Page 104 of The Light We Lost

It was. Not solely because the kids had reached their goal, but I’d loved watching Nolan play. They’d lost, but I had the best time cheering alongside Shay and Auburn, and I was certain I’d never laughed as hard as I did when Charlie crawled from third to home plate, claiming he was too damn old for this. From there, we did sack races, and after beating Brooks two times, Levi and I tossed a pie in his face. Then, with Winnie on his shoulders, Nolan and I walked hand in hand around the football field, eating cotton candy and catching snippets of the couples dancing in Heath’s competition. Neither of us had brought up competing, and I was okay with that.

I’d already won.

“You going to Nolan’s?” Mom asked, and I dipped my chin, bracing myself. But she only nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “You mind sitting with me for a few minutes?”

We hadn’t talked since I’d told her the truth about how I was feeling. I had no idea if she wanted to move forward or if she simply wanted a few minutes together, but I sat down, willing to try.

“In a town this small, sometimes it feels like I’m living in a glasshouse. Everyone knows everyone’s business, and there’s no hiding it.” She twisted to face me, hand propped against her cheek. “It’s even harder when they seem to mistake my daughter as their own, and don’t mind pointing out to me what they think she’s doing wrong. How she moved Mrs. Wilken’s garden gnomes again and went skinny-dipping in the lake. Truth be told, I didn’t mind and neither did your dad. You were being a kid.” She smiled to herself, shaking her head. “But I did mind when I’d overhear them in my own diner, talking about how impulsive and wild my daughter was. How she’d never settle down if she didn’t get her head out of the clouds.”

She grasped my hand, as though worried those words had hurt me. But they didn’t hurt—not anymore. “It’s why I was so hard on you,” she continued. “I wanted you to prove them wrong. I wanted them to eat their words and see just how capable you were . . . but I was wrong for that, Indy. If I hadn’t been so caught up in them, I would’ve seen you could’ve proved that by being exactly who you are—my fiery, spirited, passionate daughter.” She cupped my cheek, and I blinked hard, my eyes burning. “I’m sorry, Indy. I don’t expect you to forgive me today, but I hope you know how proud I am of you. I’ll love you no matter where you go in life.”

I let out a shaky breath and wrapped my arms around her. It was the first time in years that it felt like there was nothing between us when we hugged. I didn’t know where we’d go from here, and I imagined it would take time for wounds to heal, but it was a step.

After telling her I loved her, I climbed into Dad’s truck and drove to Nolan’s. The porch light was on, but the house was otherwise dark. Through the backyard fence, I spotted his shed lights flicker on. I’d told him I was spending the night at my parents’, so he must’ve decided to stay up and work. Climbing out of the truck, I pulled out my phone to turn the flashlight on, stopping when I realized I had two new emails.

They’d been sent this afternoon, but I must’ve missed them in the excitement of the day. One was from Evelyn, telling me she was wishing me luck and that she was cheering me on from New York. The other was from Victory Lap Agency’s human resources department, notifying me I was scheduled to interview for the agent position.

The interview was in five days.

Heart racing, I smiled and closed the email before starting toward the backyard. Nolan believed I could do anything I wanted. And for the first time, I believed him.

I knew exactly what I wanted.

And not even he could stop me.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Indy—Now

Igripped the handle and slid the shed door open, goosebumps dusting my skin at the sound of grinding steel. Nolan’s gaze slid to mine from where he sat at his worktable, a look of surprise in his eyes. But it wasn’t an unwanted surprise, as I swore I heard him whisper under his breath:you’re home.

Yes, Nolan. I’m home.

“Are you here to get Genny?” He set a wooden box on the table, turning to face me in his chair. “I texted and offered to drop her off at your parents’, but you must’ve missed it.”

I shook my head, walking toward him. I hadn’t missed his text. “I’m not here for Genny.”

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

I set my hand on his shoulder and climbed onto his lap, maneuvering myself so my legs were dangling to one side of his. His arms banded around me, one hand cupping my knee and the other my hip. “I needed this.”

“It’s late,” he murmured, his lips against my temple. “Let’s go inside and go to bed.”

“No.” I leaned deeper against him, further burying my head in the crevice of his shoulder. I didn’t care if my eyes were heavy and my body ached—I didn’twant to sleep. The fact Nolan was in his shed and not his bed told me he felt the same. “I want to stay here.”

His chest lifted with a laugh. “Okay. We’ll stay here.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the softness of his T-shirt against my cheek. He wore a pair of loose sweat shorts and house slippers, different from what he typically wore to carve. There were no pieces of lumber or tools on his table, nothing but a wooden box. He hadn’t come out here to work.

I eyed the box carefully, having seen it in passing several times. Nolan hadn’t shown it to me, but I knew what it was without him saying. It was warped, the stain uneven. The lid was too small, only covering three corners of the box. It was the first piece he’d made in his woodworking journey—when he’d taken his grief and shaped it.

“Do you keep anything inside of it?” I asked, unable to quiet my curiosity any longer.

The moment seemed to still, nothing but the sound of our breaths and the wind dancing through the trees outside. Instead of answering, Nolan leaned forward and grabbed the box before easing it into my hands.

I sat up and twisted on his lap to face him, as though needing further confirmation. His throat bobbed, and I’d bet if I put my hand to his chest, his heart would be rampant beneath my palm. The box was rough in my hands, splinters poking my fingers. But even with its imperfections, it felt like I was holding something sacred.

Sensing no hesitation on his end, I peeled the lid off. My stomach dropped at the whiskey bottle wedged inside. It was unopened, the amber liquid sealed behind glass. Not wanting to focus on it, I removed the bottle and set it on the table. Whatever heartache the alcohol inflicted vanished at the sight of what remained in the box.

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