The cottage smelled like dust and memories when we opened it the next morning. Mom had already been inside, throwing open windows and leaving fresh flowers on the kitchen counter, but the space still held the ghost of my grandmother's presence.
"It's perfect," I breathed, taking in the hardwood floors, the stone fireplace, the morning light streaming through wide windows.
"It needs work," Skyler observed, running his hand along a wall. "Some paint, new fixtures, maybe refinish the floors. But the bones are good."
"When did you become a contractor?"
"When I realized I'd be living here with you. I watched a lot of home improvement videos last night." He grinned. "I'm committed to making this place ours."
We spent the day unpacking and cleaning. My furniture from Seattle looked strange i
