Worth The Wait (Small-Town Secrets-Fairview Series Book 1)

by Sophia Sinclair

  “Everything looks great,” she said when she got back to the kitchen. “You’re moving in soon?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow, in fact. The grout in the bathroom is dry. I thought I’d finish getting the crappy old counter top out of here first, because that’s probably the last of the really dusty, dirty things I’m going to do for now. I decided to wait on the master bath for a bit. I can get by with just the downstairs bathroom for starters. I do have to install the new counter top, but that’s no biggy. I’m already eating pretty much nothing but fast food and sandwiches in the motel, so I might as well be eating them here.”

  Molly thought about suggesting they go out for a better meal than that, but she couldn’t quite form the words. Instead, she asked him if he was getting new furniture.

  “Some. Tommy will help me get the bed and dresser moved in tomorrow night. And I’ve gotta invest in a good desk for the library. I don’t know if I will be in a hurry to buy a whole house full of furnishings right off the bat. I’ve taken some time off from editing textbooks but I have an economics one I have to get going on, so I’ll probably just hunker down and work for a few months as soon as the kitchen is all done. A kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and a space to work are all I really need, anyway.”

  Beth came up from the basement with a can of paint, roller and tray. “Why did you get this great big house anyway? If you’re only going to use a few rooms?”

  “Beth — ” Molly began, but David just laughed.

  “It’s a fair question. It’s not logical. I suppose at a certain point a man just wants to put down some roots. And I always had a lot of curiosity about this place. I had driven by it once, several years ago. It made me sad to see it going waste, just sitting empty. When I inherited the farm, I knew I didn’t want to live there. The old homestead was way beyond being worth fixing up. But this place is different. I guess you could say it spoke to me, and I couldn’t resist answering it.”

  “But doesn’t it bother you to know what happened here?” Beth asked. Molly didn’t try to shush her; to tell the truth, she’d wondered the same thing.

  “You might think so, but it doesn’t. It was a tragedy what happened here, but plenty of good things happened here, too. I was able to look up some of the history. There were babies born in this house. My grandfather, for one. My great-grandparents were married here. She walked right down this staircase in her wedding gown,” he said. “There’s an old picture of it in the society pages. Looked it up in the old newspaper microfilm. I hadn’t ever seen any pictures of this side of my family, of course. It means something to me that I can live where they lived.” He paused. “Guess that’s a long way of saying that no, it doesn’t bother me.”

  Molly felt she had run out of excuses to linger. “I guess I’ll be going, then,” she said. “Pick you guys up at 9?”

  “Hold on,” David said. “I wanted to get your opinion on a paint color. You kids know what to do. I’ll be right back.” He motioned for Molly to follow him upstairs.

  “I don’t really need your opinion on a paint color,” he said. “I wanted to show you Desiree’s room.” They took the back stairs all the way up to the old servant’s quarters, which were little more than a tiny bedroom and an even tinier bathroom. The room was empty of all furnishings but it was so small Molly assumed it wouldn’t hold much more than a bed and dresser. She felt how near David was. She could smell the masculine scent of his sweat and something else, probably his deodorant. She inhaled, discreetly. Intoxicating. Now, she felt, was the time for her to confess she’d been far too scared but was ready to take the next step. She tried to find words.

  “This room is situated right over the master bedroom. I sent Tommy up here the other day on an errand. Left some tools up here on accident on purpose and listened from the master bedroom. I could hear every move he made. I’m more sure than ever that any meetings between her and my grandfather couldn’t possibly have taken place up there. Probably they situated the maid’s room like that on purpose so they’d be able to keep tabs on her.”

  “I think your theory is probably right,” Molly said. “But of course, we’ll never know the truth.” She tried again to think of a way to express to him that she had decided she wanted to date him. She tried to do it with her eyes, but he was looking at the ceiling.

  “I can’t decide what to do with this room. It’s so small. But it does have a bathroom I could get ready without too much trouble. Not sure if I can figure anything out for it or not.”

  “You already have plenty of guest rooms. Maybe it would make a good sewing or craft room. Or, actually, it would make a great get-away reading nook. I could see whiling away whole afternoons up here. One of those antique fainting couches would furnish it perfectly.”

  “Maybe. Problem is I already have about 10 times more rooms than a guy living alone needs. Maybe I’ll open a bed and breakfast someday. Or maybe I’ll just leave this bit as it is. Who knows?”

  Molly was already imagining what a perfect room this would be for reading. The thought of leaving it unused was almost painful. “You could put in a window seat right here,” she said. “It would be a very charming little room if you did. That wouldn’t be too hard, would it? It would be a magical place to read!”

  “Most of my reading involves dry textbooks, unfortunately. I do read myself to sleep a lot, but I’ll probably continue doing that in bed. I think if I fell asleep in this little place, I’d get a royal crick in my neck.”

  “David,” Molly said. She had no idea what she intended to say next.

  “Yes?” He looked at her, expectantly. Was it her imagination, or did he look hopeful?

  “I, uh, think you’ve done a great job with this place. You have good taste.” She thought he looked a bit disappointed. She knew she should say something more, but couldn’t figure out the words.

  “Thanks,” he said, after a long pause. “Well, I better get back downstairs. Lots of work to do.” Molly knew she’d lost her chance.

  Chapter 11

  The new young man, Tim Olson, was a perfect fit for the library. A library appeared to be his natural environment. The few times that Lindsay was there at the same time, Molly noticed, she had upped her game. All of a sudden, Lindsay was acting like she, too, considered this a wonderful place to work. Apparently, Lindsay found the tall, thin, bookish lad to her liking. He didn’t seem to notice, though.

  All in all, things were going pretty well. She hadn’t had to deal with Matt much. Both kids were learning home repair, especially Tommy, and fattening up their all-too-thin college bank accounts. Lori’s relationship with the cardiologist seemed to be going quite well, and Suzie would be home for Thanksgiving in a few days. Clarence, while still mostly round, was very definitely losing weight. The only burr under Molly’s saddle was David’s seeming disinterest. Her manicure developed chips and she had to remove the polish. The perfect wax job Mabel had done on Molly had begun growing back, too. It made Molly feel guilty every time she showered that she’d wasted Lori’s thoughtful gift.

  Worse, she knew the job at David’s house was just about over; he was all moved in and she knew, from Tommy and Beth, that he’d installed a tile countertop, a stainless steel sink, and a matching stove and refrigerator. They were running out of things to work on. She knew David was editing the textbook he’d mentioned and was doing very little remodeling work right now. The old porch needed a coat of paint, but he’d judged it too late in the season for that. The rest of the brick exterior looked great, and the old slate roof would likely last forever. There was nothing else that was really pressing, it seemed. Too bad. Tommy seemed to really enjoy the work and said he was thinking he might major in something like construction engineering, which would overjoy Molly. He’d make a very good living if he did.

  She sighed. Well, Suzie would be home for Thanksgiving and she had that to look forward to, at least. She was having Lori over, too; her parents lived out of state and she usually stayed here for Thanksgiving and flew there for Christm
as instead. Molly had barely changed the menu from the days when her mother had done the cooking. Turkey, of course. Dressing, made with bread, not that awful grainy cornmeal. Mashed potatoes and gravy, naturally. Cranberry salad made from cranberries, not from a can. On that score both she and her mother had always agreed. She made a green bean casserole she hated simply because her mother had always made one. Oddly, her mother hadn’t liked the dish either, but she was firm about the necessity of serving it every year. Candied sweet potatoes. Fruit salad, a relish tray and homemade rolls. One pumpkin pie, one pecan pie, one apple pie with a lattice top crust. The meal would be short on vegetables, other than the creamy glop of green beans, but Molly had experimented with adding more and nobody ever ate them. Didn’t matter. They could eat their vegetables on other days.

  Suzie didn’t enjoy cooking, but she always pitched in with Thanksgiving. She was tall and thin and looked just like a feminine version of Hank. The two younger children, Molly always thought, looked more like her, but Suzanne was purely Hank’s child. She was good with her hands, too, so Molly had for years put her in charge of the pastries. Making the desserts and doing other prep work the night before had become a special mother-daughter time for the two of them, especially now that Suzie spent most of her time away at college.

  “So Tommy and Beth are talking a lot about David,” Suzie said, as she sat peeling apples. The mixtures for the pumpkin and pecan pies were all ready to be poured into the pie shells as soon as they were ready.

  “They seem to like him, yes,” Molly said. She knew what Suzie was really asking but pretended ignorance.

  “Do you like him?”

  “He seems nice,” Molly said. She was measuring out the flour for the pie crusts and didn’t meet Suzie’s eyes.

  “How nice?”

  “No, we aren’t a ‘thing,’ as everybody seems to keep asking,” Molly said. “You know how this town is about rumors.”

  “Just asking,” Suzie said. “I’m going to start the oven so it’s ready for the pies.” She turned it on and then went back to peeling apples. It always took lots, probably because she ate about as many apple slices as she put into the bowl.

  Molly rolled out the crust and lined a pie plate and Suzie carefully put the apples, tossed with sugar and cinnamon, into place. It took Suzie no time to complete a perfect lattice top and place the pie into the oven.

  Except as soon as she opened the oven, she knew something was wrong. “Uh, Mom, this thing isn’t even warm.”

  The oven dated back to Molly’s mother’s time. It was an old gas model and had always been reliable, though you did sometimes have to relight the pilot light. “I’ll light it,” Molly said. But after a few attempts, she gave up. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but this doesn’t bode well for Thanksgiving.”

  “Do you want me to call Dad?”

  “No, he’s having Thanksgiving with Margery and her family. He’s probably at her house tonight. I hate to pull him away.” Normally, Hank did join them for Thanksgiving, but he and Margery seemed to possibly be serious and she didn’t want to seem to interfere.

  “Well, we could maybe take everything to Lori’s?”

  “To her tiny kitchen? Maybe. Let me think.”

  “About what?” asked Tommy, who’d come in for a snack. He picked up a handful of the pecans that had spilled onto the counter and absently ate them as he talked.

  “Oven is a dead soldier,” Suzie said.

  “How are you going to make Thanksgiving then?” asked Tommy.

  “Not sure yet,” Molly said.

  “Let’s ask David,” said Tommy. “I bet he could fix it. I’ll call him.” His new phone, which he’d bought himself out of his earnings from David, was out of his pocket and he was calling him before Molly could stop him.

  Tommy explained the situation and then announced to his mother and sister that David was on his way over. “David can fix anything,” Tommy said.

  Molly was wearing old sweats and her hair was in a ponytail. She wasn’t eager for David to see her like that, but was even more reluctant to be seen quickly fixing herself up for David. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She would at least neaten up her hair and add some lipstick. No time to do anything more. She could hear his car’s tires crunching against the gravel driveway as she walked back into the kitchen.

  “I’m embarrassed that we didn’t invite him to dinner tomorrow,” said Beth, who had come to the kitchen and learned the situation. “It seems kinda rude to ask him to fix our oven and not invite him. I’m gonna invite him.” Molly agreed there was nothing else they could do as Tommy let him in.

  “So the oven picked the night before Thanksgiving to die on you, huh?” he asked, poking his head into the oven to check it out. “I assume you tried lighting the pilot light?”

  “It won’t light,” Molly said. “Funny. It’s worked just fine for 30 years!”

  “An oven this age, I honestly don’t think we’re going to have much luck. Whatever the issue is, we’re going to need parts and we’re not going to get any tonight. But you’re more than welcome to use my kitchen. It’s brand new and I’ve basically used it for nothing but heating up frozen dinners. You may as well break it in.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Molly said, “but it seems a very big imposition.”

  “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?” Beth asked. “Because we honestly should have asked you already anyway.”

  “I wasn’t really planning anything, no,” he said. He looked at Molly’s face. She was blushing. “Honestly, no need to be embarrassed,” he said. “Tommy did as much work on the kitchen as I did. It would be a great idea to show off the work he did in there.”

  “Well, if you’re sure it wouldn’t be a terrible imposition ….” Molly didn’t know whether it would be ruder to refuse his help or accept it, but refusing it would mean no Thanksgiving dinner at all.

  “You may as well bring over these pies and anything else you need to bake tonight right now. I imagine the turkey has to go in pretty early, right? I can start it in the morning if you tell me what to do, and then we can make the rest of it mid-morning.”

  Suzie was already getting all three pies ready and covering them with foil. David carried them out to his car, placing them carefully on the back seat.

  “I guess I’ll simplify things a bit. We can skip homemade rolls, I think. The rest won’t be too hard to put together in the morning.” She gathered up some more items and loaded them into David’s car.

  “You want to come over long enough to get everything organized?” he asked. Molly could only nod. She rode in his car, holding the still-wrapped turkey inside her mother’s ancient roasting pan, almost in a daze at the sudden way everything had been organized in spite of her.

  “This is very kind of you,” Molly said. “Kinder than I deserve.”

  “What do you mean?” David asked. Molly knew he already knew what she meant.

  “I have been … difficult. I know it. I haven’t meant to be,” she said, grateful for the darkness that hid her face. “And you’ve been nothing but kind to my kids.”

  “I told you before, that whatever would be between you and me would have nothing to do with your kids working for me. They’re good kids, and they did a lot of good work. I admit I’d hoped for more, but I understand your decision. Doesn’t mean I can’t help out a friend in a jam.” Then they were at his house and she busied herself getting everything carried in. David turned on the oven.

  “It preheats fast. I paid extra for a model that would. I get impatient for my dinner,” he joked.

  Molly felt extreme embarrassment. He had said he had hoped for more. Did that mean he was still interested? Or did it mean that he had been? Past tense? She was so ill at ease that she dropped the turkey.

  “Oh, SHIT!” she said, and burst into tears.

  “Hey, hey, it’s OK. It’s still in its packaging. You haven’t hurt anything.” She turned away from him and willed herself to stop crying. She cou
ld hear him placing the pies in the oven and placing the turkey and roaster pan on the counter.

  “Please don’t be embarrassed. I have your pies in but you’re going to have to advise me on the turkey. I’ve never actually baked one,” he said.

  “I keep crying in front of you,” she said. “Of course I’m embarrassed.” Her thoughts went to the first time she’d cried in his presence, and what had followed.

  “Is it something about me that makes you cry?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t even know why I’m crying. Please just ignore me. I’ll just get this stupid turkey in the roaster and all situated so you can put it in the oven. I guess at 7 a.m. if we are going to eat at noon.

  “Noon is fine. Like I said, I have no plans. Look, I don’t know quite what to do here. Please, can’t you stop crying?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Molly choked out. “I’m trying.” She kept her head down, but took a step toward David.

  “I’ve been so stupid.” She helped herself to a dish towel from the counter and used it to try to dry her tears.

  “You haven’t been stupid. Anybody’s oven could have quit like that. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “No, about everything. You’ve been so kind, and I don’t want you to think it was because I didn’t like you. I do like you. I’m just scared.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke. She continued to concentrate on wiping off her tears, but it was a losing battle.