Page 85 of Dream Chaser
Me:
I’ll grab one as a housewarming gift from all of us.
Grimes:
Perfect. I’ll Venmo you.
Boone:
@Hart, my wife owns a bakery, bring a bag of salt potatoes.
Me:
Lily eat steak and crab or should I get her something else?
Boone:
Little Flower is with Lyndsey for two sleeps.
I fire off a few more texts, toss my phone in the passenger seat, and reach to start the SUV when a knuckle taps on the window and nearly sends me into cardiac arrest.
Jake Ross.
I lower the window as casually as possible.
“You good? Car trouble?”
I shake my head. “All good. Just trying to figure out how to kill time. Flight’s not till five a.m.”
He crosses his arms, squinting at me like he knows exactly what kind of trouble I could get into unsupervised. “Well, if you’re bored, come up to the house. I’ll be in the garage, trying to engineer foldable stairs for my girl’s dog.”
My smile flickers up before I can stop it. “Love to help if I can. What’s the address?”
Walking away, he says, “Just follow me.”
He’s already halfway across the lot, climbing into his truck like it’s just another Monday. And maybe it is for him. But for me…
I sit back in my seat for a beat and exhale slowly. Definitely the first time I’ve been invited to her place—her home turf. And not justhers. Her parents’. Jake Ross. Sarah. The people who raised her.
The drive’s not far. But as soon as I hang the left behind Jake’s truck and the trees open up, I feel it.
The Ross property sits like a living memory tucked into the hills. Not fancy. Not flashy. Warm.
A wraparound porch that practically begs for a glass of lemonade, watching evening sunsets. The barn, painted deep red, faded in just the right places. There’s a massive greenhouse, a fire pit, stacked wood, strings of lights zigzagging like they host late-night hangouts on the regular. It’s all manicured but not manicured, like someone cares deeply but doesn’t obsess. There’s history here. Sweat equity.Love.
My mom always made the Army quarters feel like something—throw blankets over ugly couches, baked cookies that made you forget the walls were beige as hell—but it was neverours.Never permanent. Just another box checked, another base. Another promotion. Another family portrait … until there were no more.
This? This home has roots.
I park next to Jake, kill the engine, and force myself not to just sit here and steal its warmth. I open the door and hop out.
“This way,” Jake says, already heading toward the greenhouse.
My smile flickers up before I can stop it. This is where Iz became … Iz.
The greenhouse door squeaks open, and I follow him in.
The scent hits first—earthy, sweet, alive. Basil, lavender, and damp soil wrap around me. Sarah’s at the far end, her back to us, swaying slightly to Fleetwood Mac as she digs around, hands dirty, hair twisted up in a loose clip.
