Page 156 of Now and Then

Six months ago, she would’ve been pacing the hallway looking for something wrong. A crooked picture frame. A smudge on a baseboard. Something she could fix before anyone noticed. Not today. Today, she’s enjoying every moment.

Luke bumps my shoulder. “You’ve been staring at her for ten minutes.”

“Shut up.”

He snorts, taking a pull from his beer. “Not saying I blame you. But you’re not being subtle.”

Across the room, Sutton is explaining something to Mrs. Carter from the feed store, gesturing toward the open shelving she insisted on adding to the kitchen. Shelving she’s filled with new dishware, cups, and random kitchen decor.

Mrs. Carter nods enthusiastically. “See, that’s smart,” she says loudly. “Makes the whole room feel bigger.”

“That was the idea,” Sutton says, “even if someone disagreed.” She smiles in my direction.

Watching her talking about design is like watching someone speak their native language. She’s natural and effortless. Like she finally found the thing she was meant to be when she grows up.

Greer and Navy appear beside us.

“Food’s holding up surprisingly well,” Greer says, handing Luke a plate.

Navy nudges my arm. “Your girl might survive hosting the entire town after all.”

“I knew she would.”

“Where’s this Easton I keep hearing so much about?” Navy asks, nursing an Old Fashioned.

I grin. “If you’d gotten here on time, we’d have introduced you before this place got so packed.”

“Hey, now,” Navy holds her hands up in mock offense. “It’s not like I planned to have a dead car battery and almost run out of gas on the same day. And it’s not like I was even that late.”

“He’s around here somewhere,” Luke says casually.

I nod toward the front door. “He’s taking out a load of trash.”

Navy turns slightly, trying to spot him out the window, but someone brushes past her, blocking the view.

“Don’t worry,” I say, bumping her shoulder lightly. “You’ll meet him eventually.”

Luke jerks his chin toward the front door. Mr. and Mrs. Weeks step inside, eyes wide as saucers as they take in the view.

Sutton straightens slightly, wiping her hands on her jeans and crossing the room to greet them. “I’m so glad you both could make it,” she says, smiling warmly.

Mrs. Weeks takes a slow look around the living room. “Sutton, this place is beautiful,” she says. “I didn’t know what to expect, but, wow, you’ve done an incredible job.”

Sutton’s cheeks pink slightly. “Thank you.”

Mr. Weeks steps further inside, studying the layout as they move through the house. They pause in the kitchen. Sutton eventually came around to the color I picked, especially after we added all the furniture in.

“This open concept works really well.” Mr. Weeks nods toward the living area. “Feels very welcoming.”

“That was the goal,” Sutton says. “I wanted it to feel like the kind of place people naturally gather. Plus, we’ve got a big family, so we needed room for this.” She gestures to the massive oak table.

My breath catches at her use of we.

Mrs. Weeks runs her hands along the table. “This is what I’d love to have at the shop. Long tables where people can study or hold book clubs while being surrounded by shelves of books.”

“You have a real talent for this, Sutton,” Mr. Weeks says.

Sutton shifts a little, clearly unsure how to accept Mr. Weeks’s compliment.