With a reverence that caused the tip of her nose to tingle from oncoming tears, Griff lowered himself into her father’s chair and rubbed his hands along the worn cracks running the length of both arms—those threadbare places her father used to rest his elbows after a long day of working the land. She could still see him there, balancing a book on his lap with his head resting on his open palm. And then, without fail, his breathing would deepen and his heavy eyelids would surrender to sleep. His elbow would dig into the leather, slipping inch by inch until he woke to re-situate himself every few minutes, refusing Abby’s suggestions to go take a nap on his bed.
Griffin remained quiet, pensive, and she wished she could tap into his mind and peek inside his memories. What she wouldn’t give to capture a piece of her father through someone else’s lens. “I think about him often,” he said.
She sank into the sofa cushion, the bones in her legs suddenly more liquid than solid mass. Discussing her father with Griffin danced dangerously close to the topic of their last conversation, one she hoped not to revisit any time soon.
Their gazes collided. “I think about you, too, Bee. All the time.”
And there it was. He’d been inside her home for less than five minutes, and this was where they were again. Right back to where they’d started—trapped inside a revolving door without an exit strategy.
“Griff.” She shook her head as a familiar sadness crept up her throat. “Please.” But there was no request that followed her plea. Her excuses for shutting him out had dried up long ago, as had her anger toward him. And perhaps the emptiness she was left with now was worse than either.
He pushed to the edge of the chair, his focus honed on her face. “Do you have any idea how many times I talked myself out of showing up here after I left? I guarantee it was a lot more than the forty-eight unanswered texts I sent you. Or the thirty-two times you sent me to voicemail.” He exhaled and raked a hand down his face, no doubt replaying the awful things she’d said to him the last time they’d spoken. She replayed them, too, often. And yet, nothing about their situation had changed. Not really. Griffin had coped with his grief by living out his dreams far away from Oak Springs, while she’d chosen to stay in the only place that would ever feel like home.
He continued. “Losing Arnie and then losing you only a few months later was . . .” He shook his head and let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m fairly certain my tree work was the only thing that kept me sane.”
The admittance was as shockingly raw as it was exposing. Their breakup had been complicated, a tangled mess surrounding the most devastating loss of her life. Yet she’d loved this man once—more than she could ever imagine loving someone else in the same way.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
The phrase repeated over and over in her mind as Griffin continued speaking as if her living room was a confessional, as if he needed to say the words more than he needed her to hear them. “Despite everything that’s happened between the two of us, when Bradley called and asked me to assess the oak . . . I couldn’t say no.” He paused, then released a breath. “And I want to believe I made the right decision.”
Bantering with Griffin was much easier than where this conversation was headed—far more detached from all the tender places he was pressing on now. But this was the role he’d always played in their relationship, the strange sort of magic he possessed. No matter how hard she fought to hide behind locked doors, he never failed to break through the deadbolts of her heart in record time.
She didn’t know how to answer him, or if there even was a question to be answered in what he’d just revealed. But as soon as she felt brave enough to open her mouth and utter a response, Freddie the pizza man was at her door.
“Abby? You in there? Pizza’s here,” Freddie hollered from her front porch in his usual unfriendly tone.
On legs that didn’t feel quite walk-ready, she stood and started for the door, but Griff beat her to it. “I’ve got it.”
Looking as bored as ever, the late-twenties college dropout wore his usual hunter-orange ball cap and a faded black T-shirt with a giant pepperoni pizza smack-dab in the center of the Milky Way. He presented the box to Griffin without hesitation, as if Griffin opening her front door was as routine as her Saturday-night order. “That will be eighteen eighty-two.”
“I have cash ready right here,” Abby said, swiping the money she’d left on her counter for just such a delivery. But once again, Griffin had already reached into his wallet, pulling out several crisp bills and handing them to Freddie.
“Uh . . . thanks,” the chronically bed-headed employee uttered, glancing at the cash in his hands.
“You’re welcome. Have a good night, Freddie,” Griffin said as he shut the front door, armed with the pizza and cheesy bread.
“You really didn’t need to do that,” Abby said, trying to soften the edge in her tone. She might not have much to show for these last two years, but she could certainly afford to pay for their pizza. Truth be told, her savings account told her she could afford a lot more than that, but like usual, her inheritance was as untouched as her most secret of dreams. “I’d planned on paying.”
“That makes two of us, then.” He readjusted the boxes in his arms and winked. “Now, where we headed with these? You still use your balcony like a viewing platform?” The twinkle in his eye deflated the tension building in her chest.
“Who needs reality TV when you can watch it live from your own backyard every weekend?” She’d witnessed many a town drama from her cottage balcony—groomsmen fights, secret rendezvous, and a few shady business deals.
“Lead the way.”
She gathered the plates and utensils and napkins, as well as some soft drinks, and together they climbed the steps to the loft. Griffin ducked under the A-frame roofline the way he’d done since they were teens, and Abby pushed open the Dutch door to the balcony with a perfect view of the inn’s reception area.
Abby set the plates and other items on the small oval patio table and made room for Griffin to add the steaming boxes. She opened the top lid, comforted by the sight of a pizza she’d been ordering for more years than she could recall. In her mind, there was no better combination—plenty of the veggies she loved with her favorite choice of meat topping, and the pineapple added the perfect balance of sweet to the mix of savory.
Griffin trailed to the edge of the landing and craned his neck to the left to glimpse the ceremony site. “Looks like they just finished taking communion. The party should be kicking off soon.” He moseyed back to the table and pulled out a chair for her.
“Thank you,” she said, handing him a soft drink before they sat down across from each other.
“So, what’s the inside scoop on tonight’s bride and groom?”
“Um, well, they’re a couple from Georgia. They booked over a year ago through the website after they fell in love with the setting.”
“Kudos to you,” Griffin said with a smile.
“Hardly. I just maintain what’s here.” What her father had dreamed and created at the inn decades ago. “Go ahead, you’re probably starving.” She gestured to the pizza box, but Griffin shook his head.
“Ladies first, always.”
She lifted out a slice, focusing intently on the stringy mozzarella instead of the rush of heat to her cheeks at his chivalry. As Griffin helped himself to pizza, she continued on. “That’s been happening more and more actually—the inn bringing in out-of-staters. Bradley’s thrilled of course, says his new marketing manager in Dallas is a genius.” She picked at an olive, her stomach souring at the thought of all the changes Bradley had made since her father’s passing.
“Sounds like the inn could use all the business it can get.” He took a greedy bite of his pizza and groaned approvingly. “Mmm. Just like I remembered it.”
Her polite smile fell flat. “I’m not so sure about that. The way Bradley talks about expansion plans for the
future, I think the inn’s doing better than he’s letting on.” She wiped her fingers on her napkin, her mind immediately circling back to the tree. “What do you really think about it, Griff? The live oak.”
He took another bite, likely a strategic delay to give him a few extra seconds. But he always told it to her straight—sometimes too straight. “I’ll need to climb it myself to get a better read on what’s going on up at the crown.” He paused. “But I do have some concerns. Not only about a possible blight . . . but about the irrigation system, too.” Though Griffin’s words were said softly enough, the impact of them was anything but.
She leaned back in her chair, wracking her brain for how she could have missed that—had the tree’s irrigation been in distress for long? She walked by that tree at least four times a day. How could she possibly have—
“Stop,” he said. “None of this is your fault.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his. “But I should have seen if there were changes to—”
He shook his head. “You aren’t responsible to see every little thing that happens on these twenty-six acres.”
“But anything you find is a point for Bradley to plead his case to the council.”
Ever the diplomat, Griffin’s face held steady. “I won’t smudge the truth to make it sound better than it is, Bee. Nor will I smudge it to make it sound worse.”
A fact she knew better than most. She locked her jaw in place, refusing to be the first one to break eye contact.
A loud cheer cut through their stare-down, followed by the accompaniment of a live band and a pronouncement that Mr. and Mrs. Collins had now joined the club of Happily Ever After. Over a crackling speaker, the guests were invited to celebrate at the reception site while the bridal party continued their wedding pictures. Several people made their way to the dance floor set up just a few hundred feet away. Among them, Griffin’s protégé.
“Wait, isn’t that . . .” Abby started, squinting to focus her eyes on a man who had just dropped into a full breakdance routine.
“Yep. That would be Jason. He dances more than any human has a right to.” The humor in Griffin’s voice warmed the chill between them. Obviously, his care for the kid stretched beyond the standard employee-employer relationship.
The DJ mixed a pop song with an aggressive beat that had guests gathering around the floor, clapping and cheering for the wedding crasher spinning against gravity on the toe of his dress shoe. Jason had the build of Toby Maguire and the confidence of a shirtless Matthew McConaughey. Abby couldn’t help but giggle at his comedic antics and the way he involved the onlookers. Several guests joined in on the fun, and Abby felt her own face break into a smile when she noticed the groom laughing as he snuck glances at the party going on across the way.
Soon enough, the crowd broke and the music changed once again to something swoony and sweet as the DJ announced the grand entrance of the bride and groom. It only took three-point-five seconds for everyone to scurry toward the buffet lines, including Breakdance Jason.
With a fresh quip about wedding buffet manners on her tongue, Abby refocused her attention on Griffin, only his gaze was already resting on her face. “It’s good to see you smile again.”
And just like that, she didn’t feel like smiling anymore. She felt like crying—all those tears she’d refused to shed since the night she’d told Griffin to take his offer and his plans and leave without her.
four
Much the way Griffin knew Abby could identify the exact location of the hibiscus he’d picked from the front shrub, Griffin could identify the meaning behind every one of her smiles. Not so long ago, he’d been the leading consumer of them. But the sweet, spontaneous smile that had graced her mouth a mere moment ago as she’d swayed to the DJ’s beat had since returned to the sorrowful curve he could trace in his sleep.
“How’ve you been, Bee?”
Those big brown eyes darted back to his, and once more, he fought the urge to touch her. To draw her close. To erase the last two years of rejection and regret and work to embrace the reality they’d been left with: a life without Arnie Brookshire, the only man he’d ever considered a true father.
He clamped his hands together under the table and waited for her to answer.
“I’ve been . . . okay.” She pursed her lips together, as if that was the only adjective she could drum up. “But I know what you must be thinking.” Doubtful, considering she was often oblivious to what he thought about her. Or how much.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg over his knee. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
“That everything here is just the same as when you left—but it’s not.”
He could sense a list coming his way. Abby was an excellent list maker.
“Once the wedding party leaves tomorrow, you should take a walk around the place. We reworked the landscaping near the walking bridge at the creek, and last fall we expanded the pond to almost double its size. Oh, and did you see the new perennial garden I planted near the west lawn?”
“I haven’t, but I’ll be sure to take a tour.”
She nodded once and then absently pressed her fingertips to the glass tabletop in a way that would have made every church organist in Oak Springs proud. “How about you? Has the storm chasing been everything you hoped it would be?”
How could he possibly answer that? Nothing was as he hoped it would be without Abby by his side. But he knew not to say that out loud. Pushing her too hard, too fast was a lesson he’d learned the hard way. “All things considered, the storm business has gone better than expected. Arnie’s generosity played a big part in that.”
She glanced up at him. “He’d be proud of you.”
A sentiment that meant more to him than he could ever express. “I sure hope so.”
Abby pulled her knees up on the chair and wrapped her arms around them as if to warm herself, though it had to be at least seventy-five out. She was a Texan through and through. “What’s next for you, then? More employees and expansions to new cities?”
“I’m not sure, actually.” Only, yesterday, he’d been quite sure. The adventure of chasing storms had always thrilled him. New places, new people, new challenges of how to fix the damage done by raging rain and wind. Yet somehow, sitting here, with a woman who felt as familiar to him as the trees he’d been groomed to climb since boyhood, brought more into question than he was prepared to ask himself.
A glint of silver caught his eye at the corner of the balcony, and without hesitation, he pushed out his chair and moved toward it to get a better view.
Abby was up on her feet in an instant. “Oh, that’s not . . . it’s nothing. Just something I play around with from time to time.”
He cocked his head to the left and then to the right as his fingers grazed the beautifully sculpted miniature garden scene before him, complete with succulents, moss, river rock, and reflective glass in the shape of a tiny pond. Several figurines in fairy form gazed into the still water. “You made this?”
“It’s not finished yet.”
He smiled at her evasion. “That’s not what I asked.”
He could almost feel the heat spreading down the thin column of her neck. “It’s a hobby more than anything.”
Which meant this wasn’t her first creation. Not by a long shot. He studied the intricate details of the miniature garden and then remembered something Annette had said earlier that afternoon. “Is this what Annette meant about you creating something for the bride’s mother? Some kind of keepsake?”
Again, Abby squirmed under his gaze. “It wasn’t exactly like this one, but a similar idea, yes. Minus the fairies.” She took a second before continuing on. “A few weeks ago I heard that today’s bride had recently lost her mom to cancer, and I wanted to create something special for her—a memory garden that would resemble the inn’s venue on her wedding day. I added a rock with her mother’s name and dates, along with a little note that she was here in spirit even though she couldn�
��t be here in body.”
Griffin’s chest tugged at her words. “You make . . .” He searched his mind for a description. “Memorial gardens?”
She nodded. “I guess you could call them that, only not everyone I give them to has recently lost a loved one. Sometimes I just make them to brighten someone’s day. This one is for a teen girl who broke her leg during her first soccer game of the season.” She paused and picked up one of the fairies to reposition it closer to the miniature pond. “It’s become a therapy of sorts for me—when my work is finished on the grounds and my hands are still in need of something to do, I make these.”
Just one of the many differences between them. Griffin spent his time tearing out the old, dying, and dead, while Abby spent her time planting seeds with the hope of sprouting new life. “So, you just . . . give them away after you make them?”
“People have offered me money for them, but I don’t feel right about taking it. I don’t look at these like a business for me or anything.”
“Yet it could easily be one if you wanted it to be.” This wasn’t some kid’s arts and crafts project. This was original art. And it was as fascinatingly unique as Abby herself.
“Nature has always provided me a peaceful escape on my hardest days, and I wanted to give that gift to others, even those who’ve never handled potting soil a day in their lives. These gardens are easy to care for and tend to, and they can be kept indoors.” She shrugged and began to shake her head in that stop-making-such-a-fuss way of hers. “Again, this isn’t a big deal, they’re just—”
“Beautiful,” he finished. “I want to see more.” He glanced around the balcony, searching behind the stack of chairs in the corner. “Where are you hiding them?”
She laughed, and the sound was sweeter to his ears than the acoustic medley coming from the reception tent below them. “I don’t have any more. Not here, at least.”
The Kissing Tree Page 27
