The next morning, Evelyn stood on her porch holding the note Liam had left, still unsure if she should knock. The fence between their properties sagged in the middle, the wood warped and splintering. It would need work, and honestly, she needed help. But the idea of walking over there, initiating conversation—it made her stomach twist with nerves.
Still, she had promised herself she would try to live again. Not just exist.
So, she did.
The path to Liam's house was overgrown but familiar. The lake shimmered behind the trees, and the quiet hum of nature filled the space between her footsteps. His house was older, but sturdy and well-kept—clearly lived in. She knocked.
No answer.
She was about to turn away when the door creaked open, and there he was.
Liam Mercer looked older than she remembered—taller, broader, the boy she knew carved into a man by time. His eyes, however, hadn't changed: dark, intense, with that unreadable gaze that seemed to see everything and nothing all at once.
"I—uh, thanks for the note," she began awkwardly. "The fence could use some fixing."
He stepped aside. "I've got the tools in the back."
She hesitated, surprised by the invitation, then followed him around the house. His yard smelled of sawdust and pine. A workbench sat under a makeshift awning, filled with tools worn by use. Liam handed her a pair of gloves without a word and grabbed a hammer.
They worked in silence. He showed her how to align the slats, how to drive nails without splitting the wood. His movements were precise, patient. It wasn't until an hour passed and the sun dipped low that he finally spoke.
"You've been gone a long time."
Evelyn paused, sweat clinging to her neck. "Fourteen years."
"Didn't think you'd come back."
"I didn't either."
The silence returned, but it wasn't as sharp as before. It stretched between them like something fragile—curious, maybe even hopeful.
As they cleaned up, Evelyn looked at him. "You still play?"
He glanced at her, then toward the lake. "Not for a while."
She wanted to ask why, but something in his voice warned her off. She nodded instead.
"Thanks for the help," she said quietly.
Liam just nodded, turning back to his workbench.
But as she walked back to her cottage, Evelyn heard it—a few quiet notes drifting from behind his house. Faint, hesitant. The echo of a guitar.
And for the first time since she'd arrived, Evelyn smiled.