Page 49 of A Fine Line

“I still feel awful.”

“Well, make it up to me.”

If she only knew how badly I wanted to. How badly I wanted to erase these last few years and start fresh. Truly fresh. “How?”

“I don’t know. You’re a smart guy. You’ll figure something out.”

I snorted. “So, your grandparents and family—they know we’re coming?”

“I told them I was bringing a friend. Didn’t want to drag you into the whole fake-dating thing again.”

“They’re excited to see you?”

“Oh, definitely.” Her smile widened. “I expected them to scold me, give me the ‘I told you so,’ but instead, Nana said she’s got a peanut butter pie waiting for me, and Papa told me he loves me and misses me. He also said he’s got a lot of acreage and a shovel, just in case he needs to bury ‘that last bastard.’”

I laughed, and the older woman in front of us turned to give us a stink-eye.

“He’s my favorite already.”

“He’s everyone’s favorite. You’ll see.”

I squeezed her hand. “Honestly, I’m excited too.”

“To get out of the city or to meet them?”

“Both.” I exhaled deeply, glancing past her to the clouds and the distant land below. “And to spend time with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, now that we’re not at each other’s throats, it’s like I’m getting to know a new version of you.”

“Well, not that new. I’m still not afraid to poison your food.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon filling the air around us.

“I’m excited to hang out with you too,” she said.

I smiled at that and rested my head back against hers.

The moment my sneakers touched Willow Creek dirt, I felt every particle of anxiety or fear disintegrate entirely.

Before my Papa’s old Tacoma could come to a complete stop at the entrance of Willow Creek’s gravel road, I hopped out and stood there, still, taking in the picture ahead. I heard Crew jump out as well, telling my grandfather thank you and agreeing that yes, we promise we will be at dinner tonight.

I wanted to answer too. Wanted to ensure, once again, that I was grateful to be here and tell Papa that I loved him and a million other things I felt. But I was frozen in this time and place. Like I was seeing it for the first time.

In the distance, the main farmhouse stood proudly, its windows glowing faintly. Down the dirt path to the left I notice the light on in the bakehouse. The same one I used to run with Aunt Sonja when times were busy and the city of Oak Ridge all decided to pop in at once. Staring at the old wood cottage I practically caught the rich scent of cinnamon drifting from inside. I imagined fresh apple pies and warm loaves of bread being pulled from the ovens, croissants waiting in the glass withmy name on it. Sourdough sandwiches with apples and brie and a touch of cranberry being rolled up for the workers.

I closed my eyes and could hear the rhythmic sound of hooves on the ground as what had to be Knox and Felicity riding horses through the fields. Their laughter mixes with the rustling of the leaves and the occasional neigh of the horses made my eyes water. I was home.

Even if it was for a few days just for now. I made it. All thanks to Crew, with the gravel beneath his boots crunching softly as he moved to stands next to me.

“Wow.” I looked his way, catching how his eyes were stuck to the fields. Rows of wild flowers stretching for acres, meeting to where the signs pointing toward the pumpkin patch to the far right followed. “This is…”

“I know.” I smiled up at him, repeating what he said when we met at his spot. Parroting his unwavering understanding that something about this place was just pure magic.

“Wow.”

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