Page 33 of Dirty Mechanic

I nod and remove my hand. “Eric told me you bought the old Miller place for my parents.”

Her eyes light up.

“Right across from us. You should see the renovations. We replanted your mom’s roses in the new garden. And the porch swing…” She rests a hand on her bump. “Eric and Derek rebuilt it. It’s perfect for watching the sunset over the pond.”

She smiles. “Give it another month, and your parents will have a home again.”

Relief and guilt knot in my chest. “Thank you for doing this.”

“We’re family,” she says simply.

Her words crack the dam. I swallow hard.

“Emma, I’m sorry I missed your wedding. And the baby shower. And Albert’s birth.”

Outside the clinic, the apple tree sways, blossoms catching the breeze. Once, that scent meant safety. Now, it tastes like what I’ll lose if I can’t outrun Mike.

Emma’s gaze softens. “Eric said things got complicated in San Francisco.”

They’re still complicated, because I didn’t tell my brother everything.

I lay my hand over hers. “True. But I should have been here.”

How can I explain I was paralyzed by fear? That every plan to come home collapsed under the weight of panic? That running meant prison, and staying meant surrender?

I still could end up behind bars.

“Don’t you miss the city?” I ask, though I already know her answer.

She shakes her head, laughter bright in her eyes.

“The noise, the crowds, strangers brushing past like you don’t exist. What’s to miss?”

She smiles.

“Here, people know your name. They bring pie when you’re under the weather. Fix your fence without being asked.”

She watches me with patience that asks nothing but sees everything.

“You feel it, don’t you? Why Lords Valley keeps pulling you back.”

I nod, throat tight. Because she’s right. Every sunrise mist. Every whiff of cinnamon from the bakery. Every wrench-clink in Derek’s shop.

It’s all stitched into my blood.

“I met my nephew yesterday,” I say.

Emma beams. “He’s something else, isn’t he? But this one’s going to be a handful too.” She pats her belly. “Less than a year apart. Can you believe it?”

“They’ll grow up together,” I say.

She smiles. “That’s the hope.”

I want that for them—and for me.

I didn’t know I still wanted it. Not really.

But the uninvited thought blooms, and a quiet vision slips in, soft and golden, catching me off guard.