“I have no memory of my mother other than stories other people have shared,” she confessed. “She died when I was born.”

Bodie winced. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” She sighed. “I wish I’d known her, had memories of her that were my own. I wish I could have known what she thought, what she felt, what her dreams were. Those kind of things, you know?”

He’d spent his first eighteen years with his mother. She’d worked hard, providing as best as she could for them, but she’d never been an affectionate person. Possibly because between her two jobs, she’d been too tired to do more than the basics when at home. She’d softened when she’d met and married Steve, but despite his young age, Bodie hadn’t softened with her. He’d gotten along well enough with his newfound family. He’d been Steve’s shadow as the man had paid him for his work, but Bodie had always known he’d leave Houston, would travel the world and serve his country. It hadn’t been hard to leave them behind when the house there had never truly felt like home.

Sarah’s emotional strings that bound her to her family, to this house, were so different from anything he’d experienced.

“Your aunt was your dad’s sister?”

Sarah nodded. “Aunt Jean was almost twenty years old when my dad was born. Apparently, he was an unexpected surprise to my grandparents and they all, Aunt Jean included, doted on him.” Sarah laughed at whatever was dancing through her mind. “Despite the big age gap, she and my dad were close. She was like a second mother to him. She certainly was to me, possibly because she and Uncle Roy never had children. You’ve seen the photo of them in the foyer.”

He knew the one she meant. A black-and-white wedding picture with a pretty dark-haired woman and a young man with slicked-back hair and strong features.

“You’re a lot like your Aunt Jean?”

She smiled. “I hope so. I couldn’t imagine a better person to emulate. This house isn’t just a beautiful building—it’s such a part of her that I couldn’t help but love it.” Her eyes grew glassy. “I want the same things for this house that she did. Love, laughter, warmth, family filling it. It’s been years since Hamilton House had those things.”

“You’re wrong.”

She looked up from where she sewed. “Excuse me?”

Now why had he said anything? He should have just kept cutting canvas. Only where Sarah was concerned, he kept doing things that put him on the spot.

He tried to shrug the question away, but her gaze pinned him. “Now it’s my turn to want to know the reason why. Why am I wrong?”

“If you were here with your aunt, in this house, then Hamilton House had all those things you say you want for it.”

Her hands pausing from their crafting, she stared at him. Her eyes filled with disbelief, then awe. “That, Bodie Lewis, very well may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”