Page 68 of Heart Set on You

We spend the next hour sitting around the old kitchen table telling stories. My heart feels like it could beat right out of my chest, and I wonder to myself how it could possibly get better than this.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Miles

So, this is Rylee’s home. This is Deer Lake. We’re standing on her grandparents’ porch admiring the land. Their farm looks like it stretches on for miles, rolling hills painted green against the blue midday sky. The fresh, crisp air feels like a balm to my lungs. There’s a large red barn that looks like it’s directly from an old movie set and the scent of apples drifts through the air from the orchard. I’ve heard her describe the farm a hundred different times before but being here and seeing it up close is another story. I take it all in, picturing Rylee as a little girl running through the rows of apple trees. This place feels familiar, comfortable, carefree, full of life and beauty. It couldn’t be more her.

After lunch, Rylee took me out to the porch. She told me all about the orchard and explained the harvest season, pointed out the stable and the path that leads to her favorite lake.

“This place is so you, Rylee.”

“It’s home. I love it here. “

“Have you brought many of your boyfriends here?” I ask even though I know it’s none of my business.

“Actually, you are the first,” she answers, looking sexy as hell, a breeze brushing her hair across her face. “I’ve never wanted to bring anyone home until now. There hasn’t been anyone who’s mattered as much as you.”

“There isn’t anyone here who… mattered?” I know I’m being nosy, but I want to know.

“Not really,” she says. “I’ve never felt that deep, intimate connection with anyone. The kind that feeds your soul. The closest I’ve come was with a guy named Eric. I met him at film school, we were together for two years.”

“Two years is a long time. You never wanted to bring him here, introduce him to your family?”

“No. He never seemed all that interested and deep down I think I knew there wasn’t a point. I wasn’t in love with him.”

Her admission makes me happy. I want to be the first person she’s brought home to meet her family. I want to be the first person she’s given her heart to.

“I feel pretty lucky all of a sudden.”

“I guess you should,” she says, reaching for my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where we’re staying.” We head towards the stairs, stopping in the hallway to look at the wall of family photos. There are candid pictures of Rylee when she was young, with her parents and her brothers. Other family photos look like they were taken by a professional photographer. I wonder if they are hers. “These are your nieces and nephew?” I ask, pointing to a photo of three adorable kids running through a field.

“They are. This one is Belle. That one is Lainey, and the little guy is Noah,” she says, pointing them out, her face lighting up.

“Did you take any of these?” I ask her, looking over the wall of memories that obviously mean so much to her.

“I did,” she says shyly, leaving it at that. But I’m not letting her off the hook that easy.

“Which ones?”

I’m blown away as she shows me the photos she took. Each one tells a story. “These are incredible,” I tell her honestly. “I know you love to take photos, but I’ve never asked you how long you’ve been doing it.”

“Oh gosh, as long as I can remember. My mother always had a camera in her hands. She never went to school or anything, but she had an eye for it, I guess. She taught me everything she knew. Then it became a thing that my mother and I did together. After she died, I stopped taking photos for a while.”

“What made you want to start again?”

“Belle,” she says, touching the tip of her finger to her niece in a picture. “When Belle was born, I wanted to capture every memory I could. I knew if my mother was with us she would be snapping photos of every single milestone. It was Belle that got me back at it.”

She takes a step up the stairs, a melancholy look in her eyes. “Come on, I’ll show you my room, that’s where we’ll be staying.”

I follow her up the worn wooden stairs to her childhood bedroom. It’s small, with a double bed and an old dresser. A bench seat beneath the window overlooks the back of the house. I pick up a framed photo from her dresser. “Your parents?” I ask her gently, turning to face her.

“Yes. That was taken at church. I love this photo the most because of my mom’s big smile. She was extra happy that day, it was my first time reading a scripture in front of everyone and she was so proud.”

“You have her smile. And your dad’s dark hair. I can see them both in you.”

“So I’ve been told.” She smiles as I set the frame back where it belongs. “The bed is a little smaller than you’re used to,” she says, changing the subject.

“I personally think in this case that smaller works to my advantage.” I tease, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. My lips linger over her skin.

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