32. Sutton
Sutton
Soft morning light filters through my bedroom curtain.
I roll over, stretching my limbs to each corner.
I missed sleeping next to Hunter last night, but I can’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy taking up the whole bed.
When I sit up and glance out my window, gray clouds sit low in the sky, as if they’re ready to unleash a winter storm. I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly.
No thoughts whirl through my head like vultures. No rock sits low in my stomach.
Just the faint hum of the heater and the smell of coffee drifting up from the kitchen.
Before I roll out of bed, I send Hunter a quick text.
Me: Good morning.
Me: Thanks for letting me have time to myself.
Me: It’s exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
Hunter: Good morning, babe. I’m glad. But I miss you like crazy.
Me: I miss you too. I’ll be home later, okay?
Hunter: I love the sound of that about as much as I love you.
Me: I love you too.
Mom’s already up. Like usual. She’s at the stove humming and flipping pancakes like she hasn’t spent the last night stitching my heart together and giving me the confidence I need.
“Morning, Daughter,” she says, handing me a mug.
I take it, fingers curling around the warm ceramic and breathe in the hazelnut aroma. “Morning, Mother.”
We fall into an easy rhythm of cooking, setting up the table, and simply being near one another.
When we sit to eat, she gives me a knowing look.
“There she is.”
“What are you talking about, Mom?” I shovel in a gooey bite.
“You look lighter.”
“I feel lighter,” I quietly say. “I think I want to start therapy.”
“You think or you know?”
I open my palms and place them face up on the table. She covers them with hers.
“I know.” And with two words, I can breathe again.
After breakfast, I grab my coat and keys.
“I’m going to head over to Hunter’s,” I say. “Check on him. Make sure he actually came inside like he said he would instead of working in the backyard all night.”
“Love you.” Mom kisses my cheek. “You know . . . You’re doing better than you think.”
I smile, tucking that away as I step onto the porch. The air is crisp, the kind that makes your lungs feel new.
On my way to the house, a text comes in. I press the play button, and the message reads over my car speakers.
Easton: Hey, I’m back in town. Mind if I stop by?
My chest tightens. What could Easton want? With renovations finished, there’s nothing left for him to do. Maybe he wants an early tour of the house. I press reply on my dashboard and leave a voice text.
Me: I’m headed to Hunter’s. Come on by.
When I arrive home, the sun is doing its best to shine through the heavy clouds. The house is quiet when I enter, a candle flickers on the coffee table, and Hunter is fast asleep on the couch.
I pause, taking him in. A chenille blanket barely covers his frame. His hand hangs off the couch, fingers curled like maybe he fell asleep mid-thought.
The urge to wake him and send him off to our bed is at the very tips of my fingers.
Quietly, I cross the room and lift the blanket tighter over his shoulders, smoothing it where it’s bunched near his ribs.
I’ll let him be, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him freeze.
His brow softens, like even fast asleep, he knows I’m here.
I set my keys down and slip into the kitchen, putting water on for tea. Easton says he isn’t a fan of coffee, but I remember he mentioned loving peppermint tea. Clearly, the man hasn’t visited Ground Up and had one of Navy’s drinks. She’ll change any coffee loather into a coffee lover with one sip.
The kettle warms, humming low, when tires crunch on the gravel. I inhale and open the door. Easton stands there mid-knock, the breeze pushing at his hair. “Hey,” he says, “thanks for letting me swing by.”
“Of course. Come in.” I step aside. “Hunter’s asleep on the couch, so try to be quiet-ish.”
He nods, glancing toward the living room. “I won’t stay long. Just wanted to run something by you.”
The kettle whistles behind me. Hunter shifts in his sleep. I dash to the kitchen to remove the water before it wakes the entire town. Easton follows, and I carefully pour water into mismatching mugs.
I mentally add ‘buy kitchen shit’ to my list. Along with ‘pick up table.’ After the events of yesterday, I’d done something I’ve never done—missed my delivery appointment for the new kitchen table.
Easton settles at the island in one of three stools. He sets a folder between us. I slide his mug over, the steam rolling from the top.
He studies me for a second, and his expression shifts. “You doing okay?”
I shrug. “Trying to be.”
He glances toward Hunter. “You two have a lot going on.”
I nod. “We do.”
He taps the counter with the folder. “But the house is looking good. You ready for the big reveal?”
“I am,” I say. “Aside from things like a kitchen table and actual dishware, the house is ready.”
“Is there a reason the curtains are all closed?” Easton gestures toward the back of the house. “The view is one thing I love about this place.”
I stifle a laugh. “You’d have to ask Hunter. He’s banned me from the backyard because of some secret project. I hoped it would be done before the open house, but it’s okay.”
“That’s alright. Yards rarely get completed at the same time as the house. Didn’t you mention the Weeks stopping by the party to check out your work? Something about a future project?”
My gut swirls. I’m hopeful they’ll like what they see, because I’m also hoping they’ll hire me to remodel their bookshop.
If I can land that project, it would be something the whole town would see, which would help my business gain more traction.
I take a few minutes and fill Easton in on the possible future of the Bradley Team Interior Design.
“You know,” he says, “Torn Pages could be a really great opportunity for you. Interior design for businesses is an untapped market in this area. It may not be what you imagined doing, but it’s something to think about.
And I know that sometimes, what I plan on doing and what ends up happening can be drastically different. I learned quickly to go with it.”
“I keep hearing that lately.” I laugh. “It’s out of your control. Go with the flow. Let go.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
“Mmm . . . it’s a process, but I’ll get there. One step at a time, right? So . . .” I say, “not that I don’t love catching up, but if you don’t tell me what you really need soon, I might actually have a panic attack.”
This gets a full rumbling belly laugh out of him.
“I’ve decided to move to Suncrest Valley permanently and establish my roots.”
“Roots, huh? Meet someone new?” I ask.
“Nope.” He runs his hand across his jaw. “Unfortunately, dating and I are not on good terms. I’m beginning to think maybe the whole Fall in love, get married, and start a family has done passed me by.”
“That’s depressing and a load of bullshit.” I cross my arms and rest them on the counter. “It’s never too late to have the life you want.”
He smiles, eyes crinkling on his weatherworn face. “Maybe, but I’m so tired of being burned. It’s a wonder why I even bother anymore.”
“Maybe you should . . . go with the flow? You know, wear your heart on your sleeve even if it means it gets crushed another ten times. Because maybe it’s on the eleventh try that you’ll find your forever.”
“Well, shit, I didn’t expect a therapy session today.”
His mention of therapy makes my heart clinch. I glance at Hunter on the couch, knowing we have so much to talk about. Which should scare me, but I know it’ll be fine. I turn my focus back to Easton. “I’m glad you’ll be joining us in Suncrest Valley. We’re lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” Easton says, “but there’s more.”
“Go on,” I say.
He clears his throat. “We make a good team, and with me moving back, I thought maybe you’d be open to discussing a partnership.”
“A partnership?” My heart beats erratically.
“As much as I’d love to think I have a connection to this town, you and I both know that’s not true.
I didn’t grow up here. You’re this town’s best realtor.
You know the people. But with my remodeling experience, maybe we could make your dream of being an interior designer a reality too.
We could help people buy the house of their dreams, even if it needs a facelift.
One we would provide. I’d tackle the construction end of things, and you’d take the design part. ”
He lifts his brows, watching me put it together.
Something inside me clicks into place. His renovating background. My realty experience and eye for design. “Easton,” I say slowly, surprised by how easily the idea has overtaken my mind. “That could actually work.”
He grins. “I know.” He gestures around the kitchen and into the living area.
“Sutton, this place looks amazing. You were right to pursue interior design—you’ve got a real talent for it.
Somehow, you’ve made Hunter’s house come alive.
People will trust that. And if they know they can buy a house and have someone make it a home?
That’s the kind of leverage most agents don’t have. ”
His confidence in me lands deep in my heart. Because it’s not just a business proposal, it’s someone acknowledging that what I can see and what I can build are worth betting on. “We would be a literal dream team,” I say.
“Exactly,” he says. “You don’t need to control every aspect of a business to make something successful. You just need to partner with the right people.”
For a second, I glance back toward the couch—Hunter asleep, completely unaware that the dream I’ve had for my career is right at the tips of my fingers. “That’s the thing I’m finally learning.”
“Is that a yes?” Easton asks.
“I’m working on going with the flow, so that’s definitely a yes.” I’m practically buzzing with energy.
“Good. Hopefully soon, we’ll be busier than we ever imagined.”
The words land, but they don’t crash over me like they once would have. They don’t resurrect that urge to grip everything so tightly it suffocates.
Easton slides a folder over to me. “I drew up a contract for the partnership. Review it and let me know what changes you want to make. Once it’s signed, we can look for our first project together.”
He heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I meant what I said, Sutton. You’re good at this. Really good.”
I don’t shrink from the affirmation or rush to explain it away. “Thanks,” I tell him. “Seriously, Easton, this is amazing.” I nod toward the contract.
He smiles, satisfied, and steps into the cold.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I’m already crossing the living room. “Hunter,” I whisper. I try again louder, unable to contain the laugh bubbling up, “Hunter, wake up!”
He groans, shifting under the blanket, eyes already open as I drop to my knees beside the couch.
“Well, that went well.” His voice is raspy with sleep, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“It did!” I’m practically vibrating. “But then, you already know, don’t you? You heard everything?”
“Not everything.” He rolls over and grasps my hand. “I want to hear you tell me.”
Hunter’s sleepy smile sharpens the more I talk.
“I like this version of Sutton.”
I can’t help it. I kiss him and ask, “This version?”
His thumb sweeps over my cheek, sleep still fading from his eyes. “The one who runs toward the things she wants with full abandon.”
“Well,” I whisper, kissing him again, softer this time, “get used to her.”