Rekindling the Flame (Smoky Heights #1)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

RORY

Almost two and a half years later

The dogwood trees are in full bloom, our yard flowering in vivid white buds that look like cherry blossoms. The meadow has dots of yellow, purple, and pink as other flowers stretch their petals in this gorgeous weather, testing their spring wardrobe ahead of the new season. I breathe in the smell of it, taking a second to enjoy the simple things.

The sun is close to setting behind our favorite backdrop to the paradise we live in, those picturesque Smokies that line our view, now back to a vibrant green that screams of new life.

The mountains aren’t the only sign of it.

“Rory!” Wyatt calls my name from the south side of the house.

“Coming!” I shout back and make my way over.

“Henrietta won’t get in her coop. She keeps running away from me and—” Wyatt dives for the feisty bird and she dodges him like she’s in the NFL.

She might be past her egg-laying years, but she’s still with our flock. My mom’s flock, that live with us now.

I block her off at the pass, stopping her path to freedom so Wyatt can catch her and put her back in the run he made for them. Call me crazy, but I think that look on her face when my husband finally closes his hands around her body, wings, and neck is a look of satisfaction. I think that was all she wanted all along. And honestly? Same, sister. I can relate. My feathers get ruffled when he hasn’t touched me in a while, myself. The man’s got magic hands, what do you want from me?

As soon as she’s through her little chicken door, she bolts, running through what might as well be a playground for birds to be with her sisters for the night, clucking to probably tell them all about how she tricked Wyatt into picking her up yet again.

We made good on our promise to Henrietta the Eighth and her gal pals. If other coops are Androids—no, Nokias—they have the iPhone 30 of chicken housing. In the shoe store of life as a chicken, they have the equivalent to Italian, hand-stitched leather heels.

As I look down, I realize mine might be getting a little muddy, and I slip them off, placing my Valentino Garavanis on the stone walkway where they’re safer, and stand barefoot in the grass watching Wyatt come back to me. I gotta say, he’s gotten even finer with time. Dark hair trimmed just short enough that he can push it back and have that effortless look that most have to try for. Face like he forgot to shave just a couple days too many. Mouth that doubles as a hell of a seat. Eyes that melt my insides.

“Was she the last one?” I ask him.

“She was the holdout,” he confirms. When he’s close enough to, he sweeps me in his arms and dips me backward, kissing me. I lose my breath more from the depth of emotion than the intensity of the kiss, but we break apart and keep it from getting out of hand when we hear a husky voice.

“Keep it PG out here, you’ve got young, impressionable eyes around, you two.”

Duke rounds the corner from the front of the house, a baby in his arms. Our baby in his arms. His grandchild.

Turns out, we didn’t have Axle.

We had a little girl, Laura Lee Ellis Grady.

“I swear, she’s grown about a foot since I last saw her,” he says, holding her out in front of him for inspection.

He’s got her in an outfit I don’t recognize. Something colorful, is that real silk? Hard to tell from this far away.

“It’s not even a couple of pounds she’s gained since you last saw her, now you’re starting to sound like Ernie, just exaggerating for the hell of it,” Wyatt calls out to him.

Duke takes a seat at the table, Laura Lee in his lap, bouncing her on his knee as he relishes the moment, playing with her, giant hearts popping out of his eyes every time he makes her giggle.

“I mean it, son,” he calls over. “You go to Thailand for a month, and your own granddaughter has doubled in size by the time you’re back. No way is this a couple o’ pounds! If I’d extended my trip any longer, she probably would’ve had her driver’s license by the time I got back.”

A warm smile breaks out across my face. It’s good to see him again.

Took him a while to be willing to live out that trip for Mom. The last thing on her bucket list. He said he was ready to go on the one-year anniversary of her death, but with the baby on the way, he decided to wait until we were settled in as new parents before he went. Didn’t want to miss any part of that journey, he said.

Today’s the first time we’ve seen him since he got back from his trip yesterday.

Our weekly family dinner. Finally warm enough for us to host it out here in the backyard after a winter of squeezing the five of us around the small dining table. Spring has finally sprung. And tonight, there’s going to be six of us.

“You owe me!” My sister’s piercing voice cuts through the yard before she does. “If I ever have kids, you owe me one dirty, dirty diaper duty.”

“You got it, Lex!” She scowls at me, but there’s no heat behind it as she plops down next to Duke at the picnic-style table and joins him in playing with her niece.

“You’re safe from that one,” Wyatt says out of the side of his mouth, so only I hear him. “She is not gonna settle down with anyone in this town.”

He’s not wrong about that last part. Lexi has a long history with everyone in this town, enough to keep her away from dating any of them seriously, and she’s so cemented here she’ll never leave it, either. But I’m not so sure I’d take that bet that she’s never gonna find her person or start a family. She’s approaching her late thirties now, but look at my mom and Duke. They didn’t find each other until much later in life, but we’re all thankful they did.

Plus, with all the growth I’m anticipating in Smoky Heights with my New Heights project, you just never know. We’re rebuilding it into the kind of place anyone would love to live. Attracting not just new residents for labor, with all the construction and development, but talent, young entrepreneurs with great ideas who needed the right place, a vibrant economy to bring them to life.

The Brown Stone settlement did more than just make right the wrongs they did on a personal level to most of our town. After a long, long two years of thorough discovery and prep, the suit we presented to the state attorney general was remarkably smooth, and the AG decided to make a statement to any other financial institutions looking to suck the life out of an entire community through illegal and immoral practices by awarding a settlement fund to go to the betterment of the town as restitution, just like we were pushing for.

Guess who’s been put in charge of overseeing and executing that, dispensing the approved grants and filing all the necessary paperwork with the AG’s office? Yours truly. My firm set up a satellite office for me here, happy to let me continue on this project until its eventual completion.

It’s been a lot of work, but we’re finally seeing the changes happen to our small town on more than paper. Buildings downtown, restored. New ones being built. An influx of new residents. Not enough to disrupt our tiny infrastructure, but enough to breathe new life into this place. To make it the stunning small town it used to be, a healthy economy, beautiful views, the perfect place to live, work, and raise your family, for generations to come.

Brown Stone Bank may have sapped the life out of us for a while with their unfair business practices, but we’re making it right.

And who did I recruit to come paint all of the interiors of these new businesses, so close to ready to open?

“Weston.” I think Wyatt was just trying to say his name, but it came out more like a snarl.

So look, there’s more progress to be made, but we all start somewhere, right?

Weston slams his car door closed and starts to trek across our grass to shortcut getting back here.

“Do I need to give you the speech again?” I ask him through clenched teeth, a smile plastered to my face for West’s sake as I wave to him.

“No.”

“Remind me,” I tell him, jabbing an elbow into his side.

“Time is precious.” Why does that sound like a threat coming out of his mouth? “We’re not wasting the time we have with the ones we love.” His mouth is all but entirely closed, jaw clenched, lips barely moving with the words.

“And we’re willing to try to mend those bridges we let get a little singed along the way, right?” I ask him pointedly.

He doesn’t answer and I dig in deeper with my words. “Or are you telling me if you watched Weston die tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret all the years you’ve lost with your brother?”

“Fine, just don’t pull that card on me, you know it’s not fair.”

“What isn’t fair is that I’ll never get to talk to my mom again, but you still have the chance to talk to him. He’s right there, Wyatt.”

It’s been a tough battle with the grieving process. I don’t think losing someone you love is something you’re ever over, but you do eventually learn to live again. You have to. Because you still can, and you owe it to that person you lost to do something that makes all this worthwhile. To have enough good in your life that it makes the suffering they went through, that we all went through, worth it.

Wyatt’s helped me through every step of it, which is why he knows exactly what I mean. We both know he’d hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t get that relationship back. And now that Weston’s going to be spending some time in the Heights, he just might have no excuse not to do it.

“I hate that you’re right so much of the time, I hope you know that,” Wyatt grumbles at me as we walk over to the table.

“I’ve had my moments of being very wrong,” I say, nose in the air, the closest I can get to anything approximating humble. “But I’m happy to report that someone got me back on the right path a couple years ago, and they didn’t let me stay lost.”

“That person sounds like they deserve a pretty big thank you.”

“I thank him every day.”

“I think today you thanked me twice, actually,” he says with a filthy smirk, slapping my ass.

Self-forgiveness has been a slower journey for me, but as we step up to the table, greeting his brother, my sister, the closest thing I have to a father, and the daughter Wyatt and I named after both my mother and the love of her life, I have hope for our future. Because I’m surrounded by the people who make our lives great.

After searching for so long, it feels like I’ve finally found the meaning to the mess we call life.

I’ve finally made a home.