Page 66 of The Promises We Broke
"Complicated ones," I said honestly. "But yes, most of them were good."
We stood there for a moment, both looking up at the house that had starred in so many of our teenage daydreams. The wraparound porch sagged slightly on one side, and several of the gingerbread trim pieces were missing or damaged, but the bones of the place were solid. Beautiful, even.
"Come on," Gage said, starting toward the front steps. "Let me show you what we've been working on."
I followed him up the porch steps, noting how he managed the crutches with practiced ease now. The front door opened with a protesting creak that sounded exactly the same as it had fifteen years ago when we'd sneaked into this place one night.
Inside, the transformation was remarkable. What had once been a maze of small, dark rooms had been opened up, walls removed to create flowing spaces filled with natural light. The linoleum had been stripped back to reveal the original hardwood floors, and the stone fireplace had been cleaned and restored to reveal beautiful natural stonework.
"Gage," I breathed, turning slowly to take it all in. "This is incredible."
"You think so?" There was something almost shy in his voice, like my opinion mattered more than he wanted to admit. "I know it's not finished yet, but I can see what it could be."
I walked over to the fireplace, running my hand along the smooth stone. "I can see it too. It's going to be beautiful."
"The kitchen's through here," he said, leading me toward the back of the house. "That's where most of the work has been focused."
The kitchen was clearly still under construction, with exposed beams and rough-in plumbing, but I could see his vision taking shape. Large windows would look out over the swimming hole, and there was space for a big farmhouse table where a family could gather for meals.
A family. The thought made my chest tighten with an emotion I wasn't ready to examine.
"The bedrooms are upstairs," Gage continued, his voice carefully neutral. "Three of them, plus a bathroom that actually has indoor plumbing now."
"Revolutionary," I said, trying to keep the mood light even as my heart hammered against my ribs. Bedrooms. In the house where we'd once planned to spend our lives together.
"Want to see the plans?" he asked, pulling a rolled set of papers from a tube he'd been carrying.
We spread them out on a makeshift table made from sawhorses and plywood, and I found myself leaning close to study his careful drawings. He smelled like sawdust and soap and something indefinably masculine that made me want to breathe deeper.
"You drew these yourself?" I asked, impressed by the detailed architectural sketches.
"Had a lot of time to think while I was stuck watching everyone else do the hard work," he said. "And Trace found some old drafting supplies in the barn."
I studied the floor plans, seeing not just the technical details but the dreams embedded in every line. A reading nook by the big front window. A breakfast bar where two people could share morning coffee. A master bedroom with windows facing east to catch the sunrise.
"It's perfect," I said softly, and meant it.
"You really think so?" He was standing close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "I kept thinking about... well, about what you'd want. What would make you happy. All the things we dreamed about when we used to stare at this house for hours."
The words hung between us, loaded with implication. I looked up to find him watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Gage," I said carefully, but I wasn't sure what I was warning him against.
"Come on," he said, stepping back. "Let me show you the best part."
He led me through the back door and down a path that had been cleared through the tall grass. My heart started racing as I realized where we were going.
The swimming hole looked exactly the same as it had in our teenage years. A perfect circle of deep, clear water fed by an underground spring, surrounded by smooth rocks and shaded by overhanging willows. Our tree was still there, the oak where we'd carved our initials when we were fourteen and thought love was simple.
"I come down here sometimes when the construction gets too loud," Gage said, settling carefully onto the grass. "It's peaceful."
I sat down beside him, careful to leave space between us even though every cell in my body wanted to move closer. "I used to come here too. After you left. It was the only place that still felt like you."
He turned to look at me, something raw and vulnerable in his expression. "I'm sorry. For leaving this place. For leaving you. For all of it."
"I know," I said quietly. "You told me. And I'm trying to forgive you for it."
"Trying?"
