Chapter 10 - A Warm Hearth and a Real Beginning
One year later, the snow was falling thick and fast outside the windows of a charming, restored 1920s craftsman home on the edge of Westbridge—a house Grant had bought entirely on his own terms, with no mortgage stretching him thin and no pressure to impress anyone.
The interior smelled of roasting rosemary chicken, fresh pine, and a crackling hardwood fire burning brightly in the stone fireplace.
Sarah stood near the kitchen island, laughing as she tossed a handful of chopped herbs into a ceramic bowl, her silver bracelet catching the warm amber glow of the pendant lights overhead. Duke was curled up soundly on a plush dog bed right beside the hearth, completely at home.
There were no secrets here. No performance anxiety. No hidden agendas or fabricated emergencies designed to clear the room. Just honest laughter, a home built on genuine partnership, and a love that required zero pretense.
The doorbell rang, carrying a crisp, melodic chime through the house.
Grant walked over to the front door, pulling it open to reveal his brother and sister-in-law stamping the snow off their boots, holding a bottle of wine and talking loudly over the wind.
"Man, it's freezing out there!" his brother laughed, stepping inside and clapping Grant warmly on the shoulder. "Good to see you, bro. Place looks incredible."
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"Thanks," Grant smiled, taking the wine bottle and looking past his family into the warm, brightly lit living room where Sarah was pouring drinks and smiling back at him.
He didn't look back at the past. He didn't need to. For the first time in his life, Grant Mercer wasn't just dependable—he was truly, deeply happy, and his story was entirely his own.
