Page 9

I swallow hard. Maybe she’s right, but there are plenty of people who aren’t married and still have a life full of love, happiness, with promises of eternity.

Marriage isn’t the only way to model those things.

I want to protest and say that, but when I look in her eyes I can tell this is out of her control.

Her and Mr. Mayberry put that clause in the deed and now there’s no way to change it, even if she wants to.

This isn’t how I imagined this day going. Not at all.

“Please tell me there isn’t a married couple already making you an offer,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

The idea of losing this dream to anyone, much less a pair of strangers who only get to buy the property because they’ve signed a marriage certificate and I haven’t, makes my stomach drop.

There’s nowhere else to get married in this town unless you use our small town’s church where my friend Lydia’s father preaches.

Most people travel to the larger cities like Charlotte for their ceremonies, or rent out someone’s back yard.

This business would be a goldmine and beyond that, it’d be mine.

My thing. Finally, something that’s my own that I would enjoy doing.

She shakes her head. “Not a married couple. But there is a man who’s expressed interest. He’s made me an incredible offer—.”

“I’ll match it.” The words come out in a rush, desperation lacing every syllable as I cut her off.

Her smile is soft but resolute. “He’s single too, dear. So, I can’t sell it to him either. Maybe the two of you can come to some sort of… arrangement.”

“Some sort of… what?” I stare at her, the weight of her words sinking in like stones. Her meaning is clear, but she can’t be serious at suggesting that. I don’t even know who the guy is.

She winks at me. “Arranged marriages have a funny way of working out. But if you’re serious about this, I’d act fast. He’s quite the looker, a real catch for a small town like ours I’d say. Successful, hardworking, tall and broad as a tree, too.”

“Ugh, there’s so much more to marriage than a hot guy,” I snap, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I don’t mean to be so short, but Mrs. Mayberry either doesn’t notice or graciously pretends not to.

I’m heartbroken. Devastated. My dreams feel shattered into a million tiny pieces, and for once, that’s not even being dramatic.

She chuckles softly, like I’ve told her a good joke.

“You’re right. There is more to marriage than just being attractive.

But I get the impression there’s more to this guy than what meets the eye.

He’s older, too. Forty-one years old. I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you.

I’ve already heard the way women in this town are talking about him.

” She tilts her head, studying me. “Want his contact info?”

“No.” My response is sharp, clipped, my head shaking too fast and then I soften my voice because Mrs. Mayberry’s always been like a mother to me when I didn’t have one growing up which is probably why this hurts even more.

She knows how much this would mean to me and there’s nothing she’s willing or can do about it.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll… I’ll figure it out. ”

She smiles at me with that same gentle sympathy that somehow makes the lump in my throat feel even heavier.

“Regan, for what it’s worth, I really do want you to have this place. Connecting it to the Marshall family next door, with you running things is ideal. You’re the best person for it, no question. I’d love to see what you come up with around designs. I do hope you figure things out.”

I nod, but it’s a hollow gesture, my mind spinning too fast to form any real response because figuring things out means getting married and I’m not ready to do that with a stranger.

She gives me one last encouraging look before turning toward the door. “Let me know if anything changes, dear. I’ll be back at the main house so please lock up on your way out.”

And then she’s gone, leaving me standing in the quiet room, staring out the window at a view I know better than my own back yard.

The beauty stretches across the lawn, past the serene pond where I’d imagined so many photos being taken, so many memories being made.

My gaze follows the landscape to the stately colonial style home at the base of the mountain— my home.

Or at least, the home I’ve pictured for years being mine.

The one I’ve dreamed of growing old in. Maybe with a partner someday.

I think that’d be nice, even if I can’t picture who that person could be.

Perhaps even with a kid or two, if my one stubbornly functional tube and ovary decide to cooperate when that time comes.

The first tear since she left sneaks down my cheek, and then another, and another. My fingers lift to wipe them away, but they keep coming, hot and unstoppable and I decide to leave them.

I don’t want to make Mrs. Mayberry feel any worse about this than she already does. It’s not her fault. It’s not her late husband’s fault either, really. They probably thought they were being wise, making a decision that would protect their property’s legacy.

But God, I wish they’d thought of me—thought about the possibility that I’d be standing here, about to turn thirty-years-old, nowhere close to being married, still fighting to find my footing in this world. Fighting to feel like I belong. Fighting for a future I know I deserve.

I swipe my hands over my cheeks again, forcing the tears to stop.

Crying won’t fix this and neither will moping. Because this property? It feels like mine. It is mine. It’s in my bones, calling to me. This is where I’m meant to be, and I know it as surely as I know my own name.

I draw in a deep, steadying breath. I’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes.

Because there’s no way I’m letting go of my destiny.