Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Coming Home
Emma
The rain stopped somewhere between Helena and the highway to Lovelace, but storm clouds lingered like they didn’t know whether to stay or go. It fit my mood too well—clear enough to see the road, but heavy enough to suffocate.
My suitcase thumped around in the backseat every time I hit a dip in the asphalt, a reminder of the weight I’d packed along with my clothes.
I hadn’t bothered to rearrange it since I left that morning.
Too busy anticipating the last day of the seminar, too busy pretending I wasn’t checking my phone every twenty minutes, too busy being halfway in Helena and halfway in Lovelace. And now I was here again. Finally.
Just before I pulled out of the Foundation parking lot, a text from Easton pinged through.
EASTON: Got time for a late lunch when you get in? My treat. Just say when. I’ll grab some sandwiches and meet you at the Historical Society.
There was something about his straightforwardness that melted the ground beneath my feet. No fuss. No mind games. Just pure interest that left me feeling exposed. I texted back with a smiley emoji, even though I felt a knot in my stomach.
Sunlight peeked through the clouds, casting a pale glow across Main Street as I turned onto it.
The familiar storefronts came into view—the market, the barber, the firehouse.
And right beside it, the new safe-surrender box gleamed against the brick, a stark reminder of the community's commitment to safety.
I parked in my usual spot behind the Historical Society, grabbed my tote bag, and stepped into the warm, storm-washed air. The wrinkles in my clothes from the drive and the frizz in my hair were minor annoyances compared to the whirlwind of thoughts clamoring for attention in my head.
And then he walked around the corner.
Easton. Jeans. Gray tee. Tan Stetson. A brown paper bag in one hand and a crooked grin that ignited every forgotten spark inside my chest.
“God, I’ve missed him,” I whispered to myself.
“You made it,” he said, meeting me halfway, his eyes lighting up.
“You say that like I was expected to crash somewhere near Billings.”
He shrugged, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. “It crossed my mind.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Being near him felt like slipping into warm water—comforting and inviting. He lifted the bag slightly. “Got your favorite. Even asked Janice to add extra pickles so I don’t get lectured again.”
“I do not lecture,” I protested, opening the door as he followed me inside.
“You totally lecture,” he countered, brushing past me. “It’s like being scolded by an adorable schoolteacher. Like your mom.”
I shoved the door shut behind us. “I’m ignoring that.”
“You can try.”
Inside, the Historical Society felt just like I left it.
The faint smell of old paper, the light filtering through the warped glass—everything seeped into my bones, soothing the frayed edges of my mind.
The stack of photocopied pioneer letters I’d forgotten to re-file still loomed on my desk, waiting for attention.
Easton set the sandwiches on my desk, pulling out drinks like he’d lived here his whole life. I shrugged off my blazer and sat, suddenly aware of how travel-wrinkled I looked.
He didn’t seem to notice. Or he did and didn’t care, which was almost worse. “Okay,” he said, passing me a wrapped sandwich. “I made the executive decision: turkey, pickles, mustard. Don’t yell at me.”
“That’s my favorite.”
“That’s why I bought it.”
His eyes flicked to mine then, warm and—God help me—soft. For a moment, the entire world faded away.
We unwrapped everything and ate, not rushed, not awkward—just easy.
He told me how the guys at the firehouse had been teasing him about getting caught in the rain last week, and I shared a story about the seminar that involved way too many PowerPoint slides.
He mentioned how quiet the old mercantile building looked without me, and I pretended not to melt at the compliment.
By the time we finished, I felt more grounded than I had all week.
He wiped his hands on a napkin, his expression shifting suddenly. “Okay,” he said, looking serious now. “I’ve got something for you.”
I blinked, my pulse quickening. “What? Why?”
He shrugged, almost shy. “Because I missed you. And I saw this and thought of you instantly.” He pulled out a small wooden box—worn smooth with brass hinges tarnished from age. The sight of it made my breath catch.
I took it with both hands. It felt… private. Old. Important.
Inside, nestled in faded velvet, lay a fountain pen—brass-toned, slim, slightly weathered. Like something that had mattered to someone for a long time.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Easton… this is beautiful.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Found it in the trunk of my granddad’s stuff. When I saw it… I don’t know. It felt like something out of your world. Something you’d give a second life to.”
A slow warmth unfurled in my chest—unexpected, overwhelming, impossible to hide. “You’re giving this to me?” I asked.
“I am,” he said, his voice dropping into something quieter, steadier. “Guess I’m letting you tame me so I fit into your world.”
My brows lifted. “Tame you?”
He grinned—wicked and impossibly soft at the same time. “Pretty sure that’s what you’re doing, Em.”
I swatted at his arm. “I think that’s impossible.”
He caught my wrist without effort, then let me go, gentle as ever. “You sure about that?”
My heart stumbled.
“I love the pen,” I whispered. “Really. Thank you.”
His shoulders eased as he nodded—proud, vulnerable. Easton closed the wooden box gently after I admired the pen, his thumb brushing over the grain like he was memorizing it. “You should probably get back to work,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hijack your whole afternoon.”
“I don’t mind,” I said honestly.
He smiled—quiet and knowing. “Yeah, but you’ve got mail stacked like a tiny paper mountain on your desk, and I don’t want Bernice from the board showing up and yelling at me for distracting you.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “She wouldn’t yell.”
“Emma,” he said, tilting his head. “She terrifies everyone. Including Camden. And he runs into burning buildings for a living.”
I laughed, and he watched me the way he always had—like the sound was something valuable.
He took a step back, hooking his thumbs casually into his pockets. “I’ll let you settle in. Call your mom. Unpack. Do whatever people do after being buried in seminars for five days.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. “For lunch. And the pen.”
His expression softened. “Glad you like it.”
He headed to the door, and I followed him out of instinct more than anything. When he reached for the handle, he paused, looking at me over his shoulder.
“You’re home now,” he said quietly. “If you need anything—anything at all—you know how to find me. See you soon.”
The words hit deeper than I expected.
“Soon,” I whispered.
“Good.” He tugged his cap down lightly, gave me a half-smile that hit somewhere low in my stomach, and stepped outside.
I watched him cross the sidewalk, glancing back once—not enough to be obvious, just enough to make my heart twist. Then he rounded the corner toward the lot where he’d parked.
The door clicked shut behind him, and silence washed over the Historical Society. For three long seconds, everything felt still. Then my phone pinged. I reached for it, expecting Mom or a leftover seminar email. Instead, the subject line punched the air right out of my lungs.
Montana Heritage Foundation — Application Decision
My hands went cold as I opened it. My eyes scanned the first sentence, and then the next, and the world tilted.
“I didn’t get it,” I whispered to no one. “Oh… God. I didn’t—”
The rejection sat there, stark and official and painfully final. All the rewrites, the seminar, the nights I stayed late, and the hours I dedicated to research, narrative framing, and community impact—all gone in a single paragraph.
I sank into my chair, heart thudding in a hollow way. Instinct took over—I dialed my mom before the panic could swallow me whole. She answered on the second ring, breathless, like she’d been quilting or reorganizing something. “Emma? Honey, you home?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking. “Mom… I didn’t get it.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her tone shifted instantly—soft, warm, the exact frequency I’d needed and dreaded at the same time. “I’m so sorry.”
“I worked so hard,” I choked out. “I did everything right. And they didn’t even want a follow-up. They just—said no.”
“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be,” she said in that gentle, measured way that soothed me since childhood. “Maybe there’s another way forward. The celebration won’t fall apart. You won’t let it. And Lovelace won’t let you fail.” Her words helped… but only a little.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered.
“You take a deep breath. Then another,” she said. “And then call someone who can give you a hug I can’t give over the phone.”
I knew who she meant. I was already scrolling through my contacts before the call disconnected. Easton picked up immediately. “Em?” His voice was warm and alert—like he’d been waiting for me to call. “You okay?”
“No,” I whispered. “Not really. I didn’t get the grant.”
A beat of silence—just listening.
“Where are you?” I asked, needing to see him, needing some kind of anchor.
“At the hospital,” he said. “Checking on the baby.”
My breath caught. “Oh, yeah, Mom told me. Is… is he all right?”
“They’re doing everything they can. He’s tiny, Em. Really tiny.”
My throat tightened. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Yeah, well,” he said softly, “he doesn’t have anybody else yet. Felt wrong to leave him alone. I just wanted to check in on the little guy.”
Something in my chest fractured a little at that.
He exhaled. “Em?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to be by yourself tonight,” he said. “Come out to the ranch. Stay the night. Stay the weekend if you want. Just… don’t sit there alone hurting.”
My breath trembled. “Easton…”
“I mean it,” he said, gentle but firm. “I’ll be there when you get there. Porch light’s going on now. I can turn it on from my phone.”
I stood slowly, fingers curling around the antique pen he’d given me.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I’m coming.”
“Good,” he said, relief clear in his voice. “Drive safe, Em. I’ll see you soon.”
The line went quiet.
Outside the window, the storm clouds finally broke apart—and for the first time all day, I didn’t feel like I was sinking.
I felt like I was finding my way home.