Page 143 of Dream Chaser
Eight Months Later…
We’ve officially moved the last box into place for the newest tenants of our latest project, and just like that—the carriage house renovation isn’t just an idea, it’s four homes. What used to be a dusty old shell of a building is now four townhomes: two carved into the bones of the original structure, and two brand-new builds flanking either end. It’s cozy but modern, with wide-plank floors, high ceilings, and just enough quirks left behind to give it heart.
Eden, Aunt Isobel’s best friend from way back, the woman who’s been in Izzy’s life since birth, claimed one of the inside units like it was always meant for her. She’s now back to being a steady heartbeat behind Beans & Books, the little coffee-and-bookstore in one part of the Blue Valley Publishing building. You can smell the cinnamon scones when you walk by, and Eden’s usually inside, humming Patsy Cline while restocking the women’s lit. She was Aunt Isobel’s ride-or-die.
After Isobel passed, Eden stayed—for Izzy, for the town, for the bookstore. But as time went on, she let it go, only opening when she felt like it—nothing consistent—saying she didn’t have the energy anymore. When Iz started cleaning it up, trying to figure out what to do with it, she had a lot to say and eventually was back at it, Tuesday through Saturday, seven a.m. to three p.m. Coffee, baked goods, books, and conversation. Iz’s Mom, Sarah, and a Margaret help her out, one or the other, on most days.
The other inside unit? That one’s a three-bedroom, ready and waiting, for Grand and Lissette whenever they decide to hit the airport bar and catch a flight north. Technically, Lissette doesn’t mind flying. It’s Grand who’s … a situation.
Their first trip up was over the Fourth of July. Izzy planned the whole thing—told me we were flying down to visit, but really, she’d been working with Lissette to orchestrate the perfect surprise. Grand flew back with us, whiskey’ed up, clutching a novelty neck pillow and grumbling about TSA.
A month ago was a surprise for both me and Iz. Grand and Lissette were throwing back shots like it was spring break ’69 and posting their own little love note to us on Grand’s IG stories as they flew from Biloxi to Charlotte, and then to Syracuse. Iz gets all the credit for Grand being on social media. No shit, she has thirty thousand followers, without even a mention of me or the team. We talked about it one night, Iz and I, and how lucky we are to have grandparents like we do. She’s glad others get to experience Grand. I don’t mind sharing, either.
When they arrived, we were waiting, just like they knew we would be. Lissette brought a suitcase full of cashmere and Southern attitude. Grand brought love and her favorite recipe books.
Now they’ve been here for a couple of months and both are convinced they’ll love snow, from the inside, next to their gas fireplace.
They wasted no time claiming Eden as one of their own. And Eden wrapped them into her world like they’d been part of the Beans & Books family from ever. She gave them honorary staff mugs, and that spiraled into Eden giving them their own bookshelf to feature books they love.
From what I understand, Beans & Books was always a cornerstone of village life, but now it’s positively buzzing. Grand hosts a monthly senior book club on the first Wednesday of the month while she’s here, with zero filter due to far too much caffeine, and Lissette started a “Widows & Weirdos” book club the third Wednesday of the month. It somehow straddles the line between grief support and a gossip circle. They plan to attend virtually when they’re back in Mississippi. Sarah told me Eden hasn’t been this alive in years.
“I had a good life,” Eden herself told me a few days after that while sipping her coffee at B&B’s. “But now I’ve got a great one. Those two came along and kicked the dust off my heart.”
Iz and I haven’t spent more than a night apart since the night I flew back from Mississippi to “get the girl.” Those nights without her are strictly because it’s a new rule that she doesn’t want us to break, since our team has so many new players after losing five to the shit that went down last season.
We haven’t officially moved into one place or the other. We’ve actually added a third place to lay our heads down at night after getting naked and sweaty. Our third? A yurt up at the co-op land.
Mags was in rough shape when she got back from that fucking show. I never said, “I told you so,” but … well, you know. She regrets it all, and then became withdrawn; dove in headfirstinto the land. The yurt happened then. Two of them, side by side. Spent much of this past summer there.
Jake was right. We needed hands. It’s unbelievable how fast those plants take off when they do. Hart, Boone, and Grimes—who officially took Lo’s last name when they got married, so now it’s Brooks—Iz’s parents and grandparents, and Maggie and her folks, who spent a lot of time there, too, more out of concern for their girl. It’s a lot of work, but damn if it wasn’t worth it. Learned some good stuff about preserving food. Did some incredible things by giving a ton away. Ten out of ten recommended.
Iz’s merch shop idea wasn’t an idea for long. Our little Valentine fishing trip, I took notes of my own, on my phone, and ordered every piece of equipment she would scoff at the price of and say it was impractical. Something about if it didn’t work out, it would be a loss, and she was not going to have a loss on her conscience.
When the deliveries started coming in, I told her it wasn’t a loss if it was a donation. Iz told me that now it was added pressure. I informed her that pressure was a good thing and then showed her just how good,with my tongue.
The kids working there are awesome. They remind me of myself when I was their age. They’re doing more than just Knights merch; they’re taking orders for schools in the surrounding areas. Iz decided that they, as a group, had to make decisions about where the profits went. She’s not all up their asses, and she doesn’t micromanage; she lets them do their thing, and they’re doing it.
We’re good, so good. Sticking hard to that we-just-go-with-what-feels-right.
I made the mistake of telling her the day before Lo and Kolby got married that I couldn’t wait to get her knocked up.
Twenty-seven. She doesn’t want kids until she’s twenty-seven and marriage is twenty-four or later. I was in the doghouse after reminding her of that whole feels-right thing, and how that felt right to me.I stand by it.
So, tonight, seems perfect. Late fall, that sweet spot where the air turns crisp enough for hoodies but not so cold you can’t still pretend it’s patio season. The rooftop of Blue Valley Publishing is lit up with twinkling lights, the fire pit glowing low in the corner, the last golden rays of sunset stretching across the rolling hills. We can hear the tinny call of a ref’s whistle and the distant echo of a high school marching band from the Friday night game at the field. Kids shouting. Parents cheering. That familiar cadence of small-town life humming beneath us.
She’s sitting across from me on a thick blanket we dragged out just before dusk, her legs stretched out, a steaming mug of cider cupped in her hands. Her hair’s braided loose over one shoulder, and she’s wearing my sweatshirt, sleeves bunched at her wrists. I don’t even know if she realizes she’s been humming along with the trumpet line drifting up from the field, but she is.
We’re good. So good.
And right now? As I sit here on the rooftop, in the middle of this town we love, looking at the woman who turned my world upside down and rebuilt it better, I know I should be nervous. I know this is technically “early.” But the truth?
It feels right.
So I stand.
She looks up, one brow arched. “You cold?”
“Nope,” I say, reaching into the back pocket of my jeans. My fingers brush the box I’ve been carrying around for two weeks. “But I’m about to make a really bold call.”
