Page 72 of From Grumpy to Forever
I ran a hand over the well-sanded wood and took a deep breath. “My apology.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Avery
I woke up with a dull throb behind my eyes. The kind that came from too little sleep and too much thinking. It had been a long night of tossing and turning. The bed felt empty without Reid. It was cold without his arms around me.
Or maybe it was just the ache in my heart from his absence.
My mind had spun all night with the mess I’d made. I’d turned it over a million ways in my mind, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out a way to sort it. The truth about our marriage was out. Or, it would be as soon as Jacob opened his mouth and found someone who’d listen to him.
And they would. Because he wasn’t wrong, and as soon as people learned about the clause in the will, they’d see our quickie marriage for what it really was.
Everything was slipping through my fingers. It was a reality I’d finally accepted sometime before dawn.
I was going to lose the inn. And all my savings. I’d be bankrupt with the debts I owed.
But that wasn’t the reason my chest felt tight.
Reid.
I never really had him, and I’d already lost him.
Never mind the fact that I wouldn’t be able to pay him the rest of the money we’d agreed on and that he needed for his wood shop. I’d kept the financial details from him as much as possible, but I owed it to him to tell him the truth and give him a heads-up. It wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to.
With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed. Lying there wasn’t going to change anything. As much as I would have liked to hide from reality a little bit longer—or forever—I knew it wasn’t going to hide from me.
Stepping outside, I took a minute on the porch to take in the lawn and the half-dug-up gardens, waiting for all the plants we’d picked out the day before. I wondered what had happened to them. Had Lauren taken them, or were they still down at the festival grounds?
It didn’t matter anymore.
I turned slowly, unable to look at the upturned dirt any longer without crying. That’s when I saw it.
The swing.
It hung from two new chains exactly where the old one had been.
Reid.
I walked toward it slowly, still not quite believing what I was looking at. My fingers brushed over the smooth wood. It was beautiful and obviously made with so much attention to detail.
The edges were rounded, every inch of it carefully sanded until the wood was almost soft. The seat was wide, with plenty of space to curl up with a book and cup of tea. Or a lover.
The craftsmanship was unmistakable—Reid had made this. Not just thrown together, but made with care and precision.
For me.
I swallowed back the lump in my throat.
A breeze stirred the swing a little, swaying it back and forth. Something inside me moved along with it.
This was real.
It wasn’t an act. Or part of our deal.
He’d built me something beautiful. Something strong. Something that would last.
And I had no idea what to do with that.
