Page 51 of Now and Then

“Yes, I do, Hunter. When no one knew what I was going through, you did. You were my rock. And you never once left me alone in my grief.” Her voice grows faint.

I cup the side of her face. “I’ll always be by your side.”

11

Sutton

Swatches of fabric and paint samples litter my office floor. Blueprints teeter on the edge of my desk, and my laptop is buried somewhere under sticky notes and half-empty coffee cups.

My list of trades I need to hire stares back at me. I can almost hear it shouting You have no idea what you’re doing, do you? I rub my temples and let out a frustrated groan.

“Get it together, Sutton,” I mutter, fumbling for my phone. “You can do this.” My heart is racing just looking at the to-do list I wrote last night. Somehow, none of this feels anywhere close to manageable.

“Well, this looks like fun,” a familiar voice says from the doorway.

I jump and look up. Easton is standing there, hands shoved casually in his pockets and a half-smile tugging at his lips. Sunlight spills across the floor from the window behind him. Can he tell I’m in the middle of freaking out?

“Easton,” I say, trying for calm but failing spectacularly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m good like that,” he says, stepping fully inside and surveying the chaos.

I try to straighten a stack of swatches, only for them to tumble into a heap again. I groan. “What brings you by?”

“I was on my way to the police station when I saw the sign for your office.” Easton crouches to help me pick up the mess, then glances at the phone blinking on my desk, signaling I have an incoming call. “Should you get that?”

“Probably,” I admit, but continue to watch the light blink.

“Is everything okay?” He sets the swatches back on my table of doom.

“It’s great. Everything is great.” I force a smile.

“Sutton . . .”

I groan, laying my head down on my desk. “Everything is shit, okay? I thought I could handle Hunter’s remodel on my own, but it’s way more involved than I thought.”

My cell phone buzzes. I snatch it up, knocking most of the samples back onto the floor. “Hello, this is Sutton Bradley.”

“Hi, Sutton! This is Jean Weeks. Sorry it’s taken us a few days to get back to you.” Her voice is cheery, which seems like a good sign. “Listen, about the B and B, I’m sorry but . . .”

My stomach drops.

“We’ve decided to hold off for now. I know we’ve talked about owning a B and B for years, but now that the opportunity is here, it doesn’t feel right anymore.”

“Oh . . .” My voice comes out small.

“We’d love to see Hunter’s house once it’s done,” Jean adds. “Our daughter, Holly, is going to be taking over Torn Pages next year and has been begging us to revamp it, so, who knows? Maybe down the road, you and her might get to work together.”

I blink, and a spark lights in my chest despite the rejection. My mind races. Showcase Hunter’s house, show off my design skills to the Weeks . . . “Then you’ll have to come to the open house,” I blurt, because of course I can’t help myself. The idea feels like a fire now, and I’m grinning before I even finish the sentence.

Easton sits at one of the stools surrounding the table. Another spark lights in my chest. I narrow my eyes at him. He looks side to side and mouths, What?

I smile broadly. “Alright, Mrs. Weeks, well, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with the B and B, but I look forward to hearing more about the bookshop.”

I set my phone aside, lace my fingers together, and stare at Easton. The idea now is a full-on wildfire in my mind. “How long are you in town?”

“Right now, three weeks. Why?”

“How opposed would you be to acting as my mentor? You told me this is your actual job, and someday I’d like to not be a dumpster fire on the project management side of designing.” I gesture at my table of chaos.