Page 5 of Belonging: KT & Lolo (Good Hope: The Next Generation #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

The rain had tapered off by the time Lolo returned to the cabin, but the air still smelled like wet pine and earth—clean and comforting. She carried the last bag of groceries inside, nudged the door shut with her hip and stood for a moment in the soft hush of the space.

Everything felt still. And hers.

She set the bags on the counter and began putting things away, the rhythmic motions oddly soothing. Apples in the wooden bowl. Cheese and yogurt in the fridge. Ice cream in the small freezer—she tucked Cherry Garcia in the back like a secret.

KT’s voice echoed in her head. Maybe I’ll walk over one of these days, and we can share a pint.

She gave a short laugh under her breath and shook her head. He hadn’t changed much. A little older, a little more solid maybe, but he had the same self-assured grin, the same eyes that seemed to read more than you were saying.

Just a moment, she told herself. A grocery store coincidence.

Still, as she opened one of the upper cabinets and reached to tuck a box of tea on the top shelf, her hand brushed the edge of a mug she hadn’t noticed before.

It was handmade, glazed in deep navy with a thumbprint indentation at the handle.

A tiny chip along the rim made her think someone had once loved it enough to keep it anyway.

She pulled it down and held it for a second. It didn’t belong to her, but it felt like something she might have chosen.

A short time later, she changed into soft cotton pajamas and pulled on a cardigan for warmth. The cabin was quiet except for the occasional creak of wood or the rustle of trees beyond the windows. She carried the mug of tea into the main room and curled up in the armchair by the cold fireplace.

KT Lohmeier. No, not Lohmeier—Slattery. He’d changed his last name when Krew Slattery had married his mother and adopted him and his brothers.

She hadn’t expected to see him. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought of him in years, not in any real way.

But there he’d been, standing in front of her at the checkout line, casual as anything, turning with that slow, familiar smile that had made her chest flutter when she was twelve and convinced she was subtle about her crush.

He’d been kind to her back then. Encouraging. Never teasing about the awkwardness of being younger, or the way she hovered too long over a sketch.

Now? He was still kind. Still disarmingly easy to talk to. Still…unexpected.

Lolo drew the blanket from the back of the chair over her legs and closed her eyes.

She reminded herself that she was here to rest. Regroup. Rebuild.

But if she happened to run into him again…she wouldn’t mind.

Not at all.

The next couple of days passed in a quiet, productive rhythm.

Lolo kept busy finishing up a few lingering work projects—nothing major, just supporting roles on two corporate spaces nearing completion.

She wasn’t the principal on either, but she was still part of the team, and even though she was technically on vacation, disappearing without a word didn’t sit right with her.

Thanks to video calls, shared design boards and more late-night Slack messages than she cared to count, she’d wrapped up her tasks without disrupting the flow. But she’d also made it clear: She wasn’t taking on anything new while in Good Hope.

There was still one thing left on her list. And it was a big one.

The Malcolm Stillwell account.

He’d wanted KT.

He hadn’t gotten him.

Now, she was the one tasked with bringing the vision for the interior of Stillwell’s new headquarters to life—except vision might be a generous description.

Malcolm hadn’t articulated much of anything, beyond being blown away by KT’s previous work.

When KT had declined the project, Stillwell had reluctantly agreed to let someone else take a stab at it.

That someone was her.

At first, Lolo had felt honored—eager, even. But then Jared had planted his seeds of doubt with just a few offhand words. Her recent misses. Her declining spark. The unspoken suspicion that she was still on the payroll more because of who her father was than what she could do.

She told herself he was wrong.

She was talented. She was creative. She had an education that had prepared her to be a strong contributor—not someone riding on connections or goodwill.

That’s what this time in Good Hope was for—not to hide, but to remember. To shake off the noise, the pressure, the second-guessing. To tap back into the part of her that didn’t question whether her ideas were valid .

That part still lived inside her.

A nearly full glass of wine sat beside her on the side table, and her sketchbook lay open across her knees as she curled up on the sofa, pencil poised.

She let her mind drift—not to the budget or the timeline or what Malcolm would think, but to feelings.

Energy. Color. What kind of space made a person feel like they belonged?

Unfortunately, her focus drifted somewhere else entirely.

Blue eyes. A slow smile.

KT.

She hadn’t thought about him when she sat down, but here he was, front and center in her mind like an uninvited but not entirely unwelcome guest.

A knock at the door jolted her out of her sketch.

She blinked, startled. The wine sloshed slightly as she set it down. The cabin didn’t have a doorbell or a camera, just a good old-fashioned peephole. She padded barefoot across the wood floor and peeked out.

Speak of the devil.

KT stood on the front step, one hand in his pocket, the other holding…a spoon.

Lolo opened the door, lifting an eyebrow. “This is a surprise.”

“A nice one, I hope,” he said, that crooked smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

She stepped aside, grinning despite herself. “What are you doing roaming the woods at night?”

“Hardly roaming.” He turned slightly and raised the spoon like a peace offering. “I’m craving ice cream.”

Her heart gave a traitorous little flutter. He looked…well, annoyingly good. That half-buttoned shirt, the tousled hair, the twinkle in his eyes. Enchanting and just a little wicked.

“I seem to recall seeing a certain pint in your carriage,” he added, stepping inside.

She gave him a look. “You mean buggy? ”

“Carriage. Buggy. Cart.” He gave a sheepish shrug. “You know what I meant.”

“I did pick up a carton of vanilla,” she teased, walking back toward the kitchen. “But I can’t imagine that flavor would bring anyone out at night.”

“Boring,” he agreed with a shudder. “I’m here for one of those exotic flavors you stocked up on. One in particular.”

“That’s the only reason you came by?” she asked, her voice light. “Ice cream?”

He tipped his head, considering. “I’m craving good conversation and Cherry Garcia. In that order. Probably.”

She laughed, warm and easy. That was the thing about KT—he had always made her feel like she could exhale.

“Good save,” she said, reaching into the freezer. “I may even toss in a glass of wine.”

He grinned. “You keep spoiling me like that, and I might never leave.”

Lolo gestured toward the bottle of wine, indicating he should help himself. Without needing direction, KT located a glass—like he’d been in this kitchen a hundred times—and splashed in a generous pour of red.

Meanwhile, Lolo opened the fridge and retrieved the Cherry Garcia. She set it on the counter and reached for the cabinet that held the bowls.

Before she could pull them down, a gentle nudge from KT’s elbow made her glance back.

He was holding up two spoons—one from her drawer and the one he’d brought with him. “You’re not getting out bowls, are you?”

Her brow lifted. “You want us to eat straight from the carton?”

She could practically hear her mother’s horrified gasp at the thought. Then again, her mother wasn’t here, and tonight the idea of breaking the rules felt oddly perfect.

“Absolutely,” KT said, grinning. “Why the hesitation? You told me you eat from the carton all the time.”

“Not all the time,” she said, though the words lacked heat.

“C’mon, Lolo. Live a little. It’ll be fun.”

She hesitated a beat, then smiled. “My ice cream and I will meet you on the sofa.”

His eyes lit up with mischief. “ Now you’re getting into the mood. Sofa beats table any day.”

Once they were settled side by side, barely a breath between them, she immediately questioned her choice. The proximity, the warmth of him, the clean scent of soap and something woodsy and masculine—it was all suddenly…very present.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, holding out the carton.

“Your house,” he said, playfully solemn. “You go first. Then it’s every man—or woman—for themselves.”

She dipped in and pulled out a perfectly rounded spoonful, snagging a ruby-red cherry along the way.

Before she could take her bite, he’d already scooped an enormous spoonful and was eating with clear satisfaction.

When his lips closed around his spoon, she felt a quick, unwelcome rush of heat sweep through her. She looked away, suddenly fascinated by the swirls of color in the carton.

They ate in comfortable silence, passing the pint back and forth until nearly half was gone.

Lolo set down her spoon and leaned back, lifting her wineglass to her lips.

KT glanced over. “Don’t tell me you’re done already.”

“Just taking a breather,” she said, sipping slowly. And honestly, she needed one. It was strange how easy it felt being with him. How the years seemed to have slipped away without changing the connection between them.

“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly, voice low.

The seriousness in his tone had her setting down her glass. She turned toward him, brows slightly raised. “Ask away.”

“Are you here to convince me to sign on to the Stillwell deal?”

The question caught her off guard. “How did you know I work for my dad?”

“I didn’t. I was just taking a guess.” He lowered his spoon. “And I guess that’s a yes?—”

“No.”

“No, you don’t work with your dad?”

“No. I mean, yes, I do, but no.”