Billy stood under the willow tree with shaking hands. He had everything he once wanted. A business, a town that knew his name, and Lacey beside him in the morning light. But he still felt a restlessness he couldn't name, and today he meant to settle it. He had asked Lacey to meet him here, where the branches hung low over the grass. The dog trotted ahead of him, its golden coat bright, its dark muzzle lifted to sniff the breeze. Lacey came across the field in a flowing skirt, gold bracelets catching the sun. "You look nervous," she said. "You only tap your cap when you're nervous." He lowered his hand from the brim. "We said vows once, with the whole town watching. I want to say them again. Just us." She went still. Then she smiled, slow and warm. He took her hands and spoke plain words. He promised to stay. He promised to go wherever she went. She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. Then he pulled a tin box from behind the tree. Its yellow finish was worn and its latch spotted with rust. "I've had this since I was a kid," he said. "Open it." Lacey lifted the lid. Inside lay layered gold chains he had bought for her. Beneath them sat older pieces, dull and heavy. "These were my mom's," he said. "She wanted you to have them." Lacey pressed one earring to her cheek. "They smell like her kitchen," she whispered. She didn't say anything else. She didn't need to. They sat in the grass a long while. A few pink petals drifted down from a blooming tree near the fence. Finally Billy spoke the thing that had chewed at him for months. "The cafe is yours. You built it. But I want something that's mine too. A real career. Something with my hands." He waited for her to look hurt. Instead her eyes lit up. "Then we chase it," she said. "Both of us. I'm not scared of a new road." That settled him more than any vow. The restlessness quieted. Home wasn't the shop or the field. It was the person sitting beside him, ready to leave the known road without flinching. Later he walked to Lacey's cafe with the dog at his heel and a bundle of flowers in his arm. The blossoms burst with red, yellow, and purple heads. He set them on her counter beside a stack of blank paper. "For you," he said. "And these are for me." He spread the pages out. "I'm going to figure out what I'm good at. Starting now." Lacey leaned over the paper beside him. The dog curled under the table. Billy picked up a pencil. For the first time, the empty page didn't scare him. It was the beginning of a plan he had no idea how to finish.