I had no desire to come back home, but here I was standing in front of grandma's rundown house. The house that's now officially in my name. I almost expect her to pop up and greet me with her sour lemonade. I wish she were still here.

There is nothing beautiful about the old colonial anymore. Peach colored shingles hang from the side, gray shutters are loosened, and the window at the very top has been broken in.

The late August heat holds me hostage. The air is heavy. A thunderstorm is on the horizon. There's nostalgia here, it's written in the form of carved names on the old maple stills standing tall on my left side. Not grandmas, but the boy next store and mine.

The gray painted steps leading me onto the rickety porch are peeling and creak under my weight. An old swing to my left brings back memories of grandma and I swinging, enjoying sips of lemonade in the afternoon.

I reach for the key in my back pocket. I have yet to put it on my key chain. I'm afraid if I do, I'll get attached, and that would mean fighting with myself to sell the place. That's what I was here for and that was it.

When I put my hand on the doorknob it opens. Music softly plays from upstairs. The wide-open space that once held furniture covered in plastic covers is only old dusty hardwood floors and a fireplace with a few missing bricks.

The music continues to play. Maybe grandma's ghost is here haunting the place, urging me not to sell. My mind wanders to squatters in the area, maybe they found themselves a home and I'm about to get murdered on my first day back in Argyle Creek. The melancholy thought erases from my mind the second I hear a voice humming the tune on the radio.

I tip toe towards the fireplace and grab the poker. Wrapping my hands around the cool metal I urge forward and up the stairs. They don't seem to notice the creaking as I take each step.

It's coming from grandma's room. My heart races, making my pulse throb against my skin. Inching forward I push against the door, it's already ajar when I reach it. It groans and squeaks like it's in pain. I raise my hand above my head ready to strike. A man with a backwards black cap is painting the walls a sea-foam green.

He spins when the floor shifts under my feet. I'm ready to pound him to oblivion when familiar dark almond eyes find mine.I drop the poker at my feet. It falls with a thud.

"Trevor?"

"Anne?"

We stare at each other in bewilderment. My mind races back to the carving in the tree out front. T & A 4E&A (Trevor & Anne. Forever, and always.)

"What - what are you doing here?" I fight to get the words out.

"I - I was getting the house ready to sell."

His light blue jeans are ripped to shreds and filled with paint and spackle. His arms are covered in the same color as the walls, and his white t-shirt is wrecked and torn.

"Your mom, she hired me. I'm in construction now and when she asked, I couldn't say no." He pauses for a moment, sizing me up. His gaze travels from the crazy looking sloppy bun on top of my head, down to my gritty old converse.

"She didn't tell me. I - I guess I'll let you get back to work." I start to turn but he moves as quick as lightning across the room. His delicate touch on my wrist stops me in my tracks.

"You're dressed for the occasion, why not help?"

My eyes wander down to where his hand is. It warms my arm, and the sensation tingles towards my chest, before spreading out all over. I haven't seen Trevor Watson since I was twenty-two, and that was seven years ago.

"My grandmother would have died if she hadn't already, just seeing that color on her walls." I nod towards the one completed wall.

Trevor chuckles, bringing another layer of warmth around me. It wraps around me like a fleece blanket.

"You're right. She would have," he says. "What color did you have in mind, there's still plenty of time to change it. Unless you're in a hurry?"

It's crazy how much time has passed. The man standing in front of me, while he's not the boy he once was, he's still got the raven black hair, patches of scruff, from the last time I saw him, and the killer smile with the dimple that always made my knees weak.

"I was trying to sell sooner rather than later. I'm the manager of a bookstore and I shouldn't be away for long."

"That's too bad. This house, she's a beaut. Could be a fun little fixer upper. So many memories here. Don't you think so?"

I glance around at the four walls that surround us. Trevor is right, this house it's not just a house, it was where so many memories happened.

"I think I have time to help you get rid of this ugly color on the wall."

The dimple shows again. I almost forget his hand is still wrapped around my wrist. He must realize it the moment I think of it. He pulls away leaving a cold feeling behind.

"Well, then let's get to it. How about we head down to the hardware store and pick up some paint. What do you say?"

"I dunno. Will we make it to the hardware store or are you gonna stop at the lake and try your moves on me to get me to stay?"

He steps back, putting much needed space between us.

"Already tried that, Anne. Didn't work though, now did it?"

I'm crushed with the weight of guilt for never coming back after college. For ruining the one moment that should have been a defining one in my life. The night Trevor was going to propose, was the same night I picked up the rest of my things and went to make a life of my own. Away from the expectant expectations of growing up in a small town like Argyle Creek.

"Would you allow for a do-over?"

His brow raises. "A do-over?"

"More like, we've both grown since that night and maybe after all this time we can throw the past behind us and be civil, maybe even be friends. I do know I need a lot of help selling this house, and I think with some help from you, and a little love from me, the one who grew up here, we could make some good money on this place."

His grins. "I think I'd like that. A lot," he whispers.

###

The room now sparkles with a joy that I haven't felt since she died. The walls are now a modern gray, and the ceiling a macaroon cream that brightens the space.

It's been a week since my arrival, and I've only got one more to go. I was staying at the motel down the road, but after three nights Trevor had an insane idea. He brought blow up mattresses over from his parents' house next door and we've spent every night since on the floor of the living room. The space is mostly cleaned and no longer dusty.

There's still so much more to be done before this house can be ready to sell. While the past few days have been nothing short of moments filled with laughter and a few tears, I wish my home was here again, but its not.

"Got something for you."

I jump at the sound of Trevor's voice. We fell right back into the friendship we once had. It's not overwhelming or sexual by any means, it's calm and his presence is keeping me sane. Being here without my grandma is harder than I ever imagined.

Facing him I can't help the sad smile that stretches across my face. On an old tin tray are two glasses filled to the brim with yellow lemonade.

"It's not as sour as hers, but I tried."

He holds the tray out for me to grab the glass. I hesitate at first, but when I stare up into his dark urging eyes, I finally reach for it. He waits patiently for me to take a sip, and when I do I squeeze my eyes closed.

"Are you sure? I think you nailed it?" My laughter fills the empty room.

A rumble of thunder echoes through the house. I had been zoning out for the last ten minutes that I hadn't even realized the storm was rolling in.

"Come on. Let's take this to the porch."

He rests the tray on the floor then holds out his free hand for me to take. We head downstairs and outside. The wind and rain are picking up but doesn't stop us. I gasp. Grandma's old floral cushion sits on the old bench, along with a small round table with some yellow daisies in a cream white vase.

"I found it in the basement and aired it out for a day or two. I put them in the shed and got the daisies on my way over. I thought maybe it might make it feel as if she were here."

I wipe a stray tear the pools up in the corner of my eye. Sniffling, I lean into him. "This is beautiful, Trev."

"Come on, let's sit."

Light flickers in the distance as we take a seat making the swing creak. He chuckles. "It might need some WD40."

"It's not going to fall apart on us, is it?" I ask, grinning.

"Nah. She's strong."

Staring off at the rolling hills of the countryside, I realize I've almost forgotten how beautiful it is out here in the middle of nowhere. I want to cherish every second I have left here in Argyle Creek, because I don't know when I'll ever come back.

A flash brightens up the gray sky and not even a second later the entire house shakes.

"You like the west coast?" he asks, staring off into the distance.

"I do, but the one thing I do miss is the quiet."

He laughs. "It is peaceful out here. So, you run a bookstore huh?"

Nodding, I glance over at him. "Yeah, living the dream."

"Oh, I found some of your grandma's cowboy romances. Didn't have the heart to get rid of them."

My eyes grow wide. "Really? I need to take some of them home with me."

He shakes his head and grins.

"What?" I ask, bumping into his shoulder.

"Nothing." He sips on his lemonade and chokes. "Damn, you're right this is sour."

Our laughter bounces between us, and I miss the way it fits together. A swift breeze blows in and rain begins to fall. The force of the wind blows the rain sideways and onto the porch.

"Maybe we should go check out those romance books, I think if we stay out here any longer, we'll get soaked."

"I think you're right," I say.

We jump from the porch swing and run for the house. In the midst of our laughter the thunder makes the ground tremble beneath our feet. It's not home or summer without a ground shaking storm. I hate that I miss it, maybe more than I miss my job back in Seattle. My life is out there, not here, but now that I'm home, I almost don't want to ever leave.

###

I hate how fast the last week has gone. I stand outside the house, suitcases at my side. There was only so much we could do in a short amount of time.

"Well, that's the last of it," he says, rolling my duffel out to me.

He turns and stands beside me, under the old tree with our names carved into it. My chest aches like it did the day I left the first time. A wave of nausea hits me all at once, and I struggle to swallow. All we have left are the memories of her and what once was, and I hate that more than anything. Being here made me feel closer to her than I have in a while.

His hand slips into mine. "What are you thinking?"

I lower my head and rub the bridge of my nose to fight the tingles building.

"My life is out west, but yet here I am contemplating moving back east and living in the house I once called home."

His hand squeezes mine. "The selfish side of me wants to grab onto you and tell you not to leave again, but then the other half wants you to go be you. You seem happier."

"I am," I sniffle. "But there's something about being home that makes everything feel as if it is falling into place. And leaving you behind again, makes it harder to leave."

"Me?"

I meet his eyes and they shimmer in the midday sun.

"Of course, Trev. Loving you was always so easy and I'm sorry I messed that all up."

"You needed to be free. You were trapped here. I wouldn't expect you to want to come back."

He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, then takes both of my hands in his. I face him. Leaving him was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, aside from attending grandma's funeral.

"I never stopped loving you," I say, confessing what had been chipping away at my heart for years. "You let me go and do my thing without question. Why?"

Leaning down he presses his head to mine. "Because, if you love someone as much as I love you, you understand that sometimes you need to let go. So, I did. Even with the distance between us, I am and always have been forever yours. If I have to move on I will. I have dated, loved, been heartbroken over someone else, but never once did I forget what we had."

Tears sting my cheeks. His thumb wipes them away. I get on my toes and tilt my head at just the right angle for our lips to meet again. The kiss is sweet, sensual, and more than anything fills me with warmth.

"I'm not selling the house," I say, in a desperate whisper. "I'm not staying, not yet. Let me tie up my life back in Seattle. My heart is here with grandma, with you, my mom, it was never out there. I want to come home."

He holds my face in his hands. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been so sure. Each day I love you more, and I can't let that go."

THE END