Page 92 of Buried Roots

“Yes, it is.”

Huh? “Oh, yeah. Today’s myrealbirthday,“ I utter, thinking back to when I found my baby bracelet. I’d told Owen that day we remodeled the bathroom. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.”

“Only you.” I put my arm around him as my eyes roam the beautiful, open space. It has a tall wooden-beamed ceiling, rustic beer barrels as cocktail tables, a stocked bar, and a counter of solid oak. Then I see the stunning two-story fireplace. “That’s gorgeous.”

Owen shrugs. “I may not be good at painting or color, but I am good with stone. And maybe I had a little help.” He nods to Jeb, who gives him a thumbs up.

“Thank you, Jeb and Owen. I absolutely love it.”

Once I’m in the crowd mingling, Dakota walks up and nudges me with her elbow. “Looks like we both have a wedding venue now. Wink-wink.”

“We do! Any update on that front?”

“Bennett’s moving here in the next six to nine months.” She lets out a squeal. “So, put us on the schedule. After you, of course.”

“On, no. You first.”

Trinity appears holding a cake, which might be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. I study it, and I think it’s supposed to be a cat and a goat? Or is that a mouse and a bull? Trinity chimes in. “That’s Sir Fig A Lot and Demon playing. I made it!”

“It’s the best cake ever.” And I mean that. I put my arm around her. “Love you, Trin.”

Roy approaches me, leaning into my ear and whispering, “I found out more about Blake’s sentence. No probation. No parole. He’ll serve out his sentence.”

I let out a silent stream of air. Annie may not have been able to catch Blake, but that’s the thing about criminals. They keep committing crimes, getting bolder and sloppier as their egos grow, and often, get caught eventually. Roy found out that Blake’s served three years of his twenty-year sentence in an Ontario, Canada federal prison for a list of felony offenses. It’s no surprise one of them is assault with a deadly weapon. “Glad justice has been served.”

“Better late than never.” Roy pats my shoulder.

“Thanks for everything. You know, Roy, not all heroes wear capes.”

“Pfft.” He bats his hand as he drifts into the crowd.

My eyes wander to the mantle where a display catches my eye. I wander over and get a close look at all the framed pictures. Owen joins me and says, “Figured we could make this place home until we get the house finished.”

Tears well in my eyes as I run my finger over the photo of me and Dakota sitting at the Malted Moon Brewery together, smiling. Or the picture of me and Owen in the middle of the restoration job, sweaty but happy. Then there’s one with Trinity, me, Demon, and Sir Fig A Lot, who looks quite dashing, I might add.

My lips quiver when I say, “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“It’s what families do for each other.” Owen puts his arm around me and squeezes.

Right. I have a family now. I lean in and whisper, “You know I love you, right?”

“You know I love you too.”

Sir Fig A Lot approaches us, and there’s a set of newly minted keys labeled “barn” hanging on the horns he recently sprouted. I take them and jangle them in the air with a smile on my face.

The crowd breaks out into an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday, and I’ve never had this many people sing to me. It’s terribly goofy, and oh, so awkward, but I don’t care. It’s painfully wonderful.

Even Levi joins in on the singing, standing in the corner, alone, like he does. But he doesn’t mean anyone harm. He’s a good kid, always staying late on the farm to make sure everything’s tidied up. As it turns out, the night of the fire, he rushed away from Owen and me because he was embarrassed to be working so late.

I look around at the smiling faces, the waving hands, and the bottles of beer tipped in my direction. The warmth and love are palpable. I never could’ve imagined I’d end up here forever, after coming to this strange town under stranger circumstances.

This barn was executed exactly to my specs—the charming spiral stairwell, the rustic fixtures, the stony two-story fireplace, and the open accordion doors, where a cool breeze carries in the smell of fall with its sweet-decaying leaves. On the lake outside, the dipping sun casts a twinkling shade of saffron along the water. It’s more beautiful here than the day I arrived, and even then, I knew I was home.

I own this estate officially now, but what makes it mine isn’t any of those things. It’s the people gathered here for me.

The very place I belong.

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