by Nicole Deese
It took all of one minute to convince Marie O’Hare—Davis’s front desk manager—to show me back to the break room where I could wait for an impromptu consultation. I assured her with a wink that the matter we needed to discuss was strictly professional. She assured me, in equally hushed tones, that her boss had been heard whistling between appointments over the last two weeks.
“Who knew a stray dog could lead to romance?” Marie’s glee-filled voice was as spritely as her three-part cat earrings. She must have had quite the collection of animal jewelry at home. “We’ve all been hoping he’d meet someone soon.”
She smiled at me once more before closing me in the room with a small kitchenette, dining table, and two fully stocked vending machines. I wasted no time in making myself at home. After purchasing a bag of M&M’s, I meandered through the kitchen to the large corner windows overlooking Lenox. Through squinty eyes, I could just make out the edge of For Goodness Cakes and Shep’s Place across the street. I trailed my gaze down the block to the antique shop where I’d bought that clunky old potter’s wheel, and then to the library where Penny was likely staying late to finish her most recent romance novel. It was mind-boggling to think of all that had happened over the last month—all the people I’d befriended, all the places in this town that had become as familiar to me as my sister’s backyard.
I wondered how many times Davis had stood in this very spot watching the seasons change. Was this small-town life the future he’d wanted for Brandon after Stephanie died? Had he always envisioned pouring his heart and soul into his community this way?
Did he ever dream of someone he could share it with?
The last question came unbidden, a whisper that brought with it an equal mix of hope and fear. I rubbed my lips together before tearing the corner off my candy package and popping a single chocolaty morsel into my mouth. As the hard coating dissolved on my tongue, I contemplated the dreams in my heart. The ones that begged to be unlocked every time I was with Davis.
I watched as a stout mailman bustled down the sidewalk to make his daily deliveries. My stomach fluttered at the thought of the special order I’d placed for Davis a few days back. I could hardly wait to see his face when he opened my surprise package. Ironically, though, it had been Davis’s surprise delivery for me that had me waiting for him now.
I whirled at the sound of the opening door. My breath caught at the sight of the sexy doctor in a lab coat striding toward me.
“You’re the best visitor I’ve had all month,” he said, his smile so disarming that my muscles went slack the instant he hooked his arms around my waist and drew me against him. The late-day stubble along his jaw scraped gently across my cheek. He nuzzled his face into my hair and pressed his lips to my ear. “How do you manage to look even more beautiful after a full day of painting in the sun?”
Never in a million lifetimes would I have thought the same man I’d once labeled Mr. Storm Cloud would be capable of melting every cell in my body with just the sound of his voice.
“I . . .” I tried to speak, to wrap my mind around why I’d come to the clinic, but the heady scent of Davis’s woodsy aftershave was making that mental shift nearly impossible. I placed my palms on his chest and gave a gentle push so I could look at his face—into the flint-colored eyes that had failed to guard one of the kindest, most thoughtful hearts I’d ever known.
“I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” Emotion pushed at my throat as the memory of the scaffolding delivery this morning unfolded before me anew. An “anonymous resident” had rented it for my use all summer, and there was only one person I knew who would think to do such a thing for me. “I have half a mind to be furious with you for spending so much money on something so unnecessary.”
His gaze mirrored the challenge he heard in my voice. “Your ladder is rusted.”
“My ladder still works fine.” I cringed at my next thought. “I don’t even want to ask how much that rental cost you.”
“That’s good, because I wasn’t planning on telling you. Ever.” He kissed my eyebrow. “You’re welcome, Callie.” His words rumbled against my skin, sending a spasm of want through my abdomen. “And believe me when I say renting you that scaffolding was the least unnecessary thing I’ve done in a long time.”
I closed my eyes and released a breath I hoped would carry me back down to earth. “Thank you, Davis. Really. That means . . . a lot.”
He smiled and pressed his lips to my jawbone. “I hope it means you’re still free to come over tonight? We can order in or go out—whatever you want.”
Whatever you want. I stared at him blankly, his question giving way to another. What did I want? And more importantly, would I ever be brave enough to give him an honest answer?
He brushed a teasing kiss over my mouth. “Don’t fret. You don’t have to decide right now.”
No, not right now. But soon enough.
As if holding my hand was the most natural gesture in the world, Davis set the pace of our casual stroll down his residential street. The late-afternoon sun warmed our backs as wispy clouds shadowed our steps.
“Can I ask you something? About Stephanie?”
He brushed his thumb back and forth over my wrist bone. “You know you can.”
Between the two of us, I would never have expected Davis to be the more transparent one, but no matter how tender the subject matter, he always gave me an answer. “How did you—I mean, since Brandon was so young when she passed, I’m just wondering what he remembers of his mom?”
He considered this for a moment. “I think he has some memories of her, yes, but I also think the pictures we have help him re-create new images of her where others have faded.”
“So you two still talk about her?”
“To be honest? Not as much as we should have in the last year or so, but before that, yeah, we talked quite a lot about her. He has an album in his room that his grandparents made for him when we moved to Oregon. He still keeps that on his nightstand. And while he doesn’t ask as many questions now as he did when he was younger, I’ve worked hard not to bury her memory.”
His last statement conjured up an image of my green tote, the one filled to capacity with a past I’d wanted nothing more than to bury in a deep grave somewhere. “Wow. You just seem so . . . I don’t know, at peace with it all.”
Davis hiked his satchel higher on his shoulder and glanced at me. “My pastor told me something in that first year that I’ll never forget. He said, ‘Grief is carried on a moving current. Sometimes it’s swift and sometimes slow, but it’s never stagnant.’ Because stagnant water doesn’t process. It festers.”
I turned his pastor’s words over and over in my mind. “I’ve never thought of grief that way. But you think that’s true? That grief is always changing?”
“Yeah, I do. Some stages were longer to deal with than others, but every stage has been important.” He paused. “I remember this one night, just a few weeks after Stephanie died, when I was so angry at God that it felt as if my muscles were fighting me from the inside out.” He chuckled lightly and shook his head. “I’m sure I looked like a madman, running in the dark for nearly ten miles while I hurled every angry word I could think of at God. But I knew I had to get the anger out—run it out—before I could ever accept what had happened.”
My chest thumped hard at the rawness of his confession. I’d never heard anyone admit something like that—much less someone as levelheaded and concrete in his faith. He’d really lashed out at God? Blamed Him for Stephanie’s death? And yet . . . he still believed, still spoke about God as if He were more than just a far-off deity in the sky.
I struggled to keep my attention on Davis’s house five doors down. My thoughts were piling up quicker than I could process them. He tugged me to a stop, his eyes sobering as he searched my face. “What’s going on in your head right now?”
And right then, for the first time in my life, I wanted to tell him—I wanted to trust him with the hurt, with the fear
, with everything—but when I opened my mouth to speak, a familiar bellow rang throughout the neighborhood.
“No, Kosher, no!”
Brandon’s cry was both panicked and authoritative. From our vantage point, we saw the floppy dog darting back and forth across the lush lawn, water squirting in all directions. We jogged toward them, and it wasn’t until we got to the curb that I understood the reason for the localized rain shower.
Kosher had the hose—complete with an attached sprinkler head—in his mouth.
Brandon’s efforts to wrangle him were clearly not working. Kosher’s tail wagged in happy anticipation of his master’s next move. A game. Davis joined the battle, hunching low and pointing to the ground while telling Kosher to “drop it,” which only fed into Kosher’s love of play even more. The dog rushed ahead at full speed. Davis tossed his satchel to the ground and made a dash for the water spigot, but not before Kosher whipped his head around and soaked us all.
“Grab him, Brandon! Grab him!” Davis called out.
“I’m trying!” The smile he wore now was wider than I’d seen it in weeks.
When Kosher’s slick body slipped through Brandon’s hands, he bounded for me.
“I’ve got him!” I called, locking my arms around his middle as the hose in his mouth finally went limp and the spray lessened to a pathetic drizzle. Momentarily stunned by the lack of chaotic shouting, we all shared one of those did-that-really-just-happen expressions. And then slowly, the giggles and guffaws began.
Davis offered me his slick hand and pulled me up. He smoothed my half-damp frizzy mane away from my face.
“That was hilarious,” Brandon laughed. “He thought you wanted to play tug-of-war with the hose, Dad.”
Davis swiped at his drenched face. “Might need to get that dog’s hearing checked.”
I smiled down at Kosher and then looked between the two Carter men, knowing without a doubt they were both going to be just fine. I’d been noticing it more and more—Brandon’s direct engagement and Davis’s softening exterior—the beginnings of a deeper connection. I’d seen the same thing happening between Clem and Chris, too. Baby steps forward. A casual kiss. A touch on the back. An offer to help with dishes or dinner or bedtime routines. Change could be beautiful.
An unusual melody played on the breeze, and I turned toward the street. “Do you hear that?”
Davis’s tender expression stiffened.
“It sounds like a classical ice-cream truck or something,” I mused as a droplet of water trailed from my temple to my chin.
The swelling notes of Beethoven trilled louder.
“That’s not an ice-cream truck,” Davis said just as the largest motor home I’d ever seen turned onto Davis’s street. “That’s my in-laws.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
DAVIS
As a custom musical horn announced their arrival, the Lockwoods’ million-dollar motor home backed down my driveway. I knew it well, as I’d been there the day the giant home on wheels had pulled onto their newly poured RV pad—a thirty-year anniversary present to themselves. Charles had spared no expense, upgrading the flooring, the counters, and the grade of leather on their captain chairs. He’d even added a horn that played Vivian’s favorite classical melody, Beethoven’s “Für Elise.” I’d recognize that song anywhere.
Brandon shot me an anxious glance before he sprang into action, darting across the yard to wait for the passenger-side door to swing open.
“Did you know they were coming?” Callie asked discreetly, her expression as shell-shocked as I felt.
“No.” A simple reply for so many not-so-simple emotions. What on earth are they doing here?
In a flurry of satiny scarves and oversized sunglasses, Vivian stepped out. Stephanie used to joke that her mother was Audrey Hepburn reincarnated. I never once disputed her claim. The resemblance was uncanny.
“There’s my boy!” Viv pushed her glasses into her not-a-hair-out-of-place Hollywood-style cut. “It’s so good to see you!”
She squeezed him to herself, rocking him back and forth in the way she’d done since he was an infant, and planted a hard kiss on the top of his soggy head. “You’ve grown so much!” She scrunched up her face and pulled back, scanning him thoroughly. “And you’re all wet.” Her gaze traveled beyond him. To us. Me. Callie. Kosher. “Looks like all of you are wet.”
My spiraling thoughts grasped for a tether, something grounded in reality—the one where Charles and Vivian Lockwood lived five hundred miles south of here.
Charles rounded the front of the RV, wearing his usual slick, wrinkle-free golf polo, a fashion he’d donned for over a decade. He tipped his balding head in greeting. “Davis.”
On instinct alone, I shook his outstretched hand, painfully aware of the woman standing at my side. Callie’s fingers remained locked in a frozen grip around Kosher’s collar.
“This isn’t how I hoped our summer with Brandon would go, but it seemed a spontaneous visit was the only form of communication we could guarantee these days.”
I disregarded Charles’s dig—for now—and used my professional tone, the one I saved for the most difficult of pet owners. “You definitely succeeded in surprising us.”
Vivian’s gaze remained trained on Callie, though her contemplative expression didn’t budge a centimeter. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Davis?”
I placed a protective hand on Callie’s lower back, the gesture not lost on either spectator. “Vivian and Charles, this is—”
Callie pushed forward, cutting me off as she removed her hold on Kosher to shake Vivian’s hand. “I’m Callie Quinn. It’s so nice to meet—”
“No, Kosher!” But there was no time to grab his collar. Wet, muddy paw prints now stamped Vivian’s light-colored dress slacks.
Charles braced a hand on his wife’s arm and pushed our excited dog off with the other. In all the weeks we’d had Kosher in our home, I’d never once witnessed him jumping up on anyone. His timing was as bewildering as the Lockwoods’.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Here.” Before I could pull her back, Callie swiped at the dirt clods streaking Vivian’s pants. “This is such pretty fabric. I’m sure if we soaked them overnight, this stain would lift right out.”
Vivian seemed as taken aback by Callie’s eagerness to help as I was. “That’s quite all right, dear. They’re dry-clean only.” Viv flicked her gaze back to me. “Brandon mentioned you’d taken in a rescue dog recently. Seems your life is just full of surprises.”
I gripped Kosher’s collar and quickly handed him off to my son. “Take him inside, clean his paws, and put him in the crate.”
“But, Dad, he hasn’t been in that crate for weeks. He hates it in there.”
“Now, Brandon.”
Leaving no room to be questioned, Davis watched as Brandon dragged Kosher back inside, leaving the four of us adults standing showdown-style in my driveway. A collision of two worlds, past and present.
As the front door closed, a thousand unasked questions yawned open. We all knew this five-hundred-mile trip wasn’t without a purpose. Nothing the Lockwoods did was without a purpose.
“It looks like you’ve managed to maintain the bleeding hearts we’ve sent you.” Viv scanned the front walkway. “Proof you haven’t completely forgotten us.”
I refused to comment, wondering when she’d finally drop this guise and discuss the real reason they’d shown up here.
“Do you have RV hookups, Davis?” Charles strode to the curb in search of them.
How long exactly did they plan to stay? “Before you do that, I think we need to have a—”
“I think they’re on the other side of the garage,” Callie offered, moving to escort him. “It’s weird the things you notice when you own a home on wheels.”
Charles swiveled his neck in her direction, eyebrow hiked. “You’re a fellow RV owner?”
“A Tiny House owner, actually. It can use the same electrical and water hookups as an RV though.
I live on my sister’s property during the summer months. I’m no expert, but I’d be happy to help if I can.”
“Isn’t there some television show about those? People who live off the land and all that?” he asked her.
“That’s Homesteaders, Charles,” Viv bit out.
“No, no. I’m pretty sure I remember seeing some commercial about people who live tiny lives in tiny houses.”
Callie swung her gaze left to right. “I’m honestly not sure what it’s called. I don’t watch much television.”
“Neither do the homesteaders,” Viv mused amiably.
“Oh, well, I do love nature, but I’m too much a fan of modern conveniences to live solely off the land.”
“I see. Well, there’ll be plenty of time for all that RV stuff later, Charles.” Viv’s flippant reply was paired with a look that could have thawed an Alaskan glacier. “First, I’d like to spend some time with my grandson and find out what all we’ve been missing.”
“Vivian,” I lowered my voice to a respectful but insistent pitch. “We need to talk about this. You can’t just show up here without any—”
Hurt flashed in her eyes and her posture stiffened. “I believe I’ve tried the more conventional approaches at least a dozen times. Without success. I hope you’ll be able to make time for us now, though, since we’ve dropped our lives to be here.”
“You didn’t need to drop anything. You saw him less than four months ago and will again during Thanksgiving’s break—just like I told you during our last phone call. My son and I have been doing exactly what I said we’d be doing this summer—spending time together.”
“That’s not all it appears you’ve been doing.” A single bend of her neck redirected her focus to Callie, who’d just retrieved my satchel from the soggy grass.
“Maybe I should add another guest to our dinner reservations tonight? The Italian Rose has us down for six thirty. I checked their reviews, and they seem suitable enough.”
