the handle. It didn’t seem to be made of the same sort of material as the rest of it—instead, the heart had a shinier finish and almost looked to be made of metal. Looking closer, I realized there was a tiny bolt attached to the top between the two crests. Pressing my finger against its lower pointed edge, I tried rotating the piece to the right—and it moved along with me, swiveling upwards to reveal a small keyhole.
Holy shit.
With a trembling hand, I inserted my grandmother’s gold key into the lock, turning it towards the left until I heard a small click—and watched as the door slowly swung open.
James had been right—it was a safe. But the precious contents inside this one appeared in the form of two bundles of letters, each tied with a similar green velvet ribbon. Feeling like a kid at Christmas, I reached inside to pull out both bundles before scurrying back to bed, now completely wide awake.
Untying the top bundle, I opened the first envelope, labeled with one word, ‘Dearest’ . Then carefully, I pulled out a short, handwritten letter:
October 15th, 1966 “Dearest Cora, You’ve often said I was no romantic, but let this letter serve as a reminder - never again will there ever be a reason for you to believe I don’t love you. Because I will not allow another day to go by without proving how much I need you, how deeply you are cherished, and that my life with you is always my first priority. For the truth is… you’ve always, always had my heart. No matter what has transpired before, or what comes next… you can count on this. With love, Yours, Walter”
Dropping the letter into my lap, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me as I realized what I’d uncovered—an artifact from the love story I’d spent my entire life measuring everything else against.
I have no idea how she did it, but somehow—even from the great beyond—Grandma Cora knew exactly what I needed most.
Hope.
Despite having had almost no sleep the night before, I was up early the next morning, sitting at the kitchen table with my coffee—and Bucky snoring at my feet—when I vaguely heard the truck pull up out back.
I’d been sitting there for an hour already, skimming through Grandpa Walter’s third letter for the fiftieth time and trying to avoid plowing through the entire pile of letters too quickly. This discovery had breathed new life into me, almost like having my grandparents back again—and I didn’t want it to end.
So far, the first few letters in this first bundle seemed to be written by Grandpa Walter to my grandmother, but none from her to him. Had he kept her letters in a separate spot? Or maybe they were in the second bundle? I’d kept those bound together for the time being, like a simple ribbon could keep me away from temptation for long.
Needless to say, I was deep in a re-read when James and Jesse walked through the front door a few minutes later, clearly at the tail end of something funny. Glancing up, I saw James’ face light up as soon as he saw me—that is, until Bucky ran over and tackled him with his aggressive brand of doggy love.
“Whoa, Buck, let me get a little more coffee in me first.” He chuckled between kisses, ruffling my dog’s head before pulling himself upright to smile shyly at me.
“Hey, there.”
“Hey.”
Jesse cleared his throat behind him. “So, uh, Lizzie… tell me, what are your intentions with our James here?”
I about choked on the huge gulp I’d just taken of my coffee. “Excuse me?”
James punched his friend on the shoulder, shaking his head. “Yeah, sorry about this idiot. Just to forewarn you, he’s probably going to be insufferable for the foreseeable future.”
“You think I’m bad? Just wait until Jack gets a hold of you.” Jesse rubbed his hands together, grinning.
It was impossible not to laugh. “Don’t worry… I think I can handle it.” Catching James’ eye, I smiled as I watched his posture relax again. I’d clicked with Jesse right away at the start of this project—but in the couple of months since, I could see he loved James like a brother. I had to imagine Jack was much the same.
For now, Jesse looked at the two of us, shaking his head with a grin. “So, I’m just going to start working in the bathroom… You two take your time.” With a wink and a kissy sound, he wandered off, whistling as he rounded the corner. My eyes darted back to James, who shrugged sheepishly.
“I promise I didn’t tell him much. But the smile on my face must’ve told him everything else when I picked him up this morning.”
I mean, who could be mad at that? “It’s ok, really. I don’t mind.” With a weird wave of nervous energy, I stood up, fumbling through what I should say next. “Anyway, uhhh… thanks for last night. I had a great time.”
“Only ‘great’? You saying I need to up my game?” A smirk played upon his lips, hazel eyes dancing—and I couldn’t help but smile again too as I felt my brief blip of anxiety melt away.
“Yes, I have impossibly high standards. But too late, Tate… you can’t back out now.” Raising up on tiptoe, I leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek—but before my lips could reach him, he pulled me against his chest, kissing me deeply. After what felt both like forever and far too short, he released me as I took a sloppy step backwards, breathless.
“Better?”
How stupid was the goofy grin on my face right now? “Definitely better.”
“Good.” He paused. “Is it ok that I did that here, on the job? Or would you rather we keep the weekdays professional? I don’t want to make this stressful for you.”
“No. As your client, I demand that you behave like a good boyfriend.” Realizing what I said, I froze. “Sorry, I shouldn’t assume… we never talked about being exclusive…”
He cocked his head. “Well, I’m not seeing anyone else. And I have no interest in playing games. How about you?”
I felt my cheeks grow warm. “Well, no…”
“Then it’s settled… you’re my girlfriend. If you have a problem with that, take it up with management.” He grinned. “I better get back there. I’m helping Jesse lay the tile today.” But before he could turn to walk away, I grabbed his arm. “What, you don’t want me to work? Though you have a point, time spent kissing you is better than a finished remodel…”
I laughed. “Actually, I just wanted to show you something. Take a look at this.”
Looking at me curiously, he pulled out the chair next to mine at the kitchen table, lowering himself into it as I handed him the letter I’d been reading. His eyes scanned it for a moment before glancing back at me. “Am I supposed to know who Walter is?”
“Probably not. But he’s my grandfather. And… you remember that little painted door we found behind the mirror in my room?”
“Yeah?”
I held up my grandmother’s key from where it once again hung around my neck. “Well… I unlocked it.”
James’ eyes widened. “So, it was hiding something, just like we thought.” He glanced down at the letter in his hand again before his eyes returned to mine. “And this letter… was inside?”
Nodding, I smiled. “Yes… and about a dozen others. Plus a second bundle I haven’t even unwrapped yet. And all of them so far were written by my Grandpa Walter, to my grandmother. I think they’re like… love letters.”
“Crazy.” He shook his head. “I wonder what made him lock them up like that. How’d you figure it out, anyway?”
“Grandma Cora left a note in the box where I found her necklace that said, ‘key to my heart’, so I started wondering if she was referring to…”
“... Lake Elska, right. The painting.” Grinning, he leaned over to give my hand a squeeze. “Well, I have to say, it’s a pretty damn amazing thing to find. I’m happy for you, Red.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, then glanced down at my tingling hands, wondering how best to say the next part. “I want you to know, I’m really happy we’re doing this. Dating, I mean.”
“Good. Me too.”
“Is it ok that I’m a little scared, too? I just… don’t want to mess anything up.”
I’d been avoiding his gaze, but when I looked up, his hazel eyes were filled with wordless emotion, crinkled up in the corners in that way that I loved. “Believe me, I don’t want to mess anything up either.” He took a breath, looking past me towards the window. “This is a first for me, you know. Wanting to be with someone like this. Sometimes I’ve wondered if I ever would. But being with you, it makes me feel, I don’t know, brave.” His eyes darted back to mine. “I hope it’s not weird that I told you that. I’m not always the best at talking about this stuff.”
I felt a warmth spreading through me as the tingling in my fingers finally dissipated. I reached across to squeeze his hand. “Not weird at all. You make me feel braver, too.”
“Good. Then we must be doing something right.”
“I hope so.” I smiled. “I like the idea of being brave together.”
“Me too. Very much.” He held my gaze for a moment, eyes intense, before squeezing mine back. “For now, though, I should let you get back to those letters. And who knows,” he said, standing up from his chair, “maybe this will relight that creative spark you’ve been after.” He leaned down to plant a kiss on my forehead before wandering off.
Watching as he disappeared around the corner, I lifted a hand to my forehead, the lingering warmth of his kiss making it impossible for me not to smile.
More than anything, I hoped he was right. About all of it.