Page 143 of Book and Ladder
He looks down at me, a boyish hesitation in his expression. “That is—if you want it.”
My brow pulls tight. “It’swhat?”
Did I hear him right? A house for Moss and Maple?
Patrick stays silent—his hand still warm against my back, grounding me as I try to absorb everything.
“You bought … a house?”
I study the building again, this time with new eyes—imagining a hand-carved sign over the doorway, customers crossing the porch. The location is perfect—a few blocks from downtown, convenient, safe from future development. But … How could this even be possible?
“My dad won’t relocate Home Mart. So I started a campaign …”
“A campaign?” My voice cracks. I’m lightheaded from awe and disbelief.
My knees feel weak. If Patrick’s hand weren’t on my back, I might crumple onto the sidewalk.
“To save your shop. Once Dad’s store opens, that whole area will be overrun with traffic, congestion, and noise. He’s traded the quiet—the soul of that place—for profit and pavement.”
Patrick’s lips thin. His eyes shut. He lightly shakes his head. “And I let him.”
He exhales—a long, ragged sigh that tells me more than words ever could.
I wasn’t sure what to expect coming here today. Patrick’s tender expression of grief as deep as my own was definitely not on the list. And this house? Is he really saying it’s mine?
As if he could read my thoughts, Patrick gestures toward the house. “It’ll never be the old Moss and Maple. If I could have saved that, I would have.”
“You would have?” I wince at the surprise in my voice. I’mstill adjusting to all of this—to him, to his heart, to his unexpected intentions.
He nods his head once with a certainty that brooks no room for doubt. “I’d have given anything to save it.”
“But you never said a word at the town hall meetings.”
I’m not trying to stir trouble, but we’ve lived too many years with a painful silence festering between us.
“I was foolish.” His expression is raw, lines of regret carved deep. I fight the urge to reach up and run my fingers over the divot in his brow, smoothing the worry, touching him like he’s touching me. “I thought I could please my father and protect Moss and Maple. I was wrong.”
Clarity breaks through like streaks of light piercing a cloudy sky.
“You couldn’t have stopped him,” I say softly.
This—all of it—is too much. And I can’t let him bear the weight of a decision so complex as the imposition of Home Mart on our community. Our town made way for the development. Conrad O’Connell strong-armed his way to that outcome. Collectively, the townspeople didn’t stop him. That isn’t Patrick’s fault.
And I’ve been living like it was.
“I could’ve tried harder,” he says, still shouldering far more than his share of the blame.
“Maybe. But in the end, he still would have won. That’s what he does.”
“I know. I figured that out when I went to him—begging him to change his mind.”
“You went to him?”
Just when I think I’ve heard it all, he adds another unbelievable detail. I try to imagine Patrick, toe-to-toe with his father—on my behalf.
He simply nods, eyes dark with the memory of their exchange.
“My father only sees progress when he plans new developments,” Patrick explains. He’s not defending his dad. He’s obviously frustrated—and disappointed. “In his mind, he’s doing the community a favor. He figures they’ll come around in time. I thought he could be persuaded. When I saw how unwavering and truly blind he is, I shifted gears.”
