I followed her towards the house; everywhere I looked I was hit with such strong nostalgia. I was tempted to sneak up to the loft to see if they'd changed anything over the years before Carly interrupted me.

I should have probably knocked before I decided to break in like some kind of thief... I suppose I was trying to avoid seeing anybody for a little while longer.

"The house hasn't changed much since you left," Carly told me, twirling around the heels of her feet so that she was looking at me, walking backwards toward the porch.

I didn't say anything but instead let my eyes wander over her figure. Time was kinder to her than it was to me. She looked a lot more like her mama now, with the same golden hair and the expressive brown eyes. You could tell a lot from her piercing gaze; the way she was looking at me now, I knew she felt sorry for me. I didn't want her to.

There was something else about the way she looked me over, something I couldn't quite figure out. I pushed it out of my head and followed her into the house; indeed, not much had changed. Some of the photographs adorning the walls were newer, but otherwise the furniture and decorations were all the same.

"You can sit down if you'd like," she offered, gesturing towards one of the dining room chairs. I did as she said, sinking down in the nearest chair. My muscles were grateful; it'd been a long night in a shabby hotel room with very... rowdy neighbors. "I can make another pot if it's not hot enough," she added. I glanced at her; she was watching me again, that same look in her eyes, the one I couldn't quite decipher.

For a moment I half-expected her to bolt out of the room the way she used to whenever I so much as glanced at her. She didn't, instead she kept my gaze, daring me to look away first. I did, my eyes darting down to the grain patterns in the wooden table.

She smiled and handed me my cup of coffee; it wasn't exactly hot but it was still drinkable. I didn't want her to make a fuss for nothing.

"It's good coffee," I told her.

"Thanks... it's my guilty pleasure... that and peanut butter, I could honestly eat it straight out of the jar," she smiled.

I didn't speak, taking a sip of coffee to fill the silence that stretched between us. I was never good at small talk; actually I was never good at any kind of talk, which usually resulted in a whole lot of awkwardness whenever I was in a room with somebody... like right now.

As a child, I wasn't at all bothered by his reserved nature. I used to find it amusing to follow him around and watch him work; I could go for hours without saying a single word, but now the silence between us was deafening. I sat down in the seat opposite his and took a sip of my coffee.

"Have you been in town long?" I asked him finally.

"I got in late last night, got a room at the Days Inn," he shrugged.

"You could've come here," I blurted out before my mind had time to process the words I was speaking. "We haven't been using the loft; it's still pretty much the same as it was when you left it," I added.

"I wasn't goin' to bother you," John shrugged dismissively.

There was another awkward pause, my gaze wandering back to his injured arm. He must've been hurt pretty recently. I didn't know anything about his time overseas; he sent my dad a single letter after he left for Iraq in eight years ago but it was very brief and to the point, much like everything else that came out of his mouth.

"What did you want to see my dad about?" I asked, realizing he must have come here for a reason. "Maybe I can help," I offered.

"I was actually hopin' it'd be the other way around," John admitted, leaning forward slightly in his seat and running his thumb over the rim of his cup. I watched the motion a little distractedly, the implication of his words taking a few moments to sink in.

"You want your old job back?" I asked him, a little taken aback.

"Don't look so surprised," John chuckled, but within seconds his features became serious again, very business-like. "I'll be partially out of commission for a while still," he went on to say, raising his injured arm. "But... if you need someone to hold a bag of nails for ya, I'm your guy," he smirked.

Was he trying to make fun of me?

"Oh God, you remember that," I blushed, ducking my head and letting the stray hairs from my ponytail act as a curtain between him and my scarlet face.

"Indeed, I remember that," John smiled, and I was glad I caught it. He didn't smile like that often enough; it suited him. I didn't even care that it was at the expense of my poor ego. "Alright, here's the deal... you can have your old job back, but you've got to promise me you won't make fun of me and bring up all of the stupid stuff I did around you when I was a kid. I had a serious crush, it's not my fault," I laughed.

"I promise I won't make fun of you," John said, putting his hand over his heart.

"I don't believe you," I argued.

"Hey, I'm always good on my promises, you should know," he smirked.

For a second I didn't understand what he meant by that, but then a memory came back to me, one I'd long ago tried to forget. The day John left Atwood Ranch for the army, he made me a promise that he'd come back here... and then gave me his dog tags.

"I just hope I don't have to wait nine years this time around," I told him.

I showed him the loft after both our coffee mugs were emptied, rinsed and placed in the dishwasher. It wasn't a very big space and the ceiling sloped downward in some areas so that it was impossible for him to stand up straight in every part of the loft. There was a large trunk for his clothes, a queen-sized bed with an old mattress that probably needed updating, a desk my grandfather built by hand and a few other bits and pieces of furniture that added some charm to the room.

"I can bring you some clean sheets later... and towels for the bathroom," I told him, glancing at the bare mattress. "If you want help cleanin' I wouldn't mind... I wasn't kiddin' when I said we don't use this place much... it's pretty dusty," I told him with a shrug, running my finger over the wooden surface of the nightstand and cringing at the amount of dust.

"Thank you," he said politely.

"Of course," I smiled at him. We stood close together in the cramped space so I had to look up in order to meet his gaze. "We have Wi-Fi in the barn now... that's new since you've been around. I'm not too great at hooking up wires and stuff, but my cousin Dale could probably help you... or if you're handy enough..." I trailed off, glancing at his large, calloused hands.

"I'm pretty handy," John shrugged. "I don't have any use for internet though... I don't do that kind of stuff," he admitted.

"You don't have Facebook?" I asked dumbly. Everyone had Facebook these days.

"Nobody to keep in contact with and I ain't all that photogenic," John shrugged.

"Oh," I bit down on my lower lip. That must be a lonely way to go about life... I surely wouldn't be able to do it. "Not even a girlfriend or anythin' like that?" I asked him daringly, although not quite daringly enough to be able to meet his gaze as the words left my lips.

"Not even," John chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't know what to do with one of those."

I couldn't help but laugh.