She got in the car, and he jumped into the passenger seat. “Buckle up,” she said as she revved the engine and took off.

“That’s our tree,” he said. “I saw that it made it to the new town sign. Tallest loblolly in the state.”

“Yep. Sure did.” She pulled into the driveway. “Tallest in both Carolinas, to be exact.” This was a bad idea. What was I thinking? She kept her eyes straight ahead.

“How tall is that thing anyway? Any idea?”

She knew exactly. She’d been there the day the team had come out and measured it. “One hundred sixty-four feet tall and just shy of five feet around last time they measured.”

He twisted in his seat as she cruised by the tree. “Hey. There’s a birdhouse over the spot where we’d carved our initials. Who would cover up a declaration of love like that?” He turned back with a look of bewilderment.

“Me.” She flashed him an unapologetic smile. “I own the place now.”

“You live here?” He looked confused. Or maybe he thought she was kidding.

“Yep.”

“And you covered up our initials on the tallest loblolly pine in all of North Carolina?”

“Yep.”

“Man, you were mad at me.”

“Kind of still am.” She regretted saying it, because that alluded to her caring at all. Too late now. She parked in front of the house.

“It wasn’t easy for me either. You know I never meant for things to end up the way they did.”

“But they did. Game over.” She opened the car door and got out. “Coming to meet Gray or not?”

He jumped out of the car. “Coming.” He ran around the car to catch up with her. “I’m kind of hungry. Think we could grab something to eat after?”

She headed straight to the front door. “I have chili in the crockpot.”

“I always loved your chili.”

“Then you should like it now. It hasn’t changed a bit.” She opened the front door and walked inside with Andrew on her heels.

“Wow, this place is great.”

“Thank you. I did some renovations, but the house was in pretty good shape for being empty for so long. Amazing the difference some paint and refinishing the floors made, but I hired someone to knock out some walls to give me the kitchen I wanted.”

“I love what you’ve done with it. It looks just like you,” he said.

She blinked, unsure if it was a compliment or not. “I look like a house?”

“No. Stop. You know what I meant. The colors. The style. Comfortable. Pretty.” He spoke slowly. Cautiously. “Real pretty.”

Unlike the bakery, her kitchen at home had deep cherry cabinetry with black granite countertops and the prettiest cobalt blue tile backsplash he’d ever seen—more like glasswork than tile.