“Technically, yes. But only because my dad and Lorraine are about ten steps ahead of us, and if I participate in this verbal volley any more than I already am, we’re not going to make this shindig.”
“I’m good with that.”
Tate’s laugh resonated through the air as his hands began fumbling with the knot he’d made at the back of her head. “I would be, too, except everyone is kind of looking at you right now.”
She jerked in surprise. “Looking at me? Why?”
“They want to see what you think of—this!”
With one final tug, he pulled the cloth from her eyes and she blinked against the bright afternoon sun. Sure enough, standing a half dozen yards away were her Quinton Lane neighbors, gathered at the edge of the green space to celebrate their victory against the city.
A victory she’d been unaware of until twenty minutes ago, when Tate had decided to break his silence.
Slowly, she took in the field that had been the setting for parties and celebrations among her neighbors since long before she and Kayla had moved onto the street. A line of new trees had been planted, set off to the side to provide shade over the years, while keeping the open space.
“Where did that come from?” She pointed to the walking path that meandered off among the trees.
“Don’t you mean, where does it go?” A mischievous grin spread across Tate’s face.
“Bart?”
The elder Williams stepped toward her, Kayla in his arms. “Yes?”
“Was he always this way?”
The man’s gaze swept his son, then he shrugged. “He was always good at those games where you wait to see who gives in first. Drove Johnny Haskell nuts.”
Again Tate laughed, a sound so rich and so genuine it made Phoebe’s heart race and her knees grow weak. “Okay, okay, let’s follow it.”
Kayla squealed.
“You met with her approval.” Tate waved at Kayla, then grasped Phoebe’s hand. “I think she’s excited to see your reaction, too.”
Never in her wildest imagination could she have dreamed up a man like Tate Williams. For herself or her daughter.
“Has she seen it?” She squeezed his fingers and began walking along the path, a cluster of neighbors in front, a cluster behind.
“Every step of the way.”
Phoebe frowned as she thought back over the two weeks since the dinner at Bart’s. “When?”
“Every night. When I encouraged you to take a little more time to paint.”
“Is this where you two disappeared to?”
“Well—most of the time.” Tate picked up speed as they walked along a curved stretch of pathway. “Sometimes we got waylaid. You wouldn’t believe how many cookies your daughter can get simply by flashing that smile of hers.”
Phoebe laughed. “Trust me, I know. And don’t think she isn’t learning to work it.”
“Nah, I think she’s just got that special something her mom has—so beautifully rare that few people are lucky enough to be blessed with it.” He stopped and turned to her, suddenly looking more serious than he had all morning. “Will you shut your eyes for a few more steps? So we can really surprise you?”
“Okay.” She pinched her eyes shut, her body warming as Tate’s hand left hers and his arm wrapped around her back. Slowly, step by step, she walked, the only sounds she heard belonging to a few birds and her own daughter.
When she felt his hand tighten against her back she stopped. Waited.
“Ready, everyone?”
“Let her go, Tate.”
She recognized Mr. Borden’s voice as Tate’s mouth moved against her ear once again. “On a count of three, everyone…”
“One…”
That had to be Mrs. Haskell. Her singsong voice always reminded Phoebe of a favorite elementary-school teacher when she and Gram had lived in Paulson.
“Two.”
Ms. Weatherby. Everything she said had a slightly biting snap to it, as if she were in a hurry all the time. Not because she was impatient, but simply on the go.
“Eeee.”
Phoebe’s eyes flew open as Kayla’s voice, sweet and proud, reached her ears.
“Good job, sweet—”
Her jaw dropped as her eyes took in the white trellised gazebo just beyond her daughter’s head. The outdoor structure, typical of small towns and civic greens, stood proudly on the other side of the walkway, beckoning to them.
“How? When? Oh, Tate, it’s beautiful.” She turned her head to the handsome man beside her, neatly clad in khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt. A man who had learned to put aside hurt in order to move forward.
One by one, her neighbors began to clap, their focus not on her, but on Tate. She watched as his face turned red and a look of pride lit his eyes.
“Don’t my flowers look lovely around the base? Really brings the gazebo to life.” Mrs. Applewhite smiled grandly at her neighbors before turning to beam at Tate.
“You’re right, Mrs. Applewhite, they do. I’m betting they made all the difference with the city planning board.”
Phoebe looked up at Tate, in awe over his excitement and the fact he showed absolutely no signs of being deterred by a woman who wasn’t happy unless she was ahead.
“You saved our green space, young man, and we…” Mr. Borden cleared his throat and shot an authoritative look in Mrs. Applewhite’s direction before turning back to Tate “…are forever grateful to you.”
Tate shifted a bit awkwardly, his arm still around Phoebe’s back. “It’s my pleasure. I’m finally at a place in my career where I could call in a few favors. Dad did, too. This place meant a lot to both of us and holds some of my fondest memories of my mother.”
Phoebe felt his eyes on her just before he pulled her closer. “But now it’s time to make new memories. For all of us.” He released her and held out his hands to Kayla, who squealed in delight and raised her arms in response. “Can’t you just see this little angel having tea parties in there?” He pointed toward the gazebo. “Or one of Mr. Haskell’s famed fall barbecue dinners at those picnic tables? I know I sure can.”
Heads bobbed in agreement.
“Okay. So let’s get to making some of those new memories.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the Quinton Lane crowd took off toward the gazebo, their steps propelled by the promise of a potluck dinner.
Phoebe and Tate lingered behind with Kayla.
“I’m sorry about Mrs. Applewhite just now. She really is a thunder stealer.”
He shrugged. “Only if we let her steal it.”
Phoebe cocked an eyebrow and waited.
“Mrs. Applewhite was always competitive, for as long as I can remember. But she was especially bad where my mom was concerned.”
“Mr. Borden said the same thing.”
Phoebe felt Tate’s arm slide around her waist again, his breath on her ear. “See those purple flowers right there? To the left of the gazebo steps?”
“Ahh, yes.”
“Look just above them,” he whispered. “On the base itself.”
Squinting against the sun, she noticed a flash of something golden. “You mean that gold-colored rectangle?”
He nodded, a smile lighting his face with a mixture of pride and monkey business. “It’s a plaque. The Quinton Lane gazebo was designed and built in honor of my mother. And, unlike flowers, it’s a memento that will be there no matter the season.”
“Perfect!”
And it was. Everyone who spoke of Mary Williams had adored her. Therefore it seemed only fitting she’d have a part in the green space’s new beginning. But still…
“I can’t believe you did all this. The planning. The execution. It’s extraordinary.”
He pointed at his chest. “You doubt my architectural skills?”
“Hardly.” She ran her finger along his jawline, across his lips and up toward his hair, wishing they were alone together. “I just meant your doing this after—Well, you know.”
He
shrugged. “They made a mistake. They’ve apologized. Some of those cookies—” he moved his finger back and forth between himself and Kayla “—we scored during our walks were for me, too, you know.”
“Ook!” the toddler squealed.
“Uh-oh, now you did it. There’s no mentioning that word around my daughter unless you can produce.” Phoebe tickled her gently under the chin and laughed when she giggled.
“Hold on now,” Tate proclaimed as they fell into step. “I hate to break it to you, but Kayla’s face wasn’t the only one that lit up just now at the mention of a cookie.”
“I know. But how did you see it?” Phoebe glanced around, peeking behind the last of the trees. “There isn’t a mirror anywhere.”
He looked at Kayla and blinked his eyes angelically. “Is Mommy calling me a cookie monster?”
“Ook!”
Smacking his head with the heel of his hand, Tate grunted. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“Yup.”
“Well then, if you’ll excuse us, we have some cookies to find.” Tate cupped Phoebe’s head with his hand and pulled her toward him for a fast but heart-melting kiss. “I love you, Phoebe Jennings.”
She blinked back the sudden moisture in her eyes as she watched Tate and Kayla enter the gazebo, her neighbors turning to greet them with smiles of appreciation and affection.
“Oh, Gram,” Phoebe whispered, “you were right. The best was yet to come.”
TATE SCOOTED ACROSS the blanket and wrapped his arm around Phoebe’s waist, careful not to nudge a sleeping Kayla. An afternoon of play and cookies had taken its toll on the littlest Jennings.
“Having a good time?” he asked softly.
“The best.” Phoebe reached down and mussed his hair, her touch sending a warm feeling of contentment through him.
“Me, too.” He jerked his head to the left. “Dad sure looks happy, doesn’t he?”
Phoebe followed his gaze, then nodded. “He does. Are you really okay with him and Lorraine getting married?”
Tate watched as his father leaned across his own picnic blanket and handed a daylily to his special lady, a look of bliss on his face. “A month ago, I’d have been furious. Convinced it was a betrayal of my mother.”
“And now?” Phoebe prodded.
“I know Mom would want him to be happy. She loved him. Completely. Unconditionally. The way it’s supposed to be.” Tate sat up, gently caressing Phoebe’s cheek. “The way he loved her in return. And the way I love you.”
He saw the sudden glistening in her eyes, knew it mirrored his own. Grabbing her hand, he pulled it to his mouth and kissed each finger gently. “What would you think of making Dad and Lorraine’s wedding a double ceremony?”
As Phoebe’s mouth began to open, he moved in for a kiss, the feel of her lips against his solidifying everything he knew to be true.
“What are you talking about?”
His voice rough with emotion, he answered, “It seems only fitting that we marry alongside the other couple brought together by that letter.”
“We?”
In a flash he was on his knees, her hand in his, their eyes locked. “Will you marry me, Phoebe Jennings?”
“I—I—I.”
Tate peeked around Phoebe’s shoulder and grinned at the little girl who’d just opened her eyes, a smile lighting her face.
“I got it!” Waving away Phoebe’s giggle, he continued, “That time it meant yes.”
At the sight of Phoebe’s head shaking, he felt his shoulders droop. “It doesn’t?”
“No. That was a hi.”
“Oh.”
“This is a yes—Tate Williams, I’d love to be your wife.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you sure? You threw me off a little when you asked if I thought it was too soon for Dad and Lorraine.”
“We may have known each other only a month, but I’ve been looking for you my whole life.”
She sank into his arms, his tears mingling with hers as they held each other close.
Epilogue
Thirteen Months Later
Phoebe waddled slowly down Quinton Lane, the manila envelope tucked securely under her arm as an unseasonably warm breeze kicked up around her, causing more than a few autumn leaves to skitter across the sidewalk.
“How are you this morning, Phoebe?”
She stopped beside Ms. Weatherby’s freshly painted, waist-high picket fence and took a few breaths. “I’m good. Tired, but good.”
“You make sure you’re soaking those feet from time to time. And let that husband of yours baby you a little.” The street’s lone centurion leaned across the fence and wiggled her finger at Phoebe. “I’ve not seen a man try so hard to take care of a woman before.”
And she was right. Tate was attentive with a capital A. To both her and Kayla.
“Speaking of my husband, he and Kayla were nowhere to be found when I woke up. His car is on the street, so I know he didn’t go far. Have you seen him?”
The woman, whose body was becoming more frail with each passing day, slowly nodded. “I did. Those two peas in a pod are over at Tom Borden’s house. And I tell you, there’s been a lot of noise coming from that workshop he’s got out back. Building something, no doubt, just like the old days.”
Phoebe smiled. “Thanks, Ms. Weatherby. I’m going to see if I can find them now. I’ll stop back on the way home, see if you need anything.”
“A nap. That’s all I need. Not much you can do to help me with that except get those men to stop hammering for a while.”
“I’ll give it a shot.” She touched her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Give my love to Tate and Kayla, will you?”
“I will.”
As she continued on her path, she couldn’t help but marvel at how Tate and their neighbors had moved past old wounds as if they’d never happened. Now, instead of avoiding the subject of Quinton Lane, Tate was out and about whenever he had a spare moment, helping their various neighbors with whatever project needed to be done. Even Mrs. Applewhite.
Phoebe turned up Mr. Borden’s walkway and knocked on the door, and soon the sound of his walker reached her through the open screen.
“Hi there, Phoebe. What a nice surprise!” He pushed the screen door open and scooted his walker to the right. “Come in, come in.”
She stepped into the foyer, wincing at a quick jab of pain in her abdomen. When it subsided, she inhaled slowly, aware of her neighbor’s eyes trained on hers.
“They’re out on the sunporch. Setting up my old train track.”
“Your train track? How’d you manage that? Last I saw it you’d just sold it to a very nice young man from a few streets over.”
Mr. Borden pushed his walker down the hall and into the breakfast room. “Well, I remember how much Tate had loved my trains when he was growing up, and I simply couldn’t let them go.”
“So, how’d you get it back?”
“I’ll tell you this much…” the man lowered his voice and looked around, as if someone might be listening “…that kid drives one helluva bargain. Not only would he not sell them to me for the price he paid, he also charged me an extra ten cents.”
“You’ve taught him well, then.” She pulled the envelope from under her arm and looked down at the broken seal, her smile growing ever wider at the knowledge of what was inside.
“Could you spare Tate for just a moment? I need to give him this.” She held up the envelope, then brought it back down to her side.
“Of course.” He gripped the top bars of his walker and pushed it toward the sunroom. “I’ll hang out with Kayla for a little while and send Tate out to you.”
“Thank you.” As she waited, she tapped the manila envelope against her leg and Mr. Borden’s wall. She would have preferred Tate had been home with her when it was delivered, but either way, he was going to be thrilled—no matter where he read the letter.
&n
bsp; “Hey, beautiful, why aren’t you home resting?” Tate strode down the hallway toward her, stopping to plant a kiss on her lips and hold her close.
“A letter came for you.”
One eyebrow shot up. “A letter? Is it an old one?”
She looked up at him from the safety of his arms and grinned. “It’s got a current postmark…it’s just been a long time coming.”
“Wait, is that—” He snatched the envelope from her outstretched hand and opened it. “It is!”
“It’s official. You are legally Kayla’s daddy.”
“Kayla’s daddy!” he repeated, a joyful smile tugging at his lips. “You know, I like all these titles I get from being with you.”
“Titles?” She rubbed her belly, wincing as another pain shot through her.
“Yeah. Kayla’s daddy…Phoebe’s husband…it’s incredible.” He pulled her closer and whispered in her ear, “Come on out into the sunroom. Kayla and I have something to show you.”
The pain gone once again, she followed her husband down the hall toward the sound of happy chattering. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mommy. Look what Daddy did.” She pointed at the train set in the middle of the room and clapped excitedly. “I did the houses.”
“And you did a very good job.” Phoebe lowered herself onto the wicker sofa that had been pushed to the side of the room to accommodate the train set, mustering a smile as a way to placate the worry she noticed in Mr. Borden’s eyes.
“Look what I found in your old shed, Tom.” Bart Williams burst through the door leading from the backyard just then. “Conductor hats. One for Tate and one for Kayla.” He leaned over, plopped one hat on his granddaughter’s head and tossed one to his son. “Try it on, see if it fits—oh, hi, Phoebe. Didn’t see you sitting there.”
“Hi yourself.”
“Hey, Phoebe, look at us.”
She swung her gaze from Bart to Tate, her heart bursting with love at the sight of Kayla in her husband’s arms, the inseparable duo sporting matching blue-and-white engineer hats.
“Okay, Kayla, go,” he prompted.
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