Chapter 27
I sat cross-legged on my bed, the letter balanced on my knee like a loaded gun.
The last four days had been a blur of sawdust and sweat as Ty and I installed the new kitchen cabinets in Violet’s house. Between that, working at the rink, farm chores, taking care of Junie, and sneaking in every second of alone time I could with him, the days went by fast.
But it all came to a screeching halt when I’d opened Violet’s bedroom door for the first time yesterday. The air inside was thick with dust from the construction work we’d done, but the lavender sachets still tucked in the dresser drawers clung to the air like a ghost that refused to leave.
I stood there until my legs shook, knees threatening to buckle under the weight of her absence, ready to close the door and come back another day—another week, another lifetime—when I saw it.
This paper was different, smaller, like a notepad you’d swipe from a roadside motel. But it had the same little daisy drawn on the front in her careful pen. Folded in half, it sat propped up on her nightstand.
I pocketed it, then closed the door, unable to handle crashing out right then.
By the time I got back to Ty’s house, Emmy, Beckett, Mason, Jace, Lori, and Shannon were in the backyard around the fire pit and staying for dinner.
Talk had turned to a camping trip, and Junie bounced around excitedly when they’d asked her to join them.
So I stashed the letter in my room, too nervous to face whatever Violet had to say when everything finally felt good.
Now, it glared at me.
Tears burned my cheeks, but the sound of Junie’s pounding feet down the hall had me tucking the letter beneath my leg and wiping away the tears as fast as I could.
“I’m ready!” Junie called as she spun around the corner and into my room. “How do I look?”
She posed with her hands on her hips, wearing a pair of cargo pants tucked into her rain boots, and a pink button-down fishing shirt. Her blonde ponytail stuck out the back of a Hudson Hardware hat, and she looked adorable.
“Like a professional camper.” I slid off the bed and down to my knees in front of her. “I like these pants.”
“There are seven pockets. I’ve never had that many pockets.”
I chuckled, tugging on her hat until it sat straight on her face over her glasses. “Perfect for collecting flowers.”
“That’s what I said!” Junie wrapped her arms around my neck, squeezing me tight.
I soaked in her warmth, holding onto this last piece of my sister.
“I’ll miss you tonight. I’ve never slept in a tent before, but Ty let me read about them last night on his phone.
And Jace promised we can make s’mores. Will you be here when I get home tomorrow? ”
Tears sprung to my eyes again, and I squeezed her a little tighter. “Always, cutie. I’ll always be here waiting for you.”
“Ready, bug?” Ty said from behind her.
He leaned against the doorway, looking better than he had any right to.
His shorts were somehow even shorter than any I’d seen before, and the black tee stretched across his broad biceps I’d become very familiar with the last few days.
The Mayhem hat he often wore was turned around backward, and he’d shaved his face clean, only emphasizing that mustache I loved so much.
A car horn beeped outside, and Junie squeezed me one more time, then let go, running back out the door as fast as she’d come in. I stayed there on the floor and blew out a deep breath, noticing Ty hadn’t walked away yet.
We had one more day of work to finish the kitchen, but I could hardly stand the idea of getting up off the floor, let alone stepping foot inside her house again.
As if reading my thoughts, Ty asked, “Wanna get out of here today?”
I looked up at him through my lashes, studying the man who was learning to read me far too well.
“What do you have in mind?”
He walked toward me, then squatted down to lay a kiss on my lips. “I say we play hooky. Have a good day, just you and me. Maybe get naked at some point.”
I grinned, letting a small chuckle slip free. “Last night wasn’t enough for you?”
His nose rubbed against mine, then he dropped one more kiss on my lips. “Never.”
“Ty?” Emmy called from the front door, and he stood up, walking back out of the room. I got to my feet and turned toward the bed, seeing the letter again.
My hands shook as I reached for it, then cracked it open.
I miss you so much.
This was a terrible idea.
I’d do anything to hug you one more time.
I flipped the paper over, craving more from her, but that was it.
I crumpled the note in my palm, then let the tears fall hot. No matter how fast I wiped at my cheeks, I couldn’t seem to stop them.
At some point, the letters would stop, and that would be it. I’d never see her handwriting scrawled across a paper with new words of encouragement. Never laugh at one more of her jokes. Never feel like she was right there, talking me through grieving her.
And then what would I do?
Unfortunately, the tragic circumstances in my life meant I was all too familiar with grief and the grip it held on you for the rest of your days. Sometimes it felt okay, and then sometimes it would hit you like a freight train that appeared out of thin air.
But every time I’d grieved before, I’d done it with Violet at my side.
I’d turned to her when it felt too hard to breathe, too difficult to get out of bed.
With each letter, I understood her a little more.
She knew how hard this would be for me to do alone. Knew I wouldn’t tell anyone how bad it hurt. Knew I needed her, even after she was gone.
But the letters couldn’t go on forever.
Ty’s heavy footsteps returned before I could pull myself together.
He stopped in the doorway, took one look at me, and crossed the room in three strides.
Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. I sank into him, the note still clenched in my fist, tears soaking the collar of my shirt.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair, one hand splayed over my stomach, the other stroking my arm. “Cry it out, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
I turned in his hold, burying my face in his neck, breathing in cedar and sawdust and him. His heartbeat thumped steady under my cheek, grounding me. He didn’t ask what the note said; he just held me until the sobs eased into shaky breaths.
When I finally pulled back, he wiped my tears with his thumbs, mustache brushing my forehead in a soft kiss. “Better?”
I nodded, managing a watery smile. “Get me out of here, please.”
“Absolutely.” He scooped the crumpled note from my hand and set it on my dresser. “That stays here. Today’s ours.”
He laced his fingers through mine and tugged me toward the door.
I grabbed my heart-shaped sunglasses off the dresser, slipping them on to hide any lingering redness.
Outside, the late morning sun glinted off his truck, Rowdy’s tail thumping on the porch as he watched us walk by.
Ty opened the passenger door, boosted me in with a quick squeeze to my ass, then rounded to the driver’s side.
Engine rumbling, he reached over, palm open on the bench between us. I slid my hand into his. “Where to first, Huddy?”
“Oh, I’ve got a plan.” He squeezed once. “Just you and me.”
I leaned my head against the door, my hand out the window as I watched Linwood roll by, the weight in my chest lighter with every mile away from her house. Ty eased the truck down River Street, then pulled into a space in front of Hudson Hardware.
“Are we going to work?” I asked, eyeing the storefront.
“Nope.” He killed the engine and nodded across the street. “Just parking. We’re headed there.”
Across the street, The Lantern looked nothing like the rowdy place Ty and Emmy had described in passing. The last time I’d lived in town, it was just a honky-tonk, only open at night. A little dingy, a little country, and exactly what you’d expect from an old mining town’s saloon.
Now, the copper lettering above the door gleamed in the mountain sun.
The big front windows were thrown open, letting out the scent of grilled onions and something smoky and fried.
It was less “country bar” and more cozy mountain tavern, warm and lived in, waiting for the evening crowds that would turn it loud and wild.
Ty nodded toward it. “Ready?”
“For what?” I asked.
His grin was wicked and soft all at once when he opened my car door. “A redo.”
I hopped out of the truck, and his hand slid right into mine.
Ty pushed open the door to the Lantern, and instead of honky-tonk chaos, a soft hum of afternoon quiet met us. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, casting long beams across the scuffed wooden floor. The faint clatter of dishes came from the kitchen, and somewhere overhead—
“What the—,” I breathed, stopping in my tracks.
Every TV in the place was playing Magnum P.I. Tom Selleck stared down at me from every angle, that little dimple popping on his cheek when he smiled.
Ty tried to keep a straight face. “Weird coincidence.”
I turned slowly, arms crossed. “You called ahead.”
He didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Come on,” he said softly, leading me to a small wooden booth along the windows. Not cracked vinyl, not Chicago—but close enough to feel like an echo.
Afternoon light washed over the table as we slid in, and the server dropped off two drinks and a basket of steaming fries.
I blinked. “You ordered these already?”
“I know your priorities,” he said, utterly unapologetic.
My lips twitched. “You make it very hard to pretend this isn’t serious.”
“Good.” His voice dipped low, warm. “I’m not here to pretend.”
The server came back to take our order, but Ty barely looked at the menu. “Two cheeseburgers. Grilled onions on both. Mayo on hers.”
“Extra mayo, please,” I added sweetly.
When the server left, Ty leaned in, forearms braced on the table. “Truth or dare, Daisy.”