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Sometimes I would get annoyed at how happy she always seemed.

I knew it wasn’t possible for anyone to be happy all the time like she pretended to be, especially someone who had lost a parent.

Sure, her joy wasn’t always real, but it wasn’t fake either.

It was who she was—resilient, strong, gentle.

A walking contradiction I couldn’t stay away from.

No matter what, though, I wasn’t going near her.

Wren Beckett was the sweetest person I’d ever known in my entire life.

She deserved someone equally as amazing as she was.

Not that I thought such a person existed, but I knew a piece of shit like me didn’t deserve her.

All I’d do is bring her down. I was going nowhere fast, and I’d bring her there with me.

They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and the tree I fell from was poisoned; it’d only make sense to believe the fruit it bore would be rotten, not fit for anything good, that it would only corrupt anything it touched.

Stepping out the back door of the house, I survey the yard.

It’s just as lifeless as I expected—brittle grass, overgrown shrubs, empty garden beds.

My mom planted those the summer before she left.

I’m sure the pond has dried up, too. It’s past the line of trees, so I can’t see it from here, but I doubt I need to go out and look.

The whole place feels as abandoned as I remember.

“Fuck this,” I mutter under my breath.

Just as I turn to walk back inside, I spot something colorful out of the corner of my eye that causes me to stop short. I blink, stepping closer.

A single rose bush—barely alive by the looks of it—rests against the wire fence. But despite its dire state, one lone pink rosebud sits, about to bloom on the thorny stem. Crouching down, I run my fingers gently over the soft, tightly coiled petals.

I don’t believe in signs. I think people are full of shit when they say the universe talks to them. But for some reason, looking at this fragile pink rose, I feel…something. Something I can’t quite explain.

I shake my head, annoyed with myself for the ludicrous thought.

I know this house has immense potential.

With some work—okay, a lot of work—it could be something again.

The location is one of the best in town.

Twenty acres of land, including a pond privately tucked back into the large trees, space to breathe.

It would be a dream home for most people, myself included, if it weren’t soaked in the worst parts of my past.

“ What the fuck are you thinkin’, ” I chastise myself under my breath as I stand from my crouched position in front of the rose.

It’s ridiculous to think about trying to flip this house. The idea that I would have the time to gut everything, erase all of the bad memories from these walls, and transform it into a home for myself is laughable.

The pink rose in front of me serves as a stark reminder that I don’t have to feel guilty about moving out here—that Wren is moving this way as well. It also reminds me that new things can grow, even in the worst soil.

What I really need to do is stop trying to stay so close to her. Doing so only leads to confusion—for both of us. But it’s hard not to ever since…that night. The night I thought about killing a man.

I swore to her that I’d never tell anyone about what I saw and what I heard, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep an extra close eye on her to ensure she was safe and there weren’t any assholes lurking around unwanted.

While I lock up the front door, I let the idea of keeping the house and gutting it out for a fresh start roll around, weighing all of my options.

I continue to think about it all the way to Cal and Lucy’s place, fifteen minutes down the road. If I’m going to do this, I need to be one hundred percent sure it’s the right move. No half-assing it. Selling a partially demolished house might be pretty difficult.

And just as I pass Mel’s Place, that other wild fucking idea creeps back in.

What if I got them both?

Two places with bad memories—wiped clean, rebuilt from scratch.

I already own the house, and I’m sure I have enough for the diner. If not, at least a solid down payment.

“What the hell are you doin’?” I ask myself, scrubbing a hand over my face as I turn into the long dirt driveway.

But I think I know exactly what I’m doing.

I’m ready to make something better. It’s time to have something of my own that I can be proud of, as well as a safe place for Wren to go when she moves back here. It’s time to make more forward progress and stop holding myself back for no damn reason.

Feeling determined to turn things around, I decide I’m going to do it.

There’s no point in overthinking this. I want to get the ball rolling.

I’m not going to mention the restaurant to anyone yet, not until I make sure it’s all going to work out financially.

But when I get inside his place, I’m going to tell Cal about my plans for the house.

I’m sure he’ll volunteer as much help as he can.

The guy loves any opportunity he gets to pull out his tools.

When I pull up to their house, I spot Lucy and Cal on the front porch, each holding one of their twins. It’s crazy how fast they’re growing. I’m not much of a kid person, but those little girls are hard not to like.

Cal and I prep the boat for a weekend of fishing—just like old times—and I tell him about the house. He’s surprised but supportive nonetheless, just like I knew he would be.

Later, when I hop into my truck to head back home, I press the phone to my ear. I know she’s at work, but sometimes she’s able to answer.

Wren’s voicemail picks up, and I let out a huff. I hate voicemails worse than texting. Calling her again later is an option, or I could wait for her to call me back, but I want to talk to her now.

Got some news. Call me when you have a minute.

She doesn’t respond until I’m almost home. The phone vibrates once in the cupholder, and I itch to grab it. Quickly pulling into the parking lot of my apartment building, I throw the truck in park and retrieve the phone.

Tink

Sorry! It’s been so crazy today! What’s the news?!

It’s a lot. Call me when you can talk.

Tink

You’re killin’ me, Smalls…

Okayyy. It’ll probably be a while… Are you sure you don’t wanna spill it in a text?

Positive.

Tink

Okay fine, party pooper. I’m off in an hour. If I can’t call before then, I can just swing by your place if you want.

Or not. Totally up to you!

Come over.

With that, I get to work tidying up the apartment and throwing together dinner for the two of us. God knows we both need it.