Page 73 of From Grumpy to Forever

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I sat.

And I cried.

For my grandparents and what they’d built together and the love they’d shared. The same love they gave to me and impressed upon me for all those summers I spent right here with them.

I cried because I missed them more than I’d let myself even think about. Being at the inn had been a way of having them back. Even for a little bit, in the smallest way.

It hadn’t been much, and there was still so much to do, but every day when I grabbed a paintbrush or a hammer and set to work putting things right and bringing life back into the old building and the home that had brought so much joy to so many, I felt like I was bringing them back.

It was stupid, sure, but…it also wasn’t.

Saying goodbye to the inn was saying goodbye to them.

Tears streamed down my face as I tucked my legs up under me and gently swayed back and forth.

I gave in to the tears and let myself grieve properly for the first time since I’d said goodbye to my grandfather.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was long enough for my tears to dry on my cheeks and for the emptiness in my chest to bloom into a dull, unrelenting ache.

It wasn’t just the loss of the inn I was grieving, and I could be honest enough with myself to admit it. It was Trickle Creek, too.

The community.

The people.

The new friends who very quickly were feeling like old friends.

It was Reid.

It was so much Reid.

I let my hand slip from my lap and rest on the hard wood beside me. He’d built this for me.

Even after we fought. Even after I told him to go and that I wanted him to leave me alone. Even after I’d given him every reason not to, he’d still done this.

For me.

That meant something. It had to.

I hugged my legs close to my chest. I let my other hand drape over the back of the swing, and that’s when I felt it.

There was something carved in the wood.

I couldn’t see it from my angle, so I unwound myself, stood, and walked around the swing.

“Oh.” My hand moved to cover my mouth as fresh tears slipped from my eyes. “Reid.”

My fingers traced over the carving he’d made in the back of the swing.

A mountain range in the background, with two larch trees side by side in the foreground.

Just like the trees my grandparents had planted.

A sign of resilience, strength, and change.

Resilience.

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