Righting a Wrong (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella) by Rachael Anderson

behind. Springtime in Bridger was her favorite time of year with all the flowering trees and blossoms that rained down every time the wind kicked up. She used to love to walk the street during those windstorms and feel the pattering of petals on her skin. It made her feel like she was in her own little fairyland where anything was possible.
    A strange sort of wistfulness washed over her as she passed home after home of the people she’d once thought of as family. In only a few weeks, Cambri would be leaving, and while she was excited to get back to her job and her friends in Charlotte, part of her wished she could stay. She missed this place, the people, the slow way of life—a lot more than she’d realized.
    As the sky darkened and the streetlights flickered on, Cambri pushed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. She continued to walk, not caring about the chill, and eventually found herself hanging a left on Rose Street and strolling toward the one house she’d always thought of as hers. She paused and studied the home. The front room glowed lightly through the blinds, but the rest of the house matched the darkened sky. Cambri couldn’t help but wonder who lived there. Who was updating it, and what plans did they have for the rest of the house, including the yard?
    The flower beds had been stripped of all plant life, probably so the renovator could replace the siding, and the rest of the yard was becoming a jungle. Cambri couldn’t help but picture a flagstone walkway with a Japanese maple, an Alpine evergreen, and some spirea and lilies. Over there she’d plant an autumn yellow bracken fern and a pink bleeding heart, along with a new maple tree. It would be a tamed sort of wildness. Beautiful.
    The light in the front room flickered off, and the door opened. A woman about Cambri’s age, with long strawberry blonde, hair jogged down the steps and stopped when she saw Cambri.
    “Lydia?” Cambri asked. “Is that you?”
    Lydia moved slowly forward, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
    “It’s me, Cambri Blaine.”
    A wide smile appeared. “Cambri?” She strode forward and threw her arms around Cambri, reminding her of one of Grandpa Cal’s hugs. He’d taught his granddaughter well. “It’s been forever! How are you?”
    “I’m good. How are you?” Cambri said, pulling back. “I had no idea you were still around.”
    A light breeze blew some strands of hair in Lydia’s face, and she tucked it behind her ear then hugged her arms to her chest. “I never really left. I went to school in Ft. Collins and took a teaching job there. ”
    Cambri gestured to the home behind Lydia. “Well, it looks like you’ve done okay for yourself. That’s got to be the most beautiful home in all of Bridger. I’m a little jealous.”
    Lydia glanced over her shoulder. “Oh no, that isn’t my house. It’s Jace’s.”
    Cambri froze. What? Jace owned this house? The house she used to make him drive past on their way home from school so she could daydream about living in it one day? He was the one renovating it?
    Her gaze traveled to the spot where the old maple used to stand. She pictured the tree as it had been six years earlier, with its large canopy shading the side of the road where Jace had stopped his old Mustang that day.
    “Why do you like this house so much?” he’d asked. “It’s so … old.”
    “It’s got character,” she’d said.
    “You have a funny definition of character.” He leaned over her to point out the window. “That shutter’s missing, that one’s all skiwampus, the siding looks like it’s from the Dark Ages, and just look at the screen door. It’s falling apart.”
    Cambri poked him in the ribs. “All it needs is a little TLC.”
    Jace shook his head in a whatever kind of way. His face had been so close and his eyes dark and beautiful. “You and your projects.”
    “What projects?”
    “This house.” He dropped his voice. “Me.”
    She