“Like Greek God with a sledgehammer gorgeous.”
I could hear her kicking her feet. “And how is this a bad thing?”
“I was pretty sure he would have preferred to drag me to the lake and drown me rather than tolerate my living across the street from them.”
“Them?”
“I met his daughter, too. At least she was super excited to meet me.”
I suppressed laughter as I thought of her rushing out of their house. The little girl had been a perfect kind of disaster in that hot pink tutu and those atrocious socks she had to have stolen from her dad.
She was a bluster of energy and innocence.
It was almost worry that entered Macy’s playful tone. “Oh God, tell me you’re not actually crushing on the married guy next door? That’s just poor form, Ryn.”
Through the milky, opalescent night, I watched as he pulled a sleeping Frankie from the backseat and shifted her so her head rested high up on his shoulder. He ran a hand over the back of her head and set a kiss to her temple.
The image was so at odds with the hostility he’d met me with earlier.
That intrigued attraction flared, my mouth dry as I watched him start up his walkway.
Maybe what struck me most was there was something sad about him, too. Something helpless and scared beneath all the harsh, hard dominance he wore so well. Something bitter and broken.
I found myself whispering when I came to the realization. “I’m thinking there’s no wife.”
“No wife . . . so . . . he’s like . . . a single dad?”
“Maybe,” I uttered so quietly as I peered through the night, drinking in the way his long legs took the steps, and then the way he angled through his front door with his sleeping little dancer girl. “I think so. I’m not sure.”
Why did I want to know so desperately?
“Why are you whispering?” Macy whispered back.
I bit down on my bottom lip while guilty silence spun around the room.
Macy busted up laughing. “Oh my God, you are spying on him right now, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” I told her, quick to let the curtain drop. I got straight back to work unpacking.
“Someone has a crush,” she sing-songed.
“Stop it.”
I was so not spying, and I so didn’t have a crush.
I’d just met them, and the worst thing I could do was get mixed up with the angry guy across the street with his sweet, adorable little girl, who was a big fan of my grandmother. Apparently, she had really good taste.
But her dad? He obviously had some ginormous chip on his shoulder, and I had enough to worry about without giving thought to the flecks of sadness scored in the depths of his eyes.
Eyes the color of sage. Rimmed in the darkest gray.
No, I wasn’t thinking about those soft, full lips barely hidden by the sexy scruff on his strong jaw. And I definitely hadn’t noticed his big hands or the strength in his deeply tanned, muscled arms.
Nope.
Not at all.
A guy like that had heartache written all over him.
And I’d had enough of that to last me a lifetime.
The sound of a whisk clanging against metal echoed through the kitchen. With the bowl tucked under one arm, I cut butter into the flour in the other, giving myself over to the sense of deep peace that had taken me over.
The late night was like a warm blanket wrapped around the old house, holding me safe and secure, the vast silence a comfort as I slowly swayed in the kitchen.
I had the crumpled letter smoothed out on the counter beside me where I worked. Every so often, I would peek over at it, relishing in her presence. I had to have read it close to a million times since it’d slipped out with the file the attorney had given me two months ago. But I kept going back to it, wondering, why now?
Why hadn’t she asked this of me before?
When you left, you told me I was the only one you could trust. Your broken heart had mine breaking that night. Isn’t it funny how things come around? Because no matter how many years have passed, in the end, you are the only one I trust with this.
I know right now you’re scared and questioning my intentions. But I’m asking you to trust me one last time. I made a life within those walls, gave it my whole heart. Maybe you never realized it, but all along, I was working so one day, I could give it to you. Now, it’s yours. Give it life, Corinne Paisley. I’ll be with you every step of the way.
My chest tightened as a wave of grief and love slammed into me.
I could feel the weight of her spirit dance around me. Soft, soft encouragement. The same as she’d always given me.
Belief. It was right there. Shining with all the questions that still remained.
“I am scared, Gramma. I’m not sure how I can do this without you. But I promise you that I’m going to try. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you proud.”
I jumped when the oven dinged, letting me know the temperature had reached three hundred and seventy-five degrees.
Maybe I really was letting this old house get to me.
I set the bowl aside and dug into the paper sack to find the almond extract.
Almond extract I was certain I’d purchased this afternoon at the store.
Almond extract that wasn’t there.
With a frown, I sank back onto my heels. Frustration leaked into my veins.
Damn it.
My first pie, and I was already failing. It was one of those ingredients I could probably get away with not using, but it just wouldn’t be the same. Looking around, my attention landed on the pantry.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, Gramma,” I mumbled, opening the pantry door and rummaging through the few items that hadn’t already been discarded.
“Aha.” It was a cry of victory as I held the bottle of almond extract in the air.
Victory that was short-lived. It’d expired three years ago.
“Damn it,” I muttered again. I tossed it into the garbage bin right before my eye caught on a white envelope tucked on a shelf at the side of the pantry wall. Like a forgotten partner to all the expired spices and extracts. A token of the past.
Apprehension swelled, anxious and uneasy, and I slowly moved forward.
It felt as if it were some kind of secret.
As if I were on some kind of forbidden mission.
Silly, I knew, but my fingers trembled when I reached in and tugged it free, the paper tacked to something sticky on the pantry wall.
That anxiousness thickened like molasses, my throat full and bobbing, my stomach twisted in a vice.
My name was written across the front, the familiar handwriting scratchy from an unsteady hand.
“Oh God.” Grief came swooping back in, but I smiled through the tears that were suddenly clouding my eyes as I ripped into the letter.
There was so much comfort in knowing she felt confident that one day I would find what she’d left for me.
I tugged it out and quickly scanned the card.
All moments matter. We just rarely know how important they are until the chance to act on them has already passed.
My spirit flooded with love, and I clung tight to the reminder of this amazing woman who’d always viewed the world as if it were right on the cusp of something magical. The tough times nothing but a stepping-stone to propel us to where we were supposed to be.
I took a fumbling step back when I sensed the change outside my kitchen window. A light had flickered on across the street. Drawn, I inched across the creaking floor, again keeping myself hidden as I crept toward the window. I pulled back the edge of the lacy drape and peered that direction, not sure if I felt guilty for doing it or if it was somehow my duty.
Because this time there was no question I was spying.
Unable to look away.
Somehow knowing I didn’t want to.
The bulk of him took up the entirety of his kitchen window, his hair, which was a dark, golden blond and a little long on top, was in complete disarray and stuck up in all directions. As if he’d spent the night tossing in bed, waging a war I didn’t understand. I couldn’t make out his expression with the way he had his head dropped between his shoulders, his hands most likely propped on the counter to hold himself up. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t clearly see him fighting with whatever demons plagued him.
“Shit,” I whispered, clutching the letter in my hand, waging my own war. The battles I’d once fought in this town had been lost. The memories of them stalled me with trepidation, the strength I’d found through the years away coming against them and instilling me with courage.