9. Aspen
Aspen
T he stairs creak beneath my boots as I climb toward my father’s apartment for the second time in three days. The key slides easily into the lock, which clicks softly as it turns, then the door swings open. Unlike before, when I’d frozen at the threshold, I force myself to enter, determined to face whatever waits inside.
Sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating dust motes that hang suspended in the golden rays. The space is large by city standards. Tidy. Comfortable. Lived in. My throat tightens as I inch farther inside, the space warm despite the winter chill outside.
I set down my bag and trace a finger along a bookshelf lined with repair manuals, fishing magazines, and dog-eared paperback westerns. In the kitchen area, a single coffee mug sits in the dishrack. A UVM Catamounts refrigerator magnet holds a takeout menu for a local Chinese restaurant and an unexpected pang ricochets through my chest as I stare at it, picturing the menus on my fridge at home.
I make my way to the cluttered desk tucked into a corner, where stacks of papers wait beside an ancient desktop computer. Bills, invoices, repair schedules. The mundane paperwork of a life that existed without me, while I lived mine without him. From down below, the metallic clank of tools as Landry works on Mrs. Wilkins’ Subaru drifts up the stairs.
I glance over the contents of the desk, plucking out a photograph tucked among the papers. My breath catches when I see the image. My parents, looking impossibly young, with the Brooklyn Bridge in the background. My mom’s hair blows across her laughing face as she looks up at Simon, who has his arm draped around her shoulders. They look…happy. In love even, if only for that fleeting moment. Someone must have taken this photo during that weekend in the city when they met. The weekend that changed everything.
I sink into the desk chair, clutching the photograph, while questions erupt inside me. Did Simon hold on to this keepsake for years thinking about that weekend? Or did my mother send it to him along with the letter as some sort of proof? What if my mother had told him she was pregnant? What if she’d given him the chance to step up, to be a father? What would he have said? What would she have done? Would she have given up her life in the city to join him here? Is there a chance they would have built a life together in Wildwood?
Knowing my mother, I don’t see a world where she would have wanted that. She loved the city and her career there. Much more than I do. I glance again at the picture. The weight of missed opportunities, of paths not taken, of what-ifs settles heavily on my shoulders. Maybe, because I’m at a crossroads, facing a tough choice, too. If I sell this place and leave now, I’ll never know what might have been. But can I stay and take a chance on the future? On something real with the man downstairs, who I can’t seem to—and don’t want to—resist?
I set down the photograph and turn my attention to a beige file folder, like the kind we use at my office in the filing cabinets. The handwritten label reads, Will .
I pull out the stapled papers and flip through them. Most of it is standard boilerplate, but my heart stutters when I stop at a page toward the end. My eyes widen as I read through the assets, zeroing in on one line in particular. I leave Green Mountain Garage, including all equipment and assets, to Landry McCord.
Simon left the garage to Landry. Not to me. I sink back against the chair, the lines of text blurring as confusion washes over me. The attorney who called informed me that I’d inherited the garage. But how? It was Landry’s. This doesn’t make sense.
I glance at the date on the signature page. Nearly two years ago. My hands shake as one potential explanation crashes over me. Landry gave me the garage. He gave up this place his best friend left him, a place that holds a special place in his heart. But why?
Clutching the will to my chest, I make my way downstairs. It takes only a second to locate Landry, who’s bent over the engine of Mrs. Wilkins’ Subaru. I wait until he straightens and turns, wiping his hands on a shop rag. His eyes find mine then drop to the papers in my arms. The color drains from his face.
“Aspen—”
“Honesty is the best policy,” I say, throwing his words from the cabin back at him. “You said it yourself.” My voice quivers with emotions I can’t quite name and certainly couldn't sort out right now if I tried. “But you weren’t honest with me.”
He takes a step toward me, running a hand through his hair. “I did what I thought was right.”
“You let me believe I inherited this place from Simon.” My legs feel unsteady beneath me. “But he left it to you. And you…you gave it to me? Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s what Simon would have wanted.” Landry’s voice is low, unwavering. “The minute he learned you existed, everything changed for him. Everything. He was desperate to meet you, to get to know you. If he’d lived, he would’ve given you anything. Hell, he would have given you everything to make up for lost time.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make!” The words burst from me, hot with frustration.
“It was,” he insists, stepping closer. “The garage was mine. But I couldn’t live with myself holding on to what should have been yours.”
I shake my head, still struggling to process it all. “You love this place. Anyone who’s met you can see that as plain as day. But you just…gave it away, even knowing I might sell it?”
His jaw tightens. “It occurred to me that you might sell. But that was a risk I was willing to take.”
Before I can respond, the bell above the door jingles, and Mrs. Wilkins bustles in, her weathered face brightening at the sight of us.
“Oh! I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says, glancing between us with obvious curiosity. “I just wanted to check on my Subaru.”
“It’s ready,” Landry says, his eyes still locked on mine. “I just finished.”
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Wilkins beams at us. “You know, it’s so nice to see this place still up and running. Simon would be pleased.” She pats my arm affectionately. “And you, dear—you’ve brought Landry back to life. He’s been like a ghost these past few months, just going through the motions. But now? There’s a light in his eyes again.”
I glance at Landry, whose ears have reddened at Mrs. Wilkins’ candid observation. The moment stretches between us, taut with unspoken words.
“I’ll get your keys,” he mutters, excusing himself to retrieve them from the rack of hooks above the workbench.
Mrs. Wilkins turns to me with a knowing smile while Landry is occupied. “He’s a good man. Stubborn as they come, but good.” She squeezes my hand. “Solid.”
Solid. That’s what Landry said about Simon. I nod, my throat tight, as Landry returns with her keys. He walks Mrs. Wilkins to her car, explaining something about the service as they go.
I retreat upstairs, needing space to think.
Back in the apartment, I pace the small living area, emotions swirling. Although angry at the deception, I’m grateful for his sacrifice, but confused about what it all means. And underneath it all, there’s the steadily growing certainty that I’ve fallen for this complicated, honorable man, who gave up his inheritance for a woman he’d never met.
The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs signals Landry’s approach. He appears in the doorway, his expression cautious, as if uncertain of his welcome.
“Mrs. Wilkins get off okay?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods. “She said goodbye. And about six other things I tuned out.”
Despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips. “She’s sweet.”
“She’s nosy,” he corrects, but there’s fondness in his voice.
We fall silent, the air between us heavy with all that remains unsaid. Finally, I take a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have changed anything?” he counters, stepping farther into the room.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe, not initially, but—”
“But now?” Something like hope flickers in his eyes.
“Now, I’m torn,” I confess, my hand finding my pendant. “I came here to sell this place and never look back. But now, there’s…there’s you.” The words hang between us, raw and honest. Landry moves closer, stopping just short of touching me.
“I’m not much of a reason to stay, Aspen,” he says, voice gruff. “I’m a broken man with scars inside and out.”
“Is that why you pulled away?” I ask, rising to face him.
He nods, swallowing hard. “You deserve better than me. Someone whole. Someone young.”
“Don’t tell me what I deserve,” I say fiercely. “I’ve had enough of other people making decisions about my life.”
His eyes widen at my vehemence. “I just thought—”
“I’ve fallen for you,” I blurt out, the words I’ve been holding back finally breaking free. “I thought you didn’t want me. That what happened at the cabin was just…physical. But I want more, Landry. I want to see if this, if we, could be something real. Here, in Wildwood.”
The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the rapid beating of my heart. Then, slowly, Landry reaches out, his calloused hand cupping my cheek with a tenderness that steals my breath.
“You terrify me,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “The way you make me feel… I haven’t wanted anything this bad in years. Haven’t allowed myself to.”
“Don’t push me away,” I plead, leaning into his touch. “Give us a chance.”
He hesitates, a shadow crossing his face. “Does it bother you? That I was Simon’s best friend? That I’m old enough to be your father?”
The question catches me off guard, but my answer comes without hesitation. “No. It doesn’t matter to me. If anything, it feels right, like you’re the connection I was meant to find here.”
Relief floods his expression, and instead of answering with more words, he pulls me to him, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that feels like coming home. I melt into him, my arms wrapping around his solid frame as heat blooms between us, familiar and new all at once. His beard scratches pleasantly against my skin, his scent filling my senses.
When we finally break apart, both breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. “I have something to show you.”
He takes my hand, leading me down the stairs and through the garage to a large window at the front, where sunlight spills across the concrete floor. Beside it stands a sturdy workbench I hadn’t noticed before, angled to catch the natural light.
“I thought,” he says hesitantly, “maybe, you could set up here. For your jewelry. It gets good natural light most of the day, and I can install some proper lamps for the rest of the time.”
I run my fingers along the smooth wooden surface, my mind racing. “You built this? For me?”
He shakes his head. “I only cleared it off.”
“So you were going to ask me to stay.”
He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck before meeting my gaze. “I wanted to show you there were other options. Here, with me.”
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, emotion choking my voice. The gesture, so thoughtful, undoes me.
“I could keep the garage running,” he continues, words coming faster now. “And you could build your jewelry business. The town gets to keep their shop, and you get to pursue your dream.”
I look up at him, tears blurring my vision. “And I’d get you.”
“And I’d get you,” he says, disbelief in his voice.
“I’m going to call Derek,” I say decisively. “Decline his offer.”
The joy that spreads across Landry’s face is worth more than any offer Derek could have made. Landry steps closer and lowers his mouth to mine. The kiss is different from the others, tender yet possessive, a promise sealed with the press of his lips. Heat spirals through me as I grip his shirt, pulling him closer. When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Landry says, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“What’s that?”
“I thought of a name for the cat.”
“You did?” I laugh softly.
“Yeah, Chance,” Landry suggests, eyes never leaving mine. “Since that’s what you’re taking. A chance on me.”
I shake my head, rising on my toes to brush my lips against his once more. “I’m not taking a chance, Landry. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m choosing you. Choosing us with no hesitation whatsoever. But the name?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s perfect.”
And as Landry pulls me into his arms again, I know with all my heart I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.