“I was going to ask Jasper and Cade to come help with all this, but you’ve already finished it.” He gave her lopsided grin. “I’m going to owe you big time.”
“Yes, you are, but no doubt some roof or plumbing crisis is looming in my life and you can help with that.”
“I will be there.” He made an X over his heart. “Until then, what can I do? Want me to measure? Cut? Place? Sweep?”
She laughed. “No sweeping until we’re done. Why don’t you—”
She paused when she heard the sound of a big truck pulling up in front of the house.
“Why don’t you go deal with the delivery and I’ll keep doing this?” she said.
“Consider it done.”
He walked toward the front door. Wynn watched him go, thinking the more she got to know her neighbor, the more she liked him. Which was both happy news and just a little terrifying.
* * *
GARRICK STOOD IN the center of his kitchen and took in the changes. A table and chairs stood in front of the big windows facing the front of the house. Some tall plant-tree thing was in the corner, the red and black of the decorative pot picking up the colors of the chair cushions. There were place mats on the table, along with an odd little gnome saltshaker. Sadly there had been an unfortunate unpacking accident with the pepper gnome, but Wynn had said he could buy a small pepper grinder to replace it.
Behind him, the cupboards were full of dishes and pots and pans, while the drawers held flatware, spatulas, knives and other things he couldn’t identify. The Betty Boop canister set sat on the counter.
Small changes that made all the difference, he thought. It was the old cliché about a woman’s touch—especially a woman with style. The right woman. He’d noticed the same thing after Jasper and Renee had gotten together. Subtle additions to Jasper’s house had transformed it into a home. The same with Cade and Bethany. The old ranch house was more welcoming now.
He wasn’t sure how women made that happen. He supposed it was an attention to detail that came with an ability to nurture. He’d been a good dad to Joylyn, but he’d been focused on her, not the surroundings.
He moved to the living room where two big abstract prints dominated the wall behind the sofa. There were more plants and a couple of vase things. Down the hall, Joylyn’s bathroom was fully stocked with towels and shower stuff and soap. A new heating pad sat on the counter.
He walked to the bedroom. The sense of empty furniture with no purpose had been replaced by something more warm. And cozy, he thought with a smile. Fluffy pillows covered nearly half the bed. Fairy prints decorated the wall. The drawers were lined, the closet filled with hangers. The last touch, a rotary dial phone he’d found a couple of years back and had bought for his daughter, was on the desk.
He stared at the plain black phone and wondered if she would remember how much she’d loved rotary dial phones when she’d been a kid. Whenever they’d taken their road trips, she’d always run into the coffee shops they’d stopped in and checked out the public phone, hoping to find a rotary dial one.
Things had been much simpler then, he thought to himself. His relationship with Joylyn had been easy—filled with love and laughter. Now they rarely spoke and she almost never answered his texts.
Hopefully that was going to change, he told himself. Once she got here, they would have a chance to talk. She would understand that he loved her and wanted her to be happy. If he could get through to her, then maybe their relationship could be restored.
He glanced at his watch, then returned to the kitchen where he picked up a bottle of wine before heading next door. On her way out of his place earlier that afternoon, Wynn had invited him over to dinner. At this rate he was going to owe her forever.
As he crossed the driveway and lawn between their houses, he smiled. Maybe she would let him pay her back with some kind of service. Very inappropriate thoughts filled his mind, most of them having to do with Wynn naked and on her back, while he had the delightful task of evening up the score.
He quickly pushed those images away and rang the bell. Seconds later Wynn let him in.
“Hi,” he said, holding out the wine. “I hope you like red.”
“I’m actually not picky when it comes to wine.”
She stepped back to let him in.
He’d been in her house before, when he’d come over to ask for help. Back then he’d been focused on needing to get things right for Joylyn, and he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings. Now he had a moment to take in the differences between their two places.
Her living room was about the same size as his, but there was no massive TV or leather sofa. Her furniture was all fabric covered, done in earth tones of brown, teal and blue. There were rugs on the floor, and a fireplace. Books were stacked on shelves and pictures lined the mantel.
Plants with long vines and dangling leaves nestled with the books, and there were little knickknack thingies all around. A pair of Hunter’s shoes were by the door, along with a basket containing reusable grocery bags.
Not his style, he thought, assuming he had a style, but still nice. Everything felt right and comfortable. The space suited her and he liked being in it.
“Where’s the TV?” he asked.
She laughed. “You are such a guy.”
“You have to watch sports.”
“Technically, I don’t, but when I want to watch something, it’s in there.”
She pointed to a cabinet in the corner. The doors were closed, hiding the TV from view.
“But it’s so small. Poor Hunter.”
“Yet he continues to thrive.”
“Children are so resilient.”
She smiled. “If it makes you feel better, we have a family room at the back of the house and there’s a much larger TV in there.”
“I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that.”
They passed a large dining room with a big wood table, then went into the kitchen. Here the layout was similar to his. Like the living room, this space had plenty of personal items everywhere, including a Star Wars canister set. There was a round wood table with four chairs by the big bay window. A wicker cornucopia decoration overflowed with apples and oranges.
Wynn motioned to one of the stools at the island. “I just need to pull together a salad and dinner will be ready.”
As she spoke, she put a tray of rolls into the oven and set the timer, then pulled a corkscrew out of a drawer and handed it to him.
“I made a stew.” She pointed to the Crock-Pot on the counter. “It’s really easy. I prep everything the night before, then toss it into the pot before I leave for work. When I get home ten hours later, the meal is ready.”
He opened the wine, then poured. “You sound like you’re strongly hinting at something.”
“I am. A Crock-Pot would be good for you. Better than takeout. Plus all the recipes make a lot of food, so you could fill your freezer and have easy dinners later.”
He handed her a glass. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a caretaker. It’s nice.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying—”
“I’m never going to use a Crock-Pot, Wynn. Or bake.”
Amusement danced in her pretty brown eyes. “You’re saying I should stop trying to convince you?”
“You can try all you want, but you’re destined for disappointment.”
“Fine.” She touched her glass to his. “I’ll say it again. You’re such a guy.”
“I am.”
For a second their gazes locked. Something flashed between them—something with a little sizzle and promise. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.
Once again he wanted to bury his hands in her curly hair, only this time the image had a little more detail to it. He didn’t just want to fee
l the softness of the curl, he wanted to cup her head and draw her close and kiss her until...
She turned away. “I should start on that salad.”
He carried the wine bottle over to the table, then returned to his seat at the island.
“How do you do it all?” he asked. “You got Hunter off to school, went to work yourself, were at my house by three, unpacked everything, washed it, and here you are, making dinner.”
She waved away the compliment. “I was happy to help. As for the rest of it, that’s a regular day. I’ll admit when Hunter was younger, there were times when I didn’t think I could keep it all together, but now it’s much easier. He takes care of a lot of things himself. Sometimes he even does his own laundry.”
“Impressive.”
“I want him to be a good boyfriend and husband with a reasonable set of skills.” She grinned. “I never want to catch my future daughter-in-law looking at me with a ‘what were you thinking’ expression.”
“That’s a long-term plan.”
“I know, but time goes quickly. You have to know that with Joylyn being married and pregnant.”
As she spoke, she pulled out ingredients for salad and put them on the counter.
“It did happen quickly,” he admitted.
Just then Hunter ran into the kitchen. “I’m right on time, Mom.”
She glanced at Garrick. “He has a way of going down to the minute.”
Hunter hurried over to the sink where he washed his hands. “Why be early for chores?”
“We are a work in progress,” Wynn murmured.
Garrick listened as the pair teased each other. They had a good relationship, he thought wistfully, remembering when it had been like that for him and Joylyn.
Mother and son worked well together, Hunter setting the table, then pouring himself a large glass of milk. When the timer on the oven dinged, Wynn took out the rolls while Hunter got down a small wooden bowl. He put a cloth napkin in place before handing the bowl to his mother. She dropped in the hot rolls, and he took the finished salad to the table. He carried over the rolls while she ladled out a rich, thick stew.
Once they were seated, Wynn stretched out her hands to him and Hunter. He had a brief impression of soft, warm skin before she bowed her head and softly said grace.
Hunter mumbled a quick “Amen” when she was done, then reached for a roll before passing the bowl to Garrick.
“This is one of my favorite dinners,” Hunter told him. “It’s really good and there’s a lot of it.”
Wynn smiled. “He’s in the middle of a growth spurt so volume, when it comes to food, is really important.”
“I want to be tall, like my dad,” Hunter said. “At least six feet. Six-three would be better.”
“Six-three is going to be tough,” Wynn told him.
“You’re tall, Mom. For a girl.”
Conversation flowed easily between them. Garrick listened rather than join in, liking the dynamic. He was hoping he and Joylyn would get to be that comfortable together when she moved in. He knew things would be awkward at first, but he was determined to restore his relationship with her.
Less than twenty minutes later, Hunter pushed away his bowl. “I’m done, Mom,” he said, his tone faintly pleading.
Wynn held his gaze for a second before sighing heavily. “You used to like to talk to me.”
“Mom!”
She laughed. “Fine. Go. Clear your place first, though.”
Hunter grabbed his dishes and raced into the kitchen. He dumped them into the sink, started out of the room, stopped, turned back and said, “It was nice to see you again, Garrick,” before disappearing down the hall.
Wynn sighed. “Tonight is his computer game night. He gets two a week, and it’s a big deal to him.”
“I wouldn’t want to stand between him and his computer games.”
“You’d get run over.”
He picked up his glass of wine. “I envy your closeness. Joylyn was only a year older than him when our relationship fell apart.”
Wynn looked at him expectantly, but didn’t say anything.
“It was about the time my wife and I split up. I asked Joylyn if she was upset by that, but she said she wasn’t.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. One day she was my best girl and the next she refused to see me.”
“That must have been really awful.”
“It was. I didn’t know what to do. Alisha, her mom, said to let her work it out. Looking back on the outcome, I think that was the wrong decision. I should have insisted I have my time with her. Even if she sat there, not speaking to me, I would have still been spending time with her.”
“Do you think she was testing you?” Wynn asked.
“I don’t know. I never thought of that.” He frowned. “She knew I loved her, so I’m not sure why she would want confirmation.”
“People get strange ideas about things. Maybe you can talk about it when she’s here.”
“That’s what I thought. We’ll be in the same house, so we’ll have to communicate.”
Wynn sipped her wine. “Her baby is due around Christmas?”
“The twenty-fifth is her due date. Alisha said Joylyn’s not happy to have her son’s birthday so close to the holiday, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Aren’t first babies usually late? Maybe he’ll be born in the new year.”
“Not a big difference, but maybe it will help,” she said. “Did Alisha mention how Joylyn feels about being away from home for the holidays? That might be hard for her.”
Something he hadn’t thought about. “You’re right. I’ll ask her when we talk. I should probably go all out with the decorating and stuff.”
“How much do you usually decorate?”
He thought about his empty house. “Not, you know, a lot.”
Her mouth curved up in a smile. “As in none?”
“Yeah. That. I mean I used to, when she was little. I still have all the ornaments we would put on our tree. But that’s about it.”
“I’ll help.”
“While I appreciate that, you’ve already done so much.”
“That’s what neighbors are for.”
“You’re going to have to let me build you a bigger back porch or something to make up for everything.”
“I think the porch is okay the way it is, but if I think of a good project for you, I’ll let you know.”
“Please do.” He thought about how he and Joylyn had celebrated the holidays. “I need to get some of those paper turkeys. Do they still make them?”
“They do. I put a couple in her room already. Maybe you could get some more gourds and the little pumpkins for a centerpiece. Hunter and I are having a few friends over for Thanksgiving. You and Joylyn are welcome to join us.” The amusement returned. “What with you not cooking and all, I honestly can’t see you pulling together Thanksgiving dinner. No offense meant.”
“None taken.” He lightly touched her arm. “Thank you. I mean it. Thank you for everything.”
For a second he would swear her gaze dropped to his mouth. He told himself he was imagining things—or getting caught up in wishful thinking—a theory proven when she said, “The holidays nearly always mean a plumbing emergency. If that happens here, you should expect me to remind you of what you owe me.”
“I will keep my toolbox handy.”
* * *
JOYLYN KABERLINE PULLED open the drawer and grabbed clothes by the armful. She carried them to the open suitcase on her bed and shoved them inside, pausing only to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“I understand you’re upset,” her mother said from her place in the doorway. “Please don’t be mad.”
There wasn’t a part of Joylyn that didn’t hurt. Her back ached constantly, her feet hurt because her ankles were swollen. Her butt hu
rt because she was getting hemorrhoids, her eyes were gritty because she wasn’t sleeping. But most of all, her heart was broken. Not only was she in her eighth month of her pregnancy, her husband was thousands of miles away, deployed. While he was supposed to get home before her Christmas due date, they weren’t sure that was going to happen. And because that wasn’t enough suckatude in her life, her very own mother had thrown her out of the house.
Joylyn sniffed. “Don’t be mad, but don’t let the door hit me in the ass on my way out.”
“Joylyn, please.”
“Please what? Stay? We wouldn’t want that. Why would you want your only daughter around in the final months of her pregnancy? Better that I go live with my father because that’s going to go well. I wonder if he’ll bother to look up from his life enough to notice that I’m even there.”
Her mother, a pretty blonde, sighed heavily. “Your father is very excited about having you stay with him.”
“None of us believe that, Mom. You don’t want me here. Just admit it.”
Joylyn brushed away more tears. All she did these days was cry and hurt. She loved Chandler, but maybe everyone had been right. Maybe they had gotten married too young. Even if that hadn’t been a mistake, she’d accidentally gotten pregnant. They’d wanted to wait, but the stick had turned blue and now she was going to have a baby. She was twenty-one years old—it was all too much.
“You know you’ve had a problem with the boys,” her mother said quietly. “They’re really bugging you.”
Joylyn ignored that. Yes, her half brothers were loud and messy and drove her crazy, but she’d never thought complaining about them would cause her to be banished.
“You’ll be here for Christmas,” her mother offered. “Chandler gets home from his deployment the week before, and he’ll drive you back here.”
Happily This Christmas--A Novel Page 5
