"What are you looking for?" she asks.
"Nothing," I say.
"Cade?" she asks.
I think I hear a faint hint of mischief in her voice when she says it, but when I look back at her, she is methodically sorting through the bowl to find grapes, popping them in her mouth when she does.
"Why would you ask that?" I ask.
"Because unless you are interested in my blanket collection, or a piece of my sizzling old lady wardrobe, I can't imagine you looking for anything else in my room. Unless you're trying to strategize a way to keep me locked up in here." She stops sorting and looks at me sharply. "You aren't trying to strategize a way to keep me locked up in here, are you?"
"No," I say. "Why would I need to do that, anyway? I thought you couldn't move around except to go to the bathroom."
"That's what the doctor said."
"So, do you know where Cade is?" I ask, trying my best to sound casual.
A smile touches her lips, then disappears.
"I don't," she says. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because I haven't seen him in a while and I am ready to lock up for the night, so if he's outside, he needs to get in."
I'm aware that it's still early in the evening, but she doesn't question it.
"It's nice to have the two of you home again," she says.
"I'm home," I say. "He's a visitor."
"Don't be that way, Fiona."
"Why did you bring us here at the same time?" I ask.
"I explained that to you."
"You know I wouldn't want to be here with him. I haven't been back to the house in years, and in less than an hour after coming home, I'm facing exactly what I didn't want to."
"I didn't think it was going to be that big of a problem. Like you said, it's been years. You two are adults now. I don't even know what happened between the two of you, but you went from inseparable to not even wanting to hear his name overnight, and it never made much sense to me. But I figured that after nearly a decade, you'd at least be able to put whatever happened behind you so the two of you could help me."
Guilt surges through me. Some people are skilled at eliciting the exact right amount of guilt from someone. Grammie is more than blessed with it.
"I'm sorry," I say. "You're right. We're both adults, and we can handle this."
"I should hope so."
Leaving the room, I head back to the kitchen to find something to make for dinner. I still don't know where Cade is, but as I start the microwave to thaw a roast I found in the freezer, scurrying out of the room on the off-chance it explodes in the decrepit appliance, I hear music coming from outside. The unrelenting rain muffles the sound, but it's enough to lure me to the living room and look out at the front porch. Cade sits there on the old glider, a glass in his hand as he looks out over the rainy front yard. His phone is on the table beside him, music spilling out of it. He brings the glass to his lips and takes a long, contented sip. Flashes of afternoons spent together on the glider race through my mind, and I find the strength to walk away from the window. I won’t allow myself to want to be out there with him. I can't pretend the years haven't passed, or that our time together is ever coming back.
Chapter Six
Cade
The bourbon I had been dreaming about since leaving my house didn’t calm me down as much as I had hoped it would. I can’t sleep. I stare at the ceiling above me, painfully aware that Fiona is just down the hallway. The image of her curvy silhouette illuminated against the shower curtain is burned into my mind, and my body aches with desire. I want to reach out and touch her. But, I know she's not happy I'm here. The expression in her eyes when she opened the door and saw me standing there on the porch was enough to tell me she still hasn’t let go of everything that happened between us in the past. She doesn't seem to care about how much she hurt me, too.
But, this isn't the same woman I last saw ten years ago. She's irresistible. Fiona is an adult now – her body curvier, her voice mature. But she's also angry. Fiona’s even sharper now than when we were kids. I wonder how much of that is because of me, and how much is a result of what she has faced during the years we’ve been apart. There was a time when I felt like I knew almost Fiona better than she knew herself. Now, she's a completely different person. I look at Fiona and barely recognize her. It wasn't until she followed me into the shower, creating two segments of the space with the curtain, that I saw some of the unpredictable, stubborn girl I fell so hard for more than ten ago.
Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath in, I focus on slowing my breathing and try my best to fall asleep. I plan on waking up early and evaluating the house to determine what exactly I’ve gotten myself into, so I need as much rest as I can get.
* * *
I'm not sure how long I actually slept, but I wake up to my first alarm – a small miracle, given how tired I am. The rain has completely stopped now, and the sun is just beneath the horizon, spreading a bit of dark purple light up the sky. It is officially morning, and that means I can justify getting out of bed and starting the day. I knock on the partially closed bathroom door and wait several seconds before cautiously sliding it open and peek inside. When I confirm it’s empty, I step inside, locking the door behind me. Once finished with my morning routine, I pull on a pair of jeans, choosing not to bother with a shirt, and head down the stairs as quietly as I can, trying my best not to disturb Grammie or Fiona. I'm halfway down the stairs when one of the loose wooden boards emits a terrifyingly loud creak, breaking through the morning silence. I hadn't noticed the sound last night, but in the predawn darkness, it sounds like an over-the-top horror movie sound effect. I pause, waiting to hear one of the women stirring, but the house falls back into silence, and I continue down the steps, making a mental note to myself to fix that step as soon as possible.
I head directly into the kitchen. The old coffeemaker sits on the counter, taunting me, as the first wisps of sunrise light spill through the curtains on the window. Right. I take out my phone and order a new machine before I forget.
"One more morning," I mutter to the coffeemaker. "One more morning and you’ll meet your replacement."
Feeling like it might have been a mistake to mock the uncooperative coffeemaker before even turning it on, I start the process of brewing a pot. My head is tucked in the bottom of the refrigerator as I try to decide if I want to go through the effort of making an omelet with the two eggs and a chunk of cheese I discovered when I hear a knocking sound behind me. I pause, wondering what could possibly have happened to the coffee maker for it to make that sound. A few seconds later, I hear it again. Straightening, I turn to look at the coffee maker and see it bubbling away peacefully, behaving properly as it slowly fills the glass carafe with fresh coffee. I hear the sound again, and the fog of sleep still clinging to me finally lifts enough to turn my attention to the back door positioned behind the kitchen counter. The pink and white gingham curtain hanging over the large window in the middle of the door is sheer enough to reveal the shadowy silhouette of a person standing on the other side. I check the time. The man I hired shouldn't be here for several more hours, and the silhouette doesn't fit the appearance of a young construction worker.
Closing the refrigerator, I walk over to the door and peer through the curtain. A woman with a smile far too cheerful for this early in the morning waves at me through the glass. I don't recognize her, but her sleek dark ringlets, fitted gray suit, and silver hoop earrings don't seem to be the outfit of choice for a pre-dawn burglary. She definitely doesn’t match the stereotypical image of a violent home invader.
Opening the door a few inches, I look out at her.
"Good morning!" she chirps.
"Good morning," I reply hesitantly. "Can I help you?"
"I'm a friend of Fiona's," she says. "I came by to see her." She notices me looking at her questioningly, and lifts up a pink cardboard box for me to see. "I brought donuts."
Biting into a chunk of fried dough filled with rasp
berry jam and covered with powdered sugar sounds much better than cooking with eggs that may or may not be edible, so I take a step back and gesture for her to come inside.
"I'm Cade," I say.
"Esme," she says, reaching forward to shake my hand. "It's nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you."
"Oh, really?"
"Yep," she says, walking toward the small table up against one of the kitchen walls so she can put down the box of donuts. "Fiona has told me all about you. Well, not all about you."
Esme seems to realize she’s babbling and shifts her focus to opening the pink box instead.
"I haven't heard anything about you," I say. "Of course, I haven't talked to Fiona in a really long time. You probably know that, though. "
She shrugs, avoiding making eye contact with me. I don't like the idea of Fiona talking about me with Esme, but at least I've crossed her mind in the decade we've been apart. The coffee maker has finally finished filling the carafe, and I open the cabinet to pull out mugs. Rinsing out the dust inside beforehand, I pour coffee into one, taking a long sip to fortify myself.
"Is there cream and sugar?" Esme asks.
"There's probably sugar somewhere in one of these cabinets or the pantry, but there's no cream. Fiona was planning on going to the grocery store today."
"That's fine," she says. "I have some."
She reaches into the large black leather bag hanging from her right shoulder and pulls out a small container of individual cream packets.
"You carry cream around in your purse?" I ask.
"You never know when you're going to need some," she replies. "Besides, I know Fiona and how she likes her coffee."
"A splash of coffee with her cream," I say with a chuckle.
I feel like I'm getting a tiny glimpse of insight into Fiona's life. She sets it on the counter and picks up another mug to fill for herself. I make my way over to the box of donuts and glance inside. Rows of various options stuff the box, and I contemplate them for a few moments before choosing the raspberry-filled of my prior fantasies.
"Where is Fiona, by the way?" Esme asks as she comes up to the table to choose her own donut.
"She hasn't come down yet," I say.
"Really?" Esme asks. "What time is it?"
I look at her strangely. Does she not own a smartphone? She managed to get ready for the day, buy donuts, and drive all the way out here without having any idea what time it is? Somehow that fits with Fiona’s best friend. I'm not sure why, but it seems appropriate.
"Early," I say. "Where did you get the donuts?"
"Donut or Not Donut."
"Ah. Yes. The only donut place in town. Well, they don't open until five, so considering the distance to the shop, and how long you've been here, assuming you got there at opening or shortly after, I would say it's still before six."
"Wow," Esme says, staring at me with slightly widened eyes.
I take a bite of my donut and a sip of my coffee, then realize she is still staring at me.
"What?" I finally ask.
"One of the few things Fiona did tell me about you, before last night, is that you get lost in your head. You overthink things."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You could have just looked at your phone to check the time." I'm not sure how to respond. Esme grabs an eclair out of the box and takes a bite. "I'm going to go find Fiona."
I want to stop her, but I don't really have any logical reason to, and I as she makes her way out of the kitchen and down the hallway, I realize I’m still shirtless.
* * *
Fiona
As I open my eyes, I can’t help but wonder if Cade is familiar with the concept of morning or not. It was still dark outside when muted footsteps on the first floor, directly beneath my bedroom, woke me from a deep sleep. As the lingering remnants of an intense dream bounced around the edges of my mind, I had to resist the urge to curl back up under my blankets and fall back asleep. I finally manage to drag myself up out of the cozy nest I created for myself and get out of bed. Just enough light filters in beneath my bedroom door and through the curtains that I don't bother turning the lamp on before getting dressed. I want to protect my eyes from the blaring brightness of the outdated incandescent bulb as long as possible. Letting the smell of fresh coffee guide me down the stairs, I’m almost awake by the time I get to the doorway of the kitchen. I stop when I see Cade with his back to me as he looks out the kitchen window. On either side of him, the sun has started its daily ascent into the sky, but that's not what I'm looking at.
Cade is shirtless. Damn, even though I hate to admit it – he looks good. I’m mesmerized when the muscles of his back flex as he lifts his mug and sips of his coffee, I feel an unexpected shiver in my belly, and chide myself for it. As if he read my mind, Cade suddenly turns and looks over his shoulder at me.
"Morning," he says. "How did you sleep?"
"Good, for the approximately seventeen minutes I was asleep."
"Somehow, I think you're exaggerating."
He turns around and leans against the counter, sipping from his mug as he looks around the kitchen. My eyes travel along his chest and down his rippling stomach. Glimpses of tattoos tease me, and some images from the dream I'd been having before the sounds of him walking around the house woke me, pop back into my mind. I drag my eyes away from him to the box of donuts on the table.
"Coffee would be great, thanks." I walk over to the box and look down into it. "How did you already get donuts? I didn't hear you leave."
"They were delivered."
Cade takes a bite of the donut in his hand, and I notice a bit of raspberry jelly cling to his lip. He licks it off, and I quickly look away.
"I didn't know anyone delivers donuts around here. Especially not out this far."
Cade shrugs, reaching for a mug.
"Cream?" he asks.
"Please," I say as I reach for one of the donuts. I'm biting into a lemon-filled Bismarck when it occurs to me. "Wait,” I say. “We don't have any cream. We established that last night."
Cade shrugs.
"That was delivered, too."
I set the donut back down into the box, letting out a sigh.
"Where is she?" I ask.
"Where's who?" Cade asks, mischief dancing in his eyes.
"Fiona?" I hear Esme calling from the recesses of the house.
I point toward the muffled sound.
"Her," I say. "The only person who travels with her own cream."
I stalk out of the kitchen and toward the sound of Esme's voice as she continues to call for me. After a few seconds, I realize her voice is moving, meaning she is traveling around through the house rather than just standing still. Finally, I find her in a back staircase, pressed against the wall.
"There you are," I say. "What are you doing?"
"I didn't think I was ever going to get out of here," she says. "What is with this house?"
"It's an old house," I say. "There are all sorts of rooms and hallways and nooks and crannies."
She looks at me with an expression that is somewhere between flustered and indignant.
"English muffins are supposed to have nooks and crannies, Fiona, not houses. I didn't think I was ever going to be able to find you."
"All you needed to do was go up the front stairs to the bedrooms," I say. "How did you end up all the way back here?"
"I thought the front stairs seemed too obvious," she replies, shrugging in defeat.
"That's because they are obvious. That's the point. But that doesn't matter," I say. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought donuts."
"I noticed." I take her by the arm and guide her back through the house and out the front door onto the porch. "Why did you bring donuts?"
"You told me it was my responsibility," she says.
"I told you it was your responsibility to bring donuts to the office," I say with emphasis. "Why are you here with donuts? And how did you even know where to find m
e?"
"I work in the HR department," she says. "I know everything. Well, at least I know everything in everybody's personal files."
"That's disturbing, Esme. And unethical on several levels."
"It's unethical to find out where your best friend is so you can bring her a box of sustenance to fortify her for the hard caregiving tasks ahead?" she asks dubiously.
"You didn't bring sustenance. You brought donuts. And nobody drives two hours to bring somebody a box of donuts just to reward them for taking care of their grandmother. Besides, I saw the box. I know you got those in town. You came to see Cade, didn't you?"
Esme tries to look innocent and unassuming, failing miserably.
"Fiona!" she gasps. "How could you think that of me?"
"Because it's true," I tease.
She stares at me for another second before her expression drops, and she finally relents, nodding in agreement.
"It's true," she says. "But, you really didn't give me any choice. You've always been so secretive about this man, and I became so curious I had to see for myself."
"You just had to?" I ask.
"Yes," she says.
I nod, linking my arm through hers to start guiding her toward the steps leading off the porch.
"Alright. Well, now that you've seen him, you can go back to the office and prevent both of us from getting fired."
Esme flinches. "Why would we get fired?"
"Because if Mr. Hansen shows up to the office and there aren’t any donuts, he's going to get fussy. Then he's going to come looking for me, inevitably having forgotten I'm on vacation, and fire me for not being at work. Well, actually, Tina is the one who would probably get fired."
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