Page 17 of A Hard Habit to Break

“Not quite a complete makeover, but definitely not the bachelor pad of a widowed farmer I envisioned.”

Benji hit the nail on the head. Rachel wanted to brat out, to walk in the front door and immediately vomit on every change the new woman had slopped onto their lives. But the place mirrored the people inside—renewed and bright. Rachel glanced around her room—the one space Bethany clearly hadn’t touched—then back at her friend. “I noticed a few things, too.” Rachel looked, not allowing her gaze or mind to linger. The house felt happy, and she wouldn’t allow feelings of nostalgia to dampen the premarital bliss. “It’s like—she’s changed everything without changing the feel of anything. The sofa looks comfortable. Now there’s a chenille throw and silk pinwheel pillows instead of a quilt. The kitchen’s the same layout, but bigger, with fragrant herbs growing in the windowsill and gourmet coffee.”

“And framed paintings and photographs everywhere,” Benji added. “Including several of you, of which I need copies.Particularly the one with the coloring book and the cowgirl boots, sitting in your mom’s lap.”

“Actually, that was Mom’s sketch pad. A lot of the watercolor paintings are hers.”

“Ah,” Benji said, “that explains it.” He had one manicured fingernail pointed at nothing in particular.

She shrugged, waiting for more words, but none came from her normally verbose best friend. “What?”

“I wondered who commissioned the beautiful painting where you’re missing your front teeth and hugging a piglet. I mean, if you have to spend money, that’s not the obvious choice.”

“Hey, I loved that pig.”

Benji raised one brow, “And what happened to Charlotte’s literary companion?”

“This is a farm-to-table household.”

“OMG, FriendFriend, I’ll need the pic of the painting and all the tea from piglet love to hot grilled pork chop for the firm’s newsletter.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rachel warned, but found herself smiling. She looked at the wall of faded memories, seeing herself, a mix of her mother’s round nose and bold lips, wrapped in her father’s alabaster skin and auburn hair. A reverse Oreo, the kids had teased her—a Black girl with too light skin to be right. Blackness equated to melanin-rich, dripping in chocolate. No one celebrated Pale Girl Magic. Her parents had called her beautiful. She never believed it until Noah had said the same words at the eighth-grade end-of-school dance. “It’s strange. I expected to hate the changes, but they make sense. They make the house feel… alive again.”

“Unlike Noah Calvary. For sure, I thought ClamClam would unalive him and those shredded pants.” Benji smirked.

Rachel groaned, flopping back on her bed. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely reminding you.” Benji crossed the room to perch beside her, his blond waves brushing his shoulders. “Your cat scaled that man like he was Everest, and you stood there looking like you wanted to either slap him or climb him yourself.”

“I did not.” She batted his hair off her arm.

“FriendFriend, I work with you every day. I know your ‘I’m professionally frustrated’ face, your ‘I’m hungry but too busy to eat’ face, and now I have footage of your ‘I want to devour that person whole’ face. Trust and verified.”

Rachel covered her eyes with her arm. “Need I remind you? I’m here for two weeks, then I’m gone. Back to real life. Back to Lawrence + Begatta Architects LLP, and a project that could make or break my climb to the next level.”

“Mm-hmm,” Benji hummed skeptically. “And meanwhile, this town’s major redevelopment project is just going to progress without your expert opinion? The same Rachel Johnson who once redesigned an entire city plaza because, and I quote, ‘the benches weren’t oriented for optimal human connection’?”

Rachel sat up, frowning. “It’s not my project.”

“But it could be,” Benji pointed out. “Two weeks of your time could shape this place for generations. Your hometown, Rachel.”

The words settled uncomfortably in Rachel’s chest.Her hometown. Was it still? The plunge pool where she’d learned to swim, the mountains that had cradled her childhood, the streets where she’d walked hand in hand with Noah. All of it felt simultaneously foreign and intimately familiar, like a dream she couldn’t quite place.

“It’s been too many years,” she said quietly. “Service isn’t my responsibility anymore.”

Benji’s expression softened. “No one said it was. But maybe it’s your opportunity.”

Before Rachel could respond, a gentle knock sounded atthe open door. Bethany stood there, holding a small tray with steaming mugs.

“I thought you might like some tea before bed,” she offered, stepping into the room. “Chamomile with local honey. Matt’s already turned in. He’s up at four most mornings.”

“Some things never change,” Rachel murmured, accepting a mug with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Bethany.”

“I’ll take mine to my luxurious barn suite,” Benji announced, rising and taking his cup. “You two beautiful women clearly need to chat.” He winked at Rachel before disappearing down the hallway.

Silence stretched between them until Bethany gestured to the edge of the bed. “May I?”

Rachel nodded, scooting over to make room. Up close, she could see the fine lines around Bethany’s eyes, the subtle silver threading through her auburn hair at the temples. She wasn’t the uptight, hypercritical beauty Rachel had half-expected, but something better, a woman comfortable in her skin, with laugh lines and capable hands.