Page 3 of Belonging: KT & Lolo (Good Hope: The Next Generation #2)

CHAPTER TWO

Ethan arrived just before noon. Lolo stepped onto the porch as he climbed out of the minivan, flashing that same easygoing grin she remembered from years ago.

“Eliza said you were eager to move in,” he said, holding up the cabin key with a little jingle. “I figured I’d better deliver before someone else claimed squatter’s rights.”

Lolo laughed and crossed the porch to meet him, pulled in by the warmth of his presence. “Thank you, Ethan. Really. I’ll take good care of the cabin.”

“You’re family, Lolo,” he said, hugging her tight. “That’s what it’s there for. So family has somewhere to land when they need it.”

Her throat tightened, but she managed a grateful smile as he stepped back and headed back to his minivan. No fuss, no questions, just quiet support. It meant more than he knew.

Not long after that, Kyle had to head out.

“Call or text once you’re in,” he told her. “If you need help moving anything—furniture, firewood, an injured woodland creature—you know who to call.”

Lolo chuckled, then hugged him tightly. “I will. Thanks for everything.”

She stood on the porch, hand lifted in farewell, watching until the moment his truck disappeared around the corner. When she turned, she found Eliza studying her.

Lolo arched a brow. “Okay. What’s on your mind?”

Instead of answering, Eliza motioned to the porch swing. “I know you’re itching to get to Paintbrush, but let’s sit for a minute.”

The swing creaked gently beneath them as they settled in. A warm breeze stirred the air, carrying the faint scent of lilacs from the side yard. Lolo braced herself—Eliza never danced around a topic when she had something to say.

“Solitude is good,” Eliza began, tone even. “You’ll definitely get that out at Paintbrush. It’s quiet, peaceful—perfect for thinking things through. But too much quiet?” She looked at Lolo, her expression knowing. “It can turn into isolation real fast.”

Lolo stayed silent, letting the words settle.

“You’ve got friends in town. People who care about you. And you’ve got us.” Eliza’s voice softened. “Don’t shut us out. Don’t worry about dropping by too often. You can’t come by too often. That’s not a thing.”

Something warm and steady lodged in Lolo’s chest. On impulse, she reached over and clasped Eliza’s hand. “You, Kyle…and Katherine. You were my anchors when everything fell apart back then. I honestly don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you.”

Eliza squeezed her hand. “You would’ve made it. But we were honored to stand beside you.”

Lolo looked away, blinking back sudden emotion. Her gaze drifted over the wide stretch of the front lawn, the grass impossibly green beneath the summer sun. “I miss her.”

“Katherine?” Eliza’s voice cracked gently.

Lolo nodded. “She made me feel like I wasn’t alone. That summer, she just…saw me.”

“She had a gift for that,” Eliza whispered. “I miss her, too. And Ruby. And Gladys.”

Lolo smiled faintly. “You rarely saw one without the others.”

“Which is exactly why Gladys commissioned the statue of the three of them for the town square.” Eliza gave a soft laugh. “Even though part of her, I’m sure, definitely wanted it to be just her, she knew they belonged together.”

“I drove by the fountain the other day,” Lolo said. “It’s impressive.”

“It’s more than a tribute,” Eliza replied. “The money people toss in has helped fund many community projects. Medical bills. School improvements. Even a new roof for one family.”

Lolo nodded, remembering the legend. “And the wishes? Still a thing?”

“People say if you toss in a quarter and make a wish, it has a funny way of coming true,” Eliza said, eyes twinkling. “Whether they believe it or not? Who knows? But the quarters keep coming.”

Lolo leaned back in the swing, the breeze teasing a loose strand of hair across her cheek. For the first time in a long time, she felt the tension in her shoulders begin to unwind. Maybe she didn’t know exactly what came next.

But maybe—just maybe—she was in the right place to figure it out.

After saying goodbye to Eliza, Lolo drove toward the town square with her suitcase in the back seat. She lowered the windows, letting the warm summer air brush against her skin.

It was a quiet midmorning. A couple of kids darted past on scooters, their laughter trailing behind them. A golden retriever lounged beneath a bench where its owner sipped coffee and scrolled on her phone. Everything looked so normal, so…untouched.

She parked, stepped out and walked slowly toward the fountain.

There was the statue. Gladys, Ruby and Katherine stood, backs nearly touching, hands linked, each woman immortalized in bronze. The fountain surrounding them gurgled gently, catching the sun in glints and flashes, like it was holding its own secrets.

Lolo came to a stop just a few feet away, suddenly uncertain.

It felt silly, maybe. She was an adult woman with a successful career (mostly) and years of life experience behind her. Making a wish on a coin tossed into a fountain? That felt like something you did at sixteen with wide eyes and wild dreams.

And yet…her hand slid into her purse. She fished out a quarter and ran her thumb across its ridged edge.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered to the statue trio. “But I’m here. And I need…something.”

She closed her eyes, holding the coin tightly.

Let this be the start of something new. Something honest. Something that heals me.

She opened her eyes and flicked the coin toward the water. It arced in the sunlight, spun once, then sank into the water with a soft plunk .

A breeze stirred, brushing her cheek like a whisper or the gentle touch of a hand. She didn’t believe in magic, not exactly, but for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, something good could be waiting on the other side of this mess.

As she turned to leave, she looked back at the statue—at Katherine’s familiar face, at her no-nonsense expression, at her kind eyes—and felt a small tug in her chest.

You’d tell me to be brave. So I will be.

With that, she headed for her car and toward whatever came next.

The gravel crunched beneath her tires as Lolo turned onto the winding road that led to Paintbrush Lane. Tall pines flanked either side of the drive, their branches arching overhead like a cathedral of green.

On both sides of the drive, cabins sat nestled among the trees like a quiet artist’s village untouched by time.

When she reached the end of the drive, she saw it.

The Shaw cabin.

The seven gables gave it a storybook charm, and the bright blue door looked just as cheerful as she remembered.

Moss clung to the stone steps, and flower boxes spilled over with late summer blooms—zinnias and petunias—in a riot of color.

It was the kind of place that seemed to exhale calm, as if even the birds knew to sing more softly here.

She parked and got out slowly, pausing to take it all in.

The silence wrapped around her, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt sacred. Grounding. The sort of quiet that invited you to exhale and remember how to breathe again.

She carried her suitcase up to the porch and smiled at a frog-shaped stone. The key slid smoothly into the lock, and when the door swung open, a faint scent of cedar and old paper drifted out to greet her.

The inside was simple, beautiful in its restraint. Wide plank floors. Exposed beams. A reading nook was tucked beneath one window, next to a fireplace that would warm the room when the woods outside were blanketed in snow.

Light filtered in through gauzy curtains, dappling the room in soft gold .

Lolo stepped inside and shut the door gently behind her. For a moment, she just stood there, bag still in hand.

She’d imagined this moment—peace, escape, something that felt like starting over—but now that she was here, the quiet felt like both an invitation and a challenge.

She set down her things and moved through the space, her fingers brushing the back of a well-worn armchair, the smooth grain of the farmhouse table, the old ceramic lamp that flickered to life when she turned the switch.

This place had been loved. Maintained not for profit, but for memories. For healing.

Lolo walked into the small kitchen and opened the cupboards—mugs in mismatched colors, a glass jar full of tea bags, a hand-painted plate that looked like something Ruby might have picked up at a craft fair and given to Katherine. It made her smile. She couldn’t say why, but it did.

In the bedroom, she found crisp sheets and a quilt patterned in faded florals. A window overlooked a thicket of birch trees. When the breeze picked up, their leaves fluttered like a thousand tiny silver wings.

Lolo sat on the edge of the bed and let the stillness settle around her.

Here, she could fall apart if she needed to.

Or not.

She reached for her phone and texted Eliza. I’m here. It’s perfect. Thank you.

Lolo set the phone down and stretched out on the bed fully clothed, her arm flung over her eyes as tears slipped free—not the heaving kind, just quiet, steady release.

She wasn’t fine. Not yet.

But for the first time since walking in on Jared and Sloane, she knew she would be.

The light had shifted by the time Lolo stirred again. Late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, casting long shadows across the floorboards. The cabin was quiet except for the faint rustle of leaves outside the window and the occasional groan of old wood settling.

Lolo sat up slowly, the weight of the day pressing lightly on her shoulders—not crushing, just…present.

She wandered back the main room, unsure what she was looking for until her gaze landed on the worn leather tote beside her bag. She pulled it toward her and unzipped it, her fingers brushing the familiar spine of her sketchbook.

She hadn’t opened it in weeks. Maybe longer.

It had been with her through late nights and early mornings, through airports and boardrooms, through inspirations that struck during her morning coffee or in the middle of a pitch meeting. And yet, lately, she hadn’t touched it. Not since the Stillwell project had started slipping sideways…

She carried it over to the small desk near the window, brushed away a fine layer of dust and sat.

For a moment, she didn’t open it. She just rested her hand on the cover, as if steadying herself. Then, finally, she flipped it open.

The pages were filled with quick gestures, building facades, window arches, cozy rooms sketched from memory.

She’d scribbled notes in the margins—ideas, questions, fragments of design.

And faces. Ava, as a little girl, her curls messy and her eyes full of mischief.

Austin asleep on the porch swing, mouth open, book sliding to the floor.

Katherine in the kitchen, flour on her nose, caught in midlaugh.

Lolo smiled, her fingers lingering on that last sketch.

She hadn’t meant to draw her. She’d just been doodling one day after a phone call, and there Katherine was—unapologetically herself in graphite and shadow. It wasn’t perfect. It was her.

Lolo turned to a blank page and picked up the pencil she always kept tucked in the pocket. The weight of it felt comforting in her hand.

She didn’t know what she was drawing at first—just lines, soft and tentative. A gabled roof. A curved path through trees. The arc of a fountain. She let her mind wander, let her hand follow where her thoughts led.

It was the beginning of something. A cabin, yes, but more than that. A space for healing. For reflection. A quiet place that could hold someone’s heartbreak and still offer light.

By the time she set the pencil down, a soft breeze had drifted through the cracked-open window. It stirred the edge of the page and tickled her wrist like a whisper.

Lolo sat back and looked at the sketch, heart oddly full. She didn’t know what would come next—personally or professionally. She didn’t know how long the pain would linger or when the loneliness would ease.

But here, in this quiet moment, she remembered who she was.

She was an artist.

She was a woman with something to say.

That was enough to start again.