Page 52 of Now and Then

Easton’s expression softens. “I wouldn’t be opposed at all.”

Relief floods me. “Wait, seriously?”

“It’s a great idea.” He nods. “I’ve been thinking about expanding into Suncrest Valley. Helping you on this remodel could be a way to get my name out there.”

“So you’ll guide me through the remodel and teach me how to juggle everything that goes into it?”

“It’s a deal,” he says, reaching his hand out.

I take it, and we shake.

“I’ve got a meeting at the police station,” he says, “but maybe we can meet at Hunter’s later? You can show me what you’ve got planned, and we can get started.”

My stomach flutters, relief and excitement washing over me. “Perfect.”

And suddenly, everything feels manageable again.

Hours later, I toss my phone onto my desk and grab my keys, trying to push down the fluttery butterflies taking over my stomach. Hunter’s project has me equal parts excited and nervous. Mostly because it means I get to spend time with him—just the two of us.

I text Hunter, trying to keep it casual even though I’m anything but casual.

Me: I’m headed to your house.

It only takes a few moments for his reply to come through.

Hunter: Okay. Should I be worried?

Me: Just going to get started.

Hunter: On the house?

Me: Thought I’d get some work done before you get home.

Hunter: Don’t do anything crazy till I get there.

Me: No promises.

I roll my eyes at his last text, and shove the last few bags of paint supplies and pillows into the trunk of my car. The lid catches when I try to close it. I practically have to lie on it for it to latch.

“Nice try,” I tell the overstuffed trunk, dusting my hands off like I’ve won a small battle.

The drive to Hunter’s property is quick, as traffic is almost nonexistent. It amazes me every year how fast the transformation is from a busy summer town to a slower-paced fall town.

I’m grateful for the change of pace especially after the unexpected emotional weekend I had. After I had told the girls and Luke about my miscarriage, Hunter knew I was running on empty. He told me to spend the weekend with my mom instead of scouting with him.

It hadn’t been my intention to tell everyone I loved about my miscarriage all in the same weekend, but like everything else lately, it seems the little control I thought I had over my life doesn’t actually exist.

Turns out, I hadn’t been very good at hiding my secret from Mom. She told me that when we had been freshly grieving Dad’s death, she had known something else was going on with me. She just hadn’t wanted to pry. Neither of us had expected it would take six years for me to tell her.

By Monday morning, I woke with clearer eyes and a lighter heart. For so long I’d hidden my miscarriage like a crack in the foundation, pretending that if no one knew about it, I could stand as straight and perfect as any home with a strong foundation.

Maybe I don’t have to work so hard pretending everything is fine anymore.

On Tuesday, Hunter joined Mom and me for dinner—he never misses Mom’s chicken-fried-steak night—and before he left, he handed me his credit card.

“Build us a country house,” he said.

His use of the word us may still be playing on a loop in my mind.