Chapter 7 #2
“I’m not worried,” she said, but even as the words came out, she knew they weren’t entirely true. “Tell me more about Wade and Elise.”
He didn’t have much to add and MJ made a mental note to get the details from Nicole, but was happy for the change of subject. Holding his hand, she watched the gorgeous scenery pass as they made their way to the next showing, joking about how they could be on House Hunters.
The second house sat lower in the valley, a weathered cedar-sided home that had once been grand and massive but now felt extremely dated.
“The eighties called and wants their sunken living room back,” Matt joked softly as they walked into the front of the house and eyed a double curved staircase.
Still, the place had…warmth. MJ stood in the entry and let the faint scent of pine resin and history hit her.
“Oh,” she whispered. “This place has stories.”
Matt looked around at the dated wallpaper and dusty built-ins. “This place has potential.”
“This place has termites,” Christopher corrected gently. “But the lot is spectacular and the seller is motivated.”
MJ drifted through the living room, fingers tracing a scarred banister. She imagined Christmases here—but not her Christmas. That would have to be at Snowberry Lodge forever and ever.
This house could make someone happy. Just not…her.
She gasped when she reached the two-story great room. Everything else fell away at the sight of an unobstructed 180-degree view of mountains, canyons, and the shockingly beautiful blue water of the Jordanelle Reservoir. The entire vista looked like a Swiss Alps lake that would never, ever get old.
“Oh, wow!” She pressed her hands to her chest. “I’ve never seen that water from this high in the mountains. It’s unbelievable.”
“That’s the money shot,” Christopher said, stepping next to her. “This house will be gutted and renovated, quadruple in value, and always offer that million-dollar view. You’d just have to do a massive reno, Matt.”
Matt and MJ shared a look and she shrugged. “Count on a year of hell, dirt, money, setbacks, and problems. But in the end, you might love it.”
He made a face like he wasn’t interested in that. “Yeah, you buy the view. And it’s far,” he added. “From Snowberry.”
Which would matter if they were…a couple.
They spent half an hour exploring before conceding the house would require a fortune and several miracles. Back in the car, Matt grinned at her. “One more. Can you stand it?”
“I can,” she said, her never-ending well of optimism apparently full again. “This is fun.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he exclaimed, taking her hand in a move that was now…the only way he drove.
She didn’t hate that, either.
The final house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, framed by evergreens. Christopher hadn’t seen this one yet, but he said the owner was a musician and songwriter, and the pictures looked great.
A wide porch wrapped around the front, its railings strung with white lights that glowed even in daylight. The style was a blend—stone foundation, timber beams, sleek glass doors. Modern, yet warm. When MJ stepped inside, her breath caught.
It felt right. Cozy but open, sunlight pouring through the windows, fireplaces on both floors. The kitchen was a dream—farmhouse sink, deep counters, a massive pantry.
Matt leaned on the island, eyes twinkling. “I can picture you in here.”
She turned. “Me? You mean…you.”
He shrugged. “I like this place and if I lived here, I’d want you to—”
“You have to see the downstairs.” Christopher joined them from an open stairwell that led to the basement. “It’s insane.”
Grateful for the interruption, she turned and walked to the steps.
For whatever reason, Matt stayed in the kitchen while she walked down the carpeted stairs to a rambling walk-out basement. There was plenty of light and space, with the same cozy woodwork and layout that made this house feel wonderful.
On the far side, she pushed open a door to an unexpected theater room, with two rows of leather recliners, a huge screen, and music, movie, and TV posters framed on the walls.
Completely alone, she took a deep breath and tried to imagine…living here with Matt. She tried to picture coming home from the lodge after work, making dinner in that beautiful kitchen, cozying up in here to watch a fun movie.
It would be…not lonely. Nice, even. It might actually be amazing.
The images of a life together bounced around her head, and every one of them managed to be appealing and terrifying at the same time.
Wasn’t this better than a quiet, secluded apartment above Snowberry? She wasn’t sure.
“Could I trade that for this?” she whispered, turning to take another look around.
As she did, she spotted a glass door that led to one more room. Windowless and off to the side, she pushed open the door to a very dark room with…padded walls?
Reaching for a light switch, she bathed the room in the softest amber light, and realized it was for producing music, with guitars, a keyboard, and a set of drums.
Remembering the owner was a musician, she started to back out of the tiny space when her gaze caught on the wall covered with framed record jackets—all vintage and iconic. Elvis Presley. Frank Sinatra. Billie Holiday.
At the far end, spotlighted above a leather sofa, hung a black-and-white photograph of Louis Armstrong, trumpet poised mid-note. Beside it, the familiar record sleeve: What a Wonderful World.
Her pulse stuttered.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Matt came up behind her, startling her. “Oh, look at this gem of a space.”
“I think the owner uses this as a recording studio,” Christopher said, appearing in the doorway.
MJ looked from one man to the other, literally unable to speak.
All she could hear was the faint ghost of that melody threading through her head again—the same one that had awakened her night after night.
It was as if the universe had tilted. Every hair on her arms stood on end.
“MJ?” Matt’s voice was gentle. “You okay?”
She nodded too quickly. “Fine. Just…it’s cold down here.”
“You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I have, she thought.
She backed toward the stairs. “Maybe we should—uh—head up.”
By the time they reached the living room, her pulse had steadied, but her heart hadn’t. Christopher waited by the front door, expectant.
“So,” he said cheerfully, “what do you think?”
MJ opened her mouth, then closed it. She couldn’t form the words.
Matt looked at her, reading everything she wasn’t saying. His jaw tightened slightly, but when he turned to the Realtor, his voice was calm. “It’s not quite right for us.”
Us. The word landed like a pebble in her chest, rippling outward.
Christopher nodded, unfazed. “Fair enough. I’ll keep an eye out for others.”
Outside, the light was fading to that pink-gold. Snowflakes drifted lazily, catching in MJ’s hair as she climbed into the passenger seat. They sat in silence until Matt started the engine. Soft jazz filled the cabin—something instrumental and low.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
“For what?”
“For…whatever that was back there that upset you. For pushing you on this errand. For not keeping my promise about taking things slow.”
“You don’t owe me an apology, Matt. I’m just still…” Grieving? Missing my husband? Unsure? “Getting used to the idea of an…us. I know it’s been a year, but it all feels like it’s happening too soon.”
It was the best she could do without admitting that she was hearing—and now seeing—reminders of her late husband and she was sure he was telling her…not to pursue this.
“You set the pace, MJ,” he said. “I promised that and I meant that.”
The sincerity in his tone made her throat ache. “It’s not you,” she whispered. “It’s just… complicated.”
“I know,” he said softly, starting the SUV. “I’m not here to upend your life. Just make it better.”
Her eyes stung again. Outside, the mountains blurred in the dusk. She thought about that basement, the photograph, the song. Was it a coincidence? Or a warning? She didn’t know which scared her more—the possibility that George was still guiding her, or that he wasn’t.
They drove the rest of the way in quiet, headlights cutting through the gathering snow. When the lodge finally came into view—its windows glowing, wreaths on every door—MJ felt both relieved and heartsick.
Matt parked and turned to her. “Dinner later? Or do you need time to think?”
“I need time with you,” she answered, her heart mellowing as she looked at him. “So, yes. Let’s have dinner.”
He leaned in, brushed a light kiss to her temple and then turned off the engine and got out, circling to open her door like the gentleman he was.
As she stepped onto the snow-packed drive, she lifted her eyes to the darkening sky. Snowflakes danced in the porch lights like confetti from heaven. For one dizzy instant she could almost hear George’s chuckle, that warm baritone she’d loved all her life.
What was he trying to tell her? She couldn’t give any hope to Matt until she figured that out.