Page 24 of Simply Yours

Without another word, he spun on his heel and walked off, his boots crunching against the gravel driveway. Every step was fueled by frustration, the kind that burned under his skin and made his chest feel too tight. The fact that his own flesh and blood thought so little of him—that he needed to be kept at arm’s length from a woman like Caitlin—stung more than he wanted to admit.

He jammed his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched as he stalked toward his truck. His mind warred with itself. He barely knew her. Caitlin. But dang, he liked the way she made him feel. Not in an obvious, punch-you-in-the-face kind of attraction—she wasn’t the kind of woman who turned heads in a room full of glitz and glamour. But there was something about her. Something real.

Her laughter.

Those frowns.

All of it.

That was what had him thinking about her long after she was gone. It was light, warm—like sunlight cutting through the storm clouds of his life. And gosh, he needed that. Needed something good, something that didn’t come with weight pressing down on his shoulders like the darn world was resting there. Every time she spoke to him, he caught himself smiling, his defenses cracking just enough to let a little light in.

It had been years since he’d laughed like that. Since he’d felt anything other than responsibility and grief clawing at his insides. Not since before his father passed. Heck, maybe not even since his mother had died. Life had been nothing but a series of hits, one after another, knocking him down before he could find his footing.

He exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away as he reached his truck and climbed in. He should go back to the house. There were bills to pay and responsibilities to handle. But instead, he found himself turning the key, the engine rumbling to life as he made a decision.

The bills could wait another day.

For once, he wanted to do something for himself.

Without hesitation, he took the familiar drive over the ridge, his truck bouncing slightly as he pulled up to the old house. His great-grandmother’s place. His place now. This was going to be his home. He’d told Caitlin about it, but he hadn’t made any attempts to move in or update things yet, and maybe it was finally time.

Jason shut off the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the worn exterior. His eyes roved over things, immediately taking note of things. The place needed work. A lot of it.

Unlocking the front door, he noticed that some of the boards on the front porch were starting to bow, and he would need to change them out. Opening the screen door, he saw a slight tear in the corner. These were things he could do over time but wouldn’t inhibit him from moving in,and he smiled.

Jason stood in the center of the room, hands braced on his hips, surveying the space with a critical eye. The house had been sitting empty for far too long, the dust and neglect settling in like an unwanted guest. But it wasn’t beyond saving. No, it still had good bones—just like the stubborn people who had lived here before him.

It wasn’t much, but itwashis.

He exhaled slowly, the familiar weight of responsibility pressing against his ribs. He’d get his things from the main house and move in this weekend. It would give him space. Privacy. A place to have coffee undisturbed.

Someday with Caitlin.

Jason cursed under his breath and scrubbed a rough hand down his face.That woman.She had a way of sneaking into his thoughts, burrowing in like she belonged there. Which, of course, she didn’t.

Shouldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

“I’ve got to stop thinking about her,” he muttered to himself, the words little more than a growl as he fished his phone out of his pocket.

Distraction. That was what he needed. A list. Something practical. Something that didn’t involve Caitlin’s maddening smile or the way she beamed at him just before she laughed, and he wondered what her perfume smelled like. If she smelled like fresh-cut flowers – or pizza dough.

And he chuckled, shaking his head at his own weird thoughts.

Focusing, he started tapping out the things he needed to do. Supplies to buy. Repairs to schedule. The roof might need patching, and the front porch sagged like an old man’s shoulders, but at least the structure was still holding strong.Unlike him, apparently.

An hour later, Jason was elbow-deep in the kind of work that left his mind blessedly blank. The scent of a lemon cleaner cut through the stale air as he wiped down the counters, scrubbing away years of grime with methodical strokes. The mop glided across the hardwood, the water turning gray as he wrung it out. Cobwebs clung stubbornly to the corners of the ceiling, defiant and unyielding—just like every Baird who had ever set foot in this house.

He worked in silence, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards beneath his boots. The lower level was almost livable now, cleared of dust and neglect, and though there was still plenty to be done, it felt possible now. Manageable.

The upper floors, however, were another story. They held remnants of the past—photo albums, framed pictures, his great-grandfather’s war medals—pieces of history, moments frozen in time, waiting for someone to remember them.

Jason leaned against the mop handle, staring up the staircase. The weight of generations pressed in around him, thick as the dust motes floating in the sunlight. He should go through it all, sort it, and decide what stayed and what went.

But not today.

His gaze drifted to the sitting room, where the old wallpaper still clung stubbornly to the walls. Faded florals in a delicate pattern, peeling at the edges, whispering of a time when homes were built to last, love was meant to endure, and family was everything.

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