Page 141 of Your Place or Mine

In the center of the floor lay the find of the century—a floral rug with warm pinks, soft oranges, and delicate green vines that made the whole room feel like a secret garden. I’d found it rolled up in the back of the antique store, and after three days of sunning it out on the lot out back and attacking it with baking soda and hope, it was perfect.

The new curtains swayed lightly in the breeze from the open window. I’d hung them myself with a power drill, two wobbly chairs, and zero upper body strength. I almost died, but they were beautiful.

The kitchen was still tiny, but I’d laid peel-and-stick backsplash in white scalloped tile until I could get the real stuff. My tiny fridge still hummed like it had something to prove, but now it sat beneath open wooden shelves with matching jars of flour, sugar, coffee, and tea—all labeled with hand-drawn tags. The effect? Straight out of a Pinterest board I used to onlydreamabout making come true.

The bed area was cozier now, too. I’d added string lights above the headboard, swapped out the faded quilt for one in rose and cream patchwork, and added an old trunk at the foot of the bed that I painted blush and now used to store extra blankets and the sentimental things I wasn’t quite ready to unpack.

I’d made a home.

One filled with light, character, and exactly the kind of quirky charm that made Reckless River feel less like an escape plan and more like a fresh beginning.

I flopped down on the loveseat, heart full in a way I didn’t expect. The rug was soft under my bare feet, and for the first time since arriving, I let myself exhale without feeling like the other shoe was about to drop.

And that’s when I heard the knock.

Or rather, the voice just outside my door.

“Oh, good, you’re not dead. That’s always reassuring,” I mumbled to myself.

I sat up, a slow smile tugging at my lips as I got to my feet.

But surprise met me when I swung open the door.

“Melanie,” I said, already grinning as I padded over and opened the door. “What a surprise. Still here, huh? You haven’t been staying at my place, so…”

She stood outside with a tote bag slung over one shoulder, her sunglasses propped on top of her head like a crown, and a suspiciously smug expression on her face. She took one look at the apartment and stopped in her tracks.

“Whoa.”

I watched her spin slowly in a circle, taking in all the little touches.

“This is… incredible,” she breathed. “It looks like a Parisian flower shop and a cottagecore witch’s dream had a baby.”

“Thank you,” I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice.

“You did all this yourself?”

“Yep. Every inch. Except for the crooked shelf over the stove. I still haven’t won that battle.”

She dropped her bag by the door and turned to me with raised brows. “So, this is it, huh?”

“What is?”

“The moment,” she said, gesturing around the room. “The one where you realize you actually did it. You moved. You rebuilt. You made something beautiful out of something terrifying.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug, and I let myself sink into it.

“Your mom would be proud,” she whispered against my hair.

That undid me.

I pulled back with wet lashes and nodded, pressing a hand to my heart. “I hope so.”

Melanie sniffled once, then cleared her throat like she’d just snapped herself back to her usual bossy self. “Okay. Emotional moment over. Where’s the wine?”

I laughed. “In the fridge. Obviously.”

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