Page 93 of Rewrite Our Story

The truck comes to a stop. Once it’s in park, I sit back and run my hand over my mouth, soaking in the moment of watching her look at the house I’ve worked tirelessly on.

I didn’t bring her here to show her the home I want to spend forever with her in, but I’m caught up in the way she’s looking at it. The other night she looked at the house like she feared it. There was something so heartbreaking and haunting in the way she looked at the house we’d dreamed of together. It was like she didn’t want it to even exist, like she hated me for bringing it to fruition. That night I was terrified that things were so damaged between us that we wouldn’t be able to repair them.

Watching her now, I know that isn’t true. She looks at the house now with hope. Before I can say anything, she’s opening the passenger door and hopping down to the gravel. She doesn’t wait for me as she walks toward the house.

I stay in the truck, letting her take it in with fresh eyes. Hopefully now she can see through her hurt. Maybe now she’ll be able to understand what I’ve been trying to tell her.

I’ve loved her this entire time. While she was making her dreams come true, I was doing everything to build a house she could call home once she’d achieved every single one of her wildest dreams.

Mare disappears into the house. I grab something from the bed of the truck and follow after her, feeling like she’s had enough time to take it in on her own.

The gravel crunches underneath my boots as I climb the driveway. I can’t hear her, but my eyes land on Mare in the open floor plan almost as soon as I walk in.

It’s a lot easier to see the details of the house in the daylight. My headlights could only illuminate so much the other night, but now with the sun shining high above us, everything can be seen.

I stop in the kitchen, watching Mare trail her hand over the framing of the living room. She lets her eyes travel the space slowly, like she doesn’t want to forget a single detail of the house.

My heartbeat picks up when she takes a step closer to the kitchen. Soon she’ll be close to the nook she’d always told me she dreamt about.

Soon, the real reason I brought her here in the first place will come into view.

51

MARE - PRESENT

When Cade broughtme to this house the other day, I wasn’t ready to see it. My heart couldn’t take knowing he’d been here in Sutten building a life for himself—a life he hoped I’d be in—while I was miles and miles away believing he never loved me.

I’d been in denial when he first confessed that he loved me. That he’d loved me all along. I’d gone so long believing I was the only one who left heartbroken after our summer together. It was hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I left this town to avoid him because I couldn’t face him not loving me back, when all along he was here, unable to let us go.

Building a house for us.

I look around the kitchen, at the corner where Cade vividly described a breakfast nook would go. I can easily imagine myself writing there.

It’s weird to feel so happy and sad all at once.

I’m happy because the only man who has ever owned my heart wants to spend forever with me.

I’m sad because I worked so hard at creating a life that didn’t involve Sutten—that didn’t involve him—that now I don’t know how to intertwine our lives so we can have our happily ever after together.

But I want to try. Ihaveto try. In the years since, I’ve spent so much time comparing every other man to him. Cade slipped through my fingers once before, but now that I have him and he’s made it clear how much he wants us, we’ll just have to figure out the rest.

I’m opening my mouth to tell him that when my eyes drift to the back of the house and what I imagine is going to be a back door leading to an expansive back porch.

Orange and yellow hues catch my attention. I take a step closer, my pulse humming in my ears as my heartbeat picks up.

“Cade,” I whisper, emotion clogging my throat.

His silence has me tearing my eyes from the scene in front of me to make sure he’s still there.

Of course he is. I knew he was because I could still feel him, like I always have.

He stares back at me, a hint of a smile on his full lips. In his hands he holds a large, folded blanket. He clutches it to his chest.

“How about you go check it out?” His voice is low and rough as he speaks through his own emotions.

I nod, not fighting the tears that fall down my cheeks. Ripping my gaze from his, I run from the kitchen and down a small slope. My feet don’t stop until I’m standing at the edge of the most breathtaking of views.

In front of me is a sprawling field of marigolds.

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