Books by Nicole Deese

  Before I Called You Mine

  All That Really Matters

  All That It Takes

  Heartwood from The Kissing Tree: Four Novellas Rooted in Timeless Love

  © 2022 by Nicole Deese

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-3595-1

  Scripture in chapters 10 and 13 is from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Scripture in chapters 11 and 18 is from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2016

  Emojis are from the open-source library OpenMoji (https://openmoji.org/) under the Creative Commons license CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/legalcode)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jennifer Parker

  Represented by Kirkland Media Management

  Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.

  For Connilyn

  Thank you for the million yesses you’ve given me throughout

  the years: the countless rapid-fire brainstorm texts, the

  mid-deadline support interventions, the after-midnight

  theological discussions, and the beautifully authentic heart-to-heart

  chats about the things that matter most.

  You, my friend, are irreplaceable.

  I love you.

  Contents

  Cover

  Half Title Page

  Books by Nicole Deese

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.

  C. S. LEWIS, MERE CHRISTIANITY

  1

  Val

  As the door to our new life swung open and my ten-year-old son rushed across the threshold to explore the second-story apartment, the you-break-it, you-buy-it policy flashed across my mind like a hazard warning. Because this wasn’t just any rental property we were considering today. No, this one happened to be owned by my best friend’s twin brother—a complication I hadn’t anticipated when I’d agreed to take a job that would move us a thousand miles from the only place we’d ever called home.

  “Hey, Tucker, slow down a bit, okay? This isn’t our house,” I called out as my son disappeared into one of the two bedrooms I could see from my stance near the front door.

  Molly moved to stand beside me, studying my profile like a paid-by-the-hour detective as my gaze trailed over the sparsely furnished open-concept floor plan for the first time. I worked to keep my expression light, pleasant even. After all, it wasn’t her fault that I still mourned the loss of the idyllic townhouse I’d researched online for hours before securing it with a deposit last month. Nor was it her fault that the same idyllic townhouse had been sold for cash only five days ago by the owners who’d emailed me a simple we’re sorry for the inconvenience along with a bank receipt of my returned deposit check.

  “I know it’s not totally comparable to the townhouse you loved on Garden Street, but I’ve always thought of this upstairs apartment as classically cute with a side of quirkiness. But there’s no pressure to say yes. The decision is yours to make, Val.” Molly spoke in the same cautiously bright tone she’d been using with me ever since the night I called her distressed over not being able to find another rental in my price range before our move date from Skagway, Alaska, to Spokane, Washington. But before I could even suggest a delay to our moving timeline, Molly had cut in with an invitation for us to stay with her and Silas, in their guest room, “for however long it takes to find the perfect home for you and Tuck.” And though her offer was kind and generous, I could read the undercurrent of low-level panic between the words she wasn’t giving voice to: If you don’t come now, you likely never will.

  And I wasn’t sure she would have been wrong.

  “I’d offer to show you around,” she said, with a sweeping arm gesture, “but I’m guessing you’d rather take a self-guided tour?”

  I smiled up at her. “You really don’t mind if I wander on my own for a minute?”

  “Not at all.” She waved me on. “I know how you like time to think. Just pretend I’m not here, okay? Unless you have a question about something—then I’ll gladly reappear.” She perched on the arm of a long green sofa and slipped her phone out of her purse, likely scanning through a lengthy list of missed notifications. Of the many hats Molly wore, property manager wasn’t a common one. But seeing as her brother, Miles, was currently out of the country on business, she’d taken on the temporary role as his stand-in landlord until his return. Whenever that was.

  “Thanks. I won’t take long.”

  As much as I enjoyed Molly’s positivity and enthusiasm, I needed to think logically about this important next step without being influenced by her good intentions. Accepting the marketing position she’d offered me at her latest business-with-a-worthy-cause was one thing, but selecting my first home with Tucker was something else entirely. When I’d said yes to this job, I’d promised him somewhere special, somewhere worth the tearful good-bye to his grandparents and the subsequent long-distance relationships to come for us all. Somewhere worthy of uprooting our entire lives for. A familiar wave of nausea swelled inside me as the doubts crept in once again.

  I pressed a tight fist to the tender joint in my left hip. My muscles were extra stiff from travel—and likely from a night spent wrestling through anxieties not even a promising salary could rectify completely. Because while my new job would provide enough financial freedom to secure a path independent of my parents and the souvenir shop they’d owned for decades, the workload itself wouldn’t provide much in the way of a creative challenge. It was that compromise I’d weighed out for months before finally accepting Molly’s offer.

  I released a tension-filled breath and took in the freshly mopped faux-wood floors and the cozy kitchen nestled just beyond a wooden vintage dining table set for four. I peeked down the hallway and into each bedroom and bathroom, opening the closets and cupboards. The compact footprint of the apartment as a whole didn’t bother me, considering our living quarters had been half this size in my parents’ house.

  Returning to the dining area, my gaze landed on the view beyond the sliding glass doors that led to a small deck: acres of springtime wildflowers, dewy green grass, and a coniferous forest surrounded by foothills. It certainly wasn’t difficult to imagine my son smack-dab in the middle of it.

  “It really is beautiful out here,” I said, heading over to the large picture window that spanned nearly the entire length of the exterior wall of the living room. “Peaceful.”

  Molly stood from the sofa and made her way over to me. “Pretty sure I used those exact same adjectives on our drive out here.”

  “Did you?” I teased through a grin.

  She nudged me. “You know I did. And you also know that Silas would be thrilled to teach Tucker more about the game of darts if you decide you’d rather pass on this and wait for something else to open up in your price range. You can stay with us for as long as you need.”

  But while dart games with Silas might be fun for a few evenings, I had nightmares of Tucker lassoing Molly’s mosaic lampshade from Paris or bowling with the frosted glass orbs she kept in a decorative vase. The Whittaker household was not what one would call kid friendly. Plus, Silas and Molly hadn’t even hit the
three-month mark on their nuptials. The last thing any of us needed was an accidental privacy breach on the newlyweds. We would all benefit from my saying yes to a place sooner rather than later.

  “I truly appreciate how accommodating you’ve been to us—”

  “Are you kidding me? No.” Molly’s shoulder-length blond hair swished and curved around her neck as if she were filming a product review for dry shampoo. Yet her days as a high-profile beauty influencer had downshifted dramatically since partnering with Silas at his residential youth program last year. It was through their combined efforts at The Bridge Youth Home that the vision for Basics First, a one-for-one specialty online boutique store intended to benefit aged-out foster teens, was birthed. For every dollar spent at the boutique, one dollar would be donated toward supply backpacks for teens transitioning into independence. In time, Molly hoped the online platform I’d helped them create would branch into a brick-and-mortar store, but for now, our focus was on the grand opening next week. I’d been told the production warehouse was nearly up and ready.

  “You’re the one who’s been incredibly accommodating, Val. I feel terrible about what happened with that townhouse you wanted, but I’m not going to pretend I’m anything but thrilled you said yes to the marketing position at Basics First.” She beamed. “It will be just like old times, only better, because you’ll be here in person with me instead of online.”

  That was the part of this move I’d been looking forward to the most—living and working in the same zip code as my best friend. When Molly first hired me as her virtual assistant four years ago to help with her growing social media platforms, I had no idea how that one opportunity would branch into many, or how our friendship would blossom into what it was today.

  “Hey, Mom, can I go outside? There’s a barn across the street with some goats and a least one horse that I could see from the window in my bedroom. Oh, and there’s a fire pit out back like the one Pops built last summer. Did you see it yet? This place is awesome!”

  I angled to face him, his exuberant expression everything I’d banked my hope on these last few days. “Yes, you can go outside, but—” I held up a finger before he could rush for the door. Tucker only knew one speed: fast. “You stay on this side of the street, all right? I want to meet the neighbors before you start running all over the place.”

  “Okay, I will! See ya!” He flew out the front door at a cadence my legs could never duplicate and tromped down the outside stairwell, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. I made a mental note to talk to Tucker about neighborly conscientiousness. Up until now, we hadn’t lived near anyone but family.

  “So . . .” Molly waggled her eyebrows. “It sounds like Tuck’s already picked out a bedroom for himself, and it also sounds like you’re planning to meet the neighbors. Does that mean what I think it means?” Molly’s voice buzzed with renewed energy as she ducked her head into my line of sight.

  “I think it means there’s a lot to like about this place.” But can I make it a home for us?

  She squealed and clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh, Val, I know this move is a huge change from where you came from, but I really think you’ll be so happy here once you settle in.” She looped an arm around my shoulders, our nearly five-inch height difference glaringly obvious as she pointed out the window toward Spokane. “There’s tons of activities for Tuck to do in our little city and lots of good people for you both to meet.” She pursed her lips momentarily, her sapphire eyes twinkling in a way my brown ones never could. “Plus, you have to admit, the timing of Miles’s place coming open the day before you arrived feels more than coincidental. I could hardly believe it when he called yesterday to have me schedule the cleaners after his last tenant moved out. I mean, what are the chances? Not to mention the rent is a bit less than you were budgeting for. And of course, there’s the added bonus that you already know your downstairs neighbor.”

  At the mention of Miles, an unexpected warmth coursed through me. Which I immediately doused with a cold splash of reality. Pastor Miles McKenzie was an adventurer by nature, a traveler of exotic places and an extroverted humanitarian who never seemed to sit still for longer than a minute. And while he’d been nothing but kind to Tucker and me during our brief encounters at the fundraising event we attended last fall and again during Molly and Silas’s wedding this March, I was certain that other than his sister, the two of us had little in common.

  I cleared my throat. “And Miles . . . he’s good with this arrangement?”

  “Absolutely. He’s tired of renting this place out to fickle frat boys from the college. Trust me, you and Tucker will be dream tenants for him.”

  In the driveway below, Tucker waved to the horse across the street with one hand while clutching a fallen tree branch in the other. And something about the sight caused my chest to squeeze. “Give that kid space to roam, Val. Heaven knows you never got much of that when you were growing up.” It was the first thing my dad had said when I’d told him about the job opportunity last fall, followed by, “Tuck needs room to run and play and live like a little boy and not like a miniature employee of Gold Diggers Souvenirs. Don’t worry about your mom, kiddo. She’ll come around eventually. You’re twenty-nine. You’ve more than earned the right to decide what’s best for you and Tucker by now.”

  I’d relied on my parents so heavily over the years, trusted their instincts as my own, and meshed all our future plans with theirs . . . until now. Until I realized that if I was ever going to fly from the nest, I would actually have to open my wings and take a leap. Again.

  Before I could stop myself, I glanced to the nook in the living room wall to my left. An immediate visual surfaced in my mind, one of a small studio setup, complete with the gear I’d packed away in a thick plastic crate labeled Fragile. It wasn’t a large enough space for professional use, of course, but it could work for something hobby-sized. Because that’s all my filmmaking dreams would ever be for me now: a hobby. An activity to dabble in after my responsibilities with work and family were met.

  My attention snapped back to Molly, who was still talking about the benefits of living in a larger community. How much had I missed?

  “. . . and Miles knows way more than I do about the area. Pretty sure he knows everyone who lives on this street, too. He’ll be happy to introduce you to all the—”

  “Molly—”

  “—neighbors here as well as his friends at the church and—”

  “Molly, no.” I shook my head while confusion crimped her brow.

  “No, what?”

  I took a second to gather my thoughts, to find a way to explain what I had yet to voice. “If we take this apartment, it’s important to me that Miles understands we don’t want or expect any kind of special treatment from him while living here.” I paused, careful in how I approached this next part of our conversation. “I’d never want to impose on his personal life or tangle the natural boundary lines between a tenant and a landlord. Despite the two of us having a connection to you, I’d like to think the rest of our lives could be kept separate.”

  Because the truth was, this was my chance to spread my wings. To figure things out on my own. To finally live life without a crutch. Not to create a new one.

  Molly’s nose twitched a second before her lips curved into a comical grin. “You do hear yourself, right?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because first of all, my brother hasn’t had a personal life to speak of since, well, I’m not even sure when.” She laughed at that. “And second of all, the guy racks up more airline travel miles in a year than anybody else I know, so I really don’t think a boundary breach will be much of an issue. That’s why I’m the one here and he’s the one south of the border, enjoying all the ridiculously hot spices he can get his grubby hands on.”

  For the first time since we landed in Washington, I felt my body relax and my lungs exhale a worry-free breath. Because this time, when I took in the apartment like a panoramic photograph, I did so without a shadow of hesitation. I can make this place a home. “We’ll take it, Molly.”

  “Fantastic.” The spark in her eternally optimistic expression caught fire as she slipped her phone out of her pocket. “When would you like Silas to organize the moving crew? It’s amazing how motivating the promise of hot pizza can be to a bunch of older teens.” Silas had kindly offered the services of the youth he worked with for our move-in day, and given the fact that my leg would balk at climbing up and down those stairs more than twice, I wouldn’t turn him down. Plus, I’d had the pleasure of working with the majority of those kids on a video compilation I’d created last fall for The Bridge. It would be nice to see them again.