After she landed, the driver came to pick her up. The car was pulled up on the familiar countryside road. Eve leaned back in her seat, eyes wandering over the landscape she had missed so deeply. Chicago's countryside, where she had spent most of her childhood. It was still as breathtaking as ever.
Green hills rolled smoothly into the horizon, their subtle inclines perfect for horseback riding—something she and her father had done almost daily. The sun bathed the meadows in a soft, golden light, and wildflowers dotted the fields like colorful brushstrokes on a canvas.
It had been four years since she'd last visited, but nothing had changed. The land had the same fresh scent of earth and pine, the same wide open skies that made her feel both free and grounded.
The wind rustled through her open window, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and open air.
They reached the farmhouse, nestled in the middle of the hills. The structure looked as though it had been plucked from a painting—quaint and cozy, with rustic wooden beams and a porch wrapped around the front.
The whitewashed walls had faded slightly under the sun's warmth, but that only added to the charm. Potted plants, carefully tended by the caretakers, lined the porch, their blossoms swaying gently in the breeze.
Eve stepped out of the car, the crunch of gravel beneath her feet a sound that transported her back to the days she'd spent chasing her grandmother through these fields.
Her farmhouse was more than just a house to her. It was a vessel of memories, of love, of the lessons her grandmother had passed down, tucked between the walls of that old home. The very air around it seemed to hold the essence of her grandmother's presence.
She stood still for a moment, letting her eyes wander over the details she knew so well—the wooden shutters on the windows, the rocking chair on the porch that used to creak under the weight of her grandmother's slender frame, the climbing roses that trailed along the lattice, their blooms pale pink like blushes against the stone.
The farmhouse was still as welcoming as ever, and yet, something was missing. The heartbeat of the home—her grandmother—was no longer there.
"I'm home," she whispered to herself, breathing in the serenity that the place always brought her. This was her refuge. Her escape.
As she walked toward the front door, the caretaker of the farmhouse appeared, wiping his hands on a towel as he approached her with a grin.
"Miss Eve, it's been too long," Mr. Hargrove said, tipping his hat slightly. His voice held the same comforting tone she remembered from her childhood.
"Far too long, Mr. Hargrove," Eve responded, offering him a smile. "It's good to be back."
He nodded, his eyes soft with understanding. "Your grandmother loved this place more than anywhere else in the world, you know. Kept it just the way she liked."
"I know," Eve said, her voice catching slightly. "That's why I'm here."
Mr. Hargrove opened the door for her, and Eve stepped inside. The air was filled with the faint scent of lavender, and everything looked exactly as it had when she left.
The wooden floors creaked under her feet, a sound that reminded her of quiet mornings spent by the fireplace, sipping tea with her grandmother.
The farmhouse was a beautiful blend of the old and new—a rustic fireplace, wooden beams running across the ceiling, and vintage furniture her grandmother had collected over the years. Large windows framed views of the hills, letting in the warm glow of the afternoon sun.
In the living room, Eve saw the framed photographs she had left behind. There were pictures of her as a child, sitting on the porch with her grandmother, their heads bent together in conversation. Others were of her teen years—moments captured on horseback, exploring the hills with her friends.
"I've kept everything the same. Just as she'd have wanted," Mr. Hargrove said quietly, watching Eve take in the room.
Eve ran her fingers along the worn fabric of her grandmother's favorite armchair. "Thank you for looking after the place," she said, her voice soft. "She would've appreciated that."
"It was no trouble, Miss Eve," Mr. Hargrove replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "This place was a second home for me too. You'll always have a piece of her here."
Eve nodded, her eyes misting over. She had needed this. A part of her had resisted coming back, afraid of the memories that might overwhelm her, but now that she was here, standing in the very place where she had spent so many of her happiest days, she felt a sense of peace. The weight of her past, of her recent heartbreak, seemed to lift—if only for a moment.
"Would you like me to have your things brought in?" Mr. Hargrove asked, sensing her need for a little solitude.
"Yes, please. And, if it's not too much trouble, could you get one of the horses ready for a ride later?" Eve replied, her gaze drifting out toward the hills, the place where her grandmother used to take her riding every afternoon.
"Of course, Miss Eve. Take your time. The hills aren't going anywhere," he said, with a chuckle.
Once alone, Eve stepped out onto the porch, her eyes tracing the familiar paths she had once walked. She could hear the distant chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves as the wind swept over the hills, and the gentle hum of life in the countryside. It was all as she remembered it. The peace, the stillness, the quiet beauty of her home. Her Chicago.
She closed her eyes, letting the breeze caress her skin, and for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to just be. No thoughts of Nathan. No questions about her future. Just this—her farmhouse, the hills, and the memories of a life that felt so far away, yet so close at the same time.
She was home, and in this moment, that was all that mattered.