Trevor laughs, though his eyes are glassy.
“He’d insist you call him Mitch.”
“Mitch. Well, even though he pretends to be a curmudgeon and can be a little full of himself sometimes, he’s pretty awesome. You did a good job with him.”
I meet Trevor’s eyes as I say the words because I want him to know they’re the truth. I don’t have to know his dad to know Mitch would’ve been proud of him. He’s an unfailingly good man, and that’s why I fell for him.
He pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “Give me a few minutes?”
“No problem.” I kiss his cheek. “I might go check out the view.”
“I’ll meet you over there.”
The clearing overlooking the town is more beautiful than I thought it would be. All of downtown is visible with patchy views of the houses outside the center of town. I look at all the ones I can see, wondering if any of them belong to Rae and Sarah or their friends. Then my gaze drifts to the rolling hills beyond and I get a familiar sense of home. The same one I get when I’m looking out at Birch Lake from the campground.
Trevor sits down next to me, emotion still swirling around him.
He silently wraps an arm around my back.
We’re quiet for a moment, taking in the view as the early autumn breeze dances around us.
Finally, I look at Trevor. “Is it always this emotional for you when you come here?”
He shrugs. “It depends. Sometimes it barely hits me. Today was heavier.” I reach down and squeeze his hand. “He would’ve loved you.”
“I meant what I said back there, and I’ll come here with you anytime you want.”
“Thank you,” he breathes.
“Don’t thank me.”
Our eyes meet, and then his hand slides up my back and into my hair.
His lips land on mine in a raw, sloppy kiss. Not meant to lead anywhere, but it’s an expression of everything he’s feeling right now.
With a sigh, he pulls back and looks at the view again.
“Ready for the chaos?”
I laugh at that. “Let’s do it.”
“Holy crap.” I look up at the iron gate in front of us. A very different iron gate from the one at the cemetery. “When were you going to tell me you lived on a fancy estate? I believe on the way here, you described it to me asquaint. I think we have very different definitions of that word.”
I can’t even see the house from here.
He laughs as he keys in the code and the gates swing open.
“I guess I meant quaint not in size, but in vibe?”
“Ah, like an old English country home?”
“That’s pretty on-brand, actually. Except it’s not old. And no murders take place here. When I think English country home, I think murder mystery.”
“Good to know.”
As he drives up the winding gravel drive, the house comes into view, and his description was dead-on.
“Wow. This is beautiful.”