Page 21 of Sunny Skies Ahead
“I’m glad you like it. I thought of the books you and Abbie read all the time, so the bookshelves were a necessity.”
I turned to face him, unable to find the words to explain what I was feeling.
What was happening?
He didn’t build this house for me. I knew that, and yet I also couldn’t stop the torrent of emotion rising within me at all the details he’d thought about. Details that were connected tome.
“So, I figured I’d give you some time to settle in here. Whenever you’re ready, come back up to the farmhouse. I’ve got a pot roast going. We can eat lunch and discuss things.”
“You cooked?”
Kameron shook his head, a teasing grin on his face.
“Need I remind you that Lucas is the one who is inept in the kitchen? I’ll have you know I can cook just fine.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“So you will,” Kameron said, smiling as he turned to leave. I turned my attention back to the loft above the small living area. The house couldn’t have been over 350 square feet. This house was a fraction of the size of my farmhouse, with its long ranch style hallway and small bedrooms, but it was every bit as cozy.
I climbed the ladder to the loft, lying down on the bed and groaning at the softness of the duvet and mattress beneath. I rolled over onto my back, exhaling deeply.
When I opened my eyes, I realized I was looking up at a skylight.
By the time I returned tonight, I knew I’d have an unobstructed view of the Washington night sky.
When I entered the farmhouse a while later, I was surprised by how soft and restful the space was. I’d only ever been on the porch of the house while waiting for Lucas to get back withcoffee. With three young military veterans living here, I had assumed the place would be disgusting.
The opposite was true.
It still had that rustic charm every older farmhouse naturally possessed, and the mostly thrifted and second hand furniture only elevated that feel.
Kameron was in the kitchen grabbing bowls from the cabinet above the sink. There was a red slow cooker next to him.
I inhaled deeply and almost choked on the nostalgia. The scent of roasting potatoes and carrots in delicate and cozy homestyle spices reminded me so much of the days I spent in the kitchen at the homestead with my Nana.
I remembered all of the times she pulled the step stool close to her soup pot so I could stir whatever delicious meal we were cooking up that day.
“Hey,” I said as I walked towards the kitchen, trying to shake the grief from my bones.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Kam said. “Everything okay at the tiny house?”
“It’s perfect,” I said. “You really thought of everything.”
“You’re the first person to stay there, so if something comes up tonight, just text me and I’ll come fix it. Hungry?”
Kameron held a bowl out to me, and I nodded gratefully.
“This smells amazing,” I said earnestly. “My Nana used to make the best pot roast in the world.”
Kameron’s light laugh skittered over my skin. I’d never heard a laugh as beautiful as his.
“Well, I’m certain this roast won’t be as good as your Nana’s, but my mom used to make this for my dad after he worked thenight shift on a holiday. And we both thought it was pretty good.”
Kameron ladled some of the roast into his bowl before handing off the spoon to me. I followed suit, and we both took a seat at the dining room table.
“Did your dad work a lot of night shifts?” I asked, thinking the question was innocent enough.
Kameron coughed uncomfortably. “He worked nights pretty much my whole life, until he passed.”
