by Olivia Miles
***
By Friday evening, they had managed to repair the peeling wallpaper in the front hall, repaint the dining room, living room, and front parlor, and touch up the cracked woodwork. The floors were polished. The curtains that remained were pulled back by tassels. The windows were tugged free and fresh air blew in off the bay. The dust was gone and Chris’s eyes had finally stopped burning.
And he had Sarah to thank for all of it.
“This house hasn’t looked this good since the last time I was here,” Chris said as he set down his paintbrush and took in the last of the rooms. They were in the back living room, the one with a sweeping view of the gardens and the ocean. Befittingly, Sarah had recommended they paint this room a “smoky aqua,” and who was he to argue anymore than he could refuse the promise of a sunny, cheerful dining room if they went with a “happy, canary yellow”?
It had been a long time since he’d experienced the simple pleasure of a woman’s touch. He didn’t realize until now just how much he’d missed it.
“And when was that?” Sarah tapped the lid back onto the paint can as he gathered up the tarps. “The last time you were here?”
“Years ago,” he said vaguely, even though he knew the exact date. It was August twenty-first. Three years next month.
It was the day his life changed forever.
She nodded, looking like she wanted to ask more but didn’t know if she should. They started speaking at the same time, and she laughed, taking the anxiety out of the awkward moment. She had a knack for that.
“You first,” she said.
No. He wanted to hear what she had to say. Besides, he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to keep talking about this at all. It was easier to push it away, tuck it behind him.
Never look back.
But now he’d come here, and now, looking back didn’t feel nearly as scary as moving forward.
“Ladies first,” he insisted.
“I was going to say that we should probably get these paint cans out to the garage with the others before I accidentally trip over one and ruin your floorboards.”
“Our floorboards,” he said. “You helped polish them, after all.”
“Fine then.” She gave him a small smile. “Still, I’m beat. And believe it or not, I am a very clumsy painter.”
“You?” He couldn’t believe it. If anything, she’d been a perfectionist, making sure the shades looked right with the natural light before proceeding. Insisting on two coats when even one looked better than the yellowing white that it was covering.
“Anyway, what were you about to say?”
Oh. That. He had been about to say that it had been too long since he’d been back, that he felt bad about it and not just because he never saw Marty again. But he didn’t want to say that now. He didn’t want to live in regret and guilt as he had for so long.
What he wanted was to keep laughing. Keep smiling. Keep looking forward to tomorrow as he had been doing every day since Sarah started coming to the house.
“I was going to say that we should order a pizza. Extra cheese. We’ve earned it.”
She seemed to falter slightly as she reached for another paint can, and for a moment he wondered if he had misread things, asked for too much. After all, she was just doing her part to keep up her end of the deal. Maybe that’s all it had been.
And he had no right to feel so disappointed in that. But he did, and he wasn’t so sure how he felt about that.
“Sorry,” he blurted, shaking his head. Her day was done. She probably wanted to go home, take a hot shower. Or maybe she had a date. Most people had social lives. Calendars that were filled with places to be and people to see. He’d forgotten what that was like. Forgotten a lot of things, really. But some things he couldn’t forget. Some things, he had to hold onto.
Just not this house.
“I don’t mean you have to stay. We’re done for the day. And—”
“And pizza sounds amazing right about now.” She smiled, and a weight in his chest that he hadn’t even known had been there all this time seemed to lift. He’d gotten used to it somewhere along the way, the heaviness, the hurt, and he hadn’t even tried to make it go away because he’d just assumed that it wouldn’t.
But it could, he now realized. If he let it.
“You know, I don’t think we ate lunch,” Sarah was saying as she gathered up the rest of the paint cans.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved by her comment or tense. A part of him wanted to take back the offer, head back to the hotel, take a shower and order room service and shut out the world. It was routine. It was comforting. It felt right.
And being with Sarah…it didn’t feel wrong. And he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
He frowned at her for a minute and then, to his surprise, felt his stomach rumble. Her eyes popped and he had to laugh.“I don’t think we did.”
She shrugged. “I guess we just got caught up in the painting.”
The painting. And other things, too. It was easy to forget about the real world when he was alone in this house with Sarah. Maybe, it was too easy. Or maybe, it was just how it was supposed to be.
***
Because neither of them wanted to risk messing up their hard work on the house, they decided to take the pizza outside to the terrace, where they sat side by side on the stone wall, the pizza box between them.
It was still light outside, but not by much, and the porch lights only went so far. Sarah could imagine this space all lit up by lanterns and candles, with music playing and guests chatting, and flowers everywhere, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Now she finally saw what Hannah saw in it. It wasn’t a crumbling old house. It was a piece of history, and it was part of her history now, a chapter of her life spent here, all because of an arrangement she had made with a guy who was slowly turning into something more than just the temporary owner of the house.
“You know that I still haven’t told Hannah that she can have her wedding here,” she admitted as she picked up a floppy triangle of pizza and took a big bite. It was warm and salty and she hadn’t even realized just how much of an appetite she’d worked up until she stopped chewing.
“Still don’t trust me, eh?” His tone was light but his eyes were sheepish when he glanced her way.
She wasn’t allowed to let him off the hook that easily. Not after he’d all but thrown her out of his house. “Well, you’re starting to wear me down.”
“I’m wearing you down?” He barked out a laugh. She liked the sound of it. He didn’t laugh a lot, but come to think of it, he’d laughed more today.
So had she, if she was being honest with herself.
“You’re the one who came to my door, more than once, to talk me into letting you have that wedding here at the estate.”
“And to let me help you fix up this house,” she reminded him. She took another bite. A bit of sauce dripped onto her chin and she wiped it off with the back of her hand. Chris handed her a napkin from the pile. “Thanks,” she said. She glanced down at her shirt, making sure nothing had dripped onto it, even though it was probably hopeless anyway. She had four different shades of paint spackled on it. There was more, she was sure, in her hair. She was a mess.
And it was liberating not to care about that. Normally, sitting beside a guy as good looking at Chris, she’d be nibbling at her food, sucking in her stomach, and fretting about something witty to say. She couldn’t remember having a good belly laugh on a date. She couldn’t remember anything but the nervous flutter.
She never liked that nervous flutter. She supposed she should be happy that her Friday night was being spent here, in a paint-stained tank top and jean cut-offs, in gym shoes instead of dainty sandals that would give her blisters all the way home.
“I’m going to miss this house,” Chris suddenly said, and she glanced at him sharply, surprised by the frown that knitted his forehead. “Don’t get me wrong,” he corrected quickly. Too quickly. As if he were trying to cove
r up a slip, something he hadn’t wanted to reveal, maybe even to himself. “I’m happy to sell it. Happy to put it behind me. But…I’ll miss it.”
She nodded thoughtfully, wondering what gave him such mixed feelings about the place. Enough time had passed that she decided to feel him out.
“Well, you make a good point about selling it. After all, it is a lot of work.” She took another bite of pizza, and he shrugged, seeming like he wasn’t quite convinced. “And it’s really too big for one person, like you said.”
“It is,” he agreed. “My Uncle Marty lived here all alone and that always saddened me.” He reached for another slice, and so did she. “My own father wasn’t very hands on. It just wasn’t his way. But Marty…He’d toss the baseball around with me. Every day, unless it was raining. It’s a small thing, but it meant a lot.” He gave her a sad smile, and it sent a pang straight through her chest.
“Sometimes it’s the small gestures that matter the most.” She thought of her grandmother setting aside the pearls for her and smiled sadly into the darkness.
He nodded. “It’s easy to take people for granted, I guess. It’s easy to take time for granted. I’m more like my father than I thought I was, I think. A workaholic.”
“Is that really why you didn’t come back to the house?” she asked. She had wanted to know, earlier, when he’d first mentioned it, but then she’d started talking, interrupted him, and well…maybe it was for the best. It wasn’t her business why he hadn’t been back.
Or why he was so determined to leave again.
“I wish it was that simple of an excuse,” he said, cracking the top on a can of beer. He held it out to her, and she shrugged.
“Why not?” She wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but then, she wasn’t one to sit around in dirty clothes and inhale pizza with a cute guy either. Time for the new her.
Strangely, she was already feeling happier.
“The truth is that I was married, once, a long time ago,” he finally said.
Sarah took a long sip of her beer. It wasn’t bad, but she barely tasted it anyway. Her mind was somewhere else, her skin prickly and her senses alert. She felt odd, not sure if she should tell him that she already knew, but before she had to worry about responding, he said, “My wife passed away almost three years ago.”
She blinked, trying to digest this information and hating herself for even stirring it up. Chris kept his eyes trained on the beer can in his hand, his expression was tight, and she didn’t know what to say other than, “I’m sorry.”
It was such a lame statement, but she didn’t know how else to fill the silence. The pizza in her hand felt limp, and it felt callous to think about taking another bite now.
Chris helped himself to another slice now. He took a hearty bite, as if the admission had increased his appetite, relieved him of something that had been holding him back.
“We were married at Crestview,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Of course,” she murmured, but the whole time she couldn’t help but wonder why he would be so determined to sell it, to never return, to turn his back on it. It was all he had left. Why not hold on? “But surely those are happy memories? I’m sure there are many, if you spent your summers here.”
“There were,” he said. His gaze took on a faraway look. “But the last day my wife and I were together was here, and we…well, it was our last normal day. A couple months later…” He took a long sip of his beer. Silence filled the garden. In the distance Sarah could hear the lull of the waves. Crickets were starting to chirp.
She watched him carefully, as his eyes went up to the sky and then down again, to the pizza on his paper plate, to the drink in his hand. She wanted to reach out, take the beer away, put her hand in its place. He was telling her this for a reason, not just to make conversation or fill the evening, but because he wanted her to know. Or he wanted her to listen.
Or because maybe, just maybe, he’d been sensing something these past few days that had crept up, uninvited, unannounced. A connection.
“It’s a good reminder not to take anything for granted,” he finally said. “To live each day to the fullest.”
Sarah frowned, wondering if that was what he did. If there was more to Chris than the workaholic he painted himself to be. More than the man who had come here alone to say good-bye to this house and all its memories, happy and sad.
“I’m probably not doing that, at least not as well as I could be.” She knew what she wanted from life—a career she loved and a family of her own—but somehow she couldn’t quite find a way to make that happen.
But she was trying, she told herself, looking at Chris. Thanks to him, she was one step closer to saving her career and recommitting herself to it, too.
“Me either,” he admitted in a whisper, and they both laughed, and this time, it wasn’t to break the tension. This time it was because it felt right, natural, normal.
“So you haven’t…” She wasn’t even sure she should say it, or suggest it.
“Dated?” he finished for her. He shook his head. “No. It never felt like the right time. I have a routine now, and it works for me. My job keeps me busy.”
But it wasn’t what kept him away, she thought.
She nodded, the pizza settling to a weight in her stomach. “Well, you’re probably eager to leave then. Just two more days.”
Two more days. She didn’t want to admit to herself that it saddened her, to think of him leaving, never to return, to think of walking through the gates, knowing that her time in this house—that her time with him—would be over.
Come Monday she’d be back at Bayside Brides, in a staff meeting. Maybe Chloe would let her keep her job. Life would return to normal. But somehow it didn’t feel normal anymore. It felt, well, empty.
Chapter Twelve
The flower shop was empty when Sarah pushed through the door first thing Saturday morning—a bright, beautiful, sunny day with the promise of a breeze that, with any luck, could linger well into the afternoon. Posy wasted no time coming around the counter to greet her, her eyes wide, a smile creeping up the corners of her mouth.
“Everything is ready for you. Do you want me to help you load up your car?”
Sarah had already considered this scenario when she’d left her apartment. She’d purposefully parked in the alley behind the shop where her car wouldn’t be visible to anyone on Main Street, or Chloe, who could be passing by on her way to work. She wasn’t quite ready to tell Chloe the news about Hannah’s wedding venue. She didn’t know why, but something told her that instead of jumping right into this, like she had done so many times before, she should bide her time and take things slow. The estate sale hadn’t even started yet. The deal wasn’t completely upheld on her end. This time, she wasn’t taking any chances.
“My car is around back,” she said. She watched Posy carefully. She could tell her friend was itching to ask about Chris, why Sarah was helping him, and how she even knew him. And what could Sarah say? That she’d struck a bargain? That he was just a friend? That she sort of thought he might like her even if the facts said otherwise?
She was reading into things again, rather than accepting them for what they were. And that kind of thinking always got her into trouble. This time, it wouldn’t. Chris had opened up to her. He’d told her his story, and she’d listened. She understood why he felt the need to say good-bye to Crestview, even if she didn’t agree with it.
Even if she would miss him, more than she should.
“Perfect. We can take a look at everything and then get you on the road!” Posy seemed to stare at her, waiting for something more, but when it was clear that all Sarah was going to do today was stand with a serene smile, Posy’s shoulders slumped. “Come on back,” she said, leading Sarah behind the counter. “I have all the arrangements in my workroom.”
Sarah followed Posy into the back half of the space, where sunlight filled a huge room filled with colorful flowers, some already tucked into vases, many lying on
the large, butcher-block counter in the center of the room.
“You’re so lucky to get to work in this beautiful room everyday!” Sarah took in the walls of ribbons, the shelves of vases in different shapes and sizes, and the flowers. Oh, they were all as pretty as the ones out front on display. She’d been in here many times over the past few months especially—when Posy was too busy to drop off the arrangements they ordered for the store, Sarah was all too happy to offer to run the errand, and she occasionally picked up a little something for her grandmother too—but she’d never seen the back room.
“I’m certainly busy,” Posy replied. “But you have a pretty good setup, too. Working at Bayside Brides? Surrounded by all those gorgeous, frothy dresses? I’d have to be restrained from trying half of them on.”
“I wish.” Sarah had been tempted, quite tempted, especially by the ball gowns with the full, poufy skirts, but Chloe would never allow such a thing. Too much risk. “Besides, I get my share of wearing nice dresses, it seems. It’s wedding after wedding these days!”
“Do you have a date to Hannah’s wedding?” Posy looked at her with interest, no doubt thinking of Chris.
“Nope,” Sarah said, and for once, she was able to admit this without a heavy heart. Maybe spending time with Chris had restored her hope—even if he wasn’t the right guy for her, he was a nice guy, a handsome guy, and he seemed to like her, just as she was. Maybe someday she’d meet another guy like him. Only she wasn’t so sure that he could be so easily replaced.
“Me either.” Posy looked disappointed. Up until last year, she’d been in a relationship, and she was struggling to move on. “I wasn’t sure if you would be bringing that guy you were with yesterday. The one from the Foster estate?”
“I’m just helping him out with the estate sale,” Sarah clarified. She hadn’t even dared to let herself think of inviting Chris to the wedding. He would be long gone by then. Besides, she wouldn’t push her luck, not even as a friend. It had been difficult enough to get him to agree to hold the wedding at the house in the first place. And now, knowing his situation…well, she understood why he wasn’t thrilled by the idea.
