Only Love
Page 8
“You didn’t have to do that. I could have done it. You shouldn’t be up and down those stairs if your hips are bothering you.”
“Oh, I’m all right. And a little exercise is good for me. My hips are feeling better already, now that you’re here.”
Was it me, or did her grin look a little devious at that moment?
“That’s good,” I said, picking up my suitcase by the handle. “But you should keep your appointment on Thursday. Just to make sure everything is okay. How about your eyes and ears?”
“What about them?”
“You mentioned your vision and hearing weren’t good when we spoke on Saturday. While I’m here, maybe you should schedule an appointment with your eye doctor as well?”
“Maybe,” she murmured, already turning away from me and heading back to the kitchen. “I have to check my chicken now. You go on upstairs, and when you come back down, we’ll have five o’clocktails and you can tell me all about what’s new with you.”
“Okay.” I watched her go, more than a little suspicious that her whole senility bit on the phone had been an act. But what could I do? I was here now, so I might as well enjoy my visit with her. Who knew how much longer she was going to be around?
I took my suitcase upstairs and hung a few things in the closet, put my toiletries in the bathroom, plugged in my tablet to charge, then sat down on the bed and texted my sisters and mother. I’d called them on the way up to give them the scoop.
Hey, arrived at Grams house and she seems fine. I’ll keep you posted.
Then I scrolled through my messages and happened to see the last one I’d gotten from Walter. See you tonight, it read. When he’d typed those words, he’d known he was going there to dump me. In public. On my birthday.
When I met Esther, I felt a powerful attraction I couldn’t ignore. She just … does something to me.
Fucking Esther.
I threw my phone aside and went over to the closet again.
On the inside of the door was a full-length mirror, and I scrutinized my appearance. I had on dark jeans, a blue-and-white-striped blouse and black blazer from J.Crew, and loafers on my feet. My hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail. I wore minimal makeup.
It was average, everyday me. Neat, clean, and professional.
My style was a little bit preppy and understated, I supposed, but was it … boring? Unfeminine? Invisible? Grams had made it sound like I might blend into the furniture down there. Was I enough to do something to a man?
I turned to the side and looked at my body in profile. I’d always hated my big chest, which didn’t seem to match the rest of my body. My ass was flat as a pancake. My sisters, Emme especially, were always after me to flaunt the one set of curves I’d been given, but I rarely wore anything that showed them off. Why couldn’t you take some stuff from one part of your body and distribute it to another part?
A moment later, I left the bedroom and headed downstairs, thinking a five o’clocktail sounded pretty damn good.
Grams made us a couple martinis (the old-fashioned way, stirred in a tall glass pitcher and poured into two glasses) and assembled a plate of crackers and cheese. We brought them into the living room, where she’d put on a Sinatra record.
It made me laugh. “You still use that record player?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It still works. And I love my record collection. It took your grandfather and I years to build.” She sat down next to me on the couch and smiled. “He just adores Sinatra. But who doesn’t?”
“Adored, Grams. Past tense. Gramps is gone now, remember?”
“Oh, right.” She touched her cheek with her fingertips. “I’m such a silly potato. I lose track of the years sometimes. Sorry, dear.”
“That’s okay. Hey, would you like to look through your old photo albums with me?” It was something we used to do together when I was young, and I’d always enjoyed it, but I also thought if she was getting confused about time, the photos might help her place people properly in the past.
“I’d love to. Actually, dear, I just found a box of old photos I’d like to put into an album. Maybe you can help me sort them?”
“Of course. Where is it?”
She pointed toward her bookshelves. “Right there by the stereo. The white shoebox.”
I brought it over to the couch and opened it up. There had to be hundreds of old pictures in there, some black and white, some in the faded colors of the sixties and seventies, some in the brighter hues of the years my sisters and I were here visiting. Some said the date at the bottom, but others didn’t. “Wow, Grams. Why don’t I get a pencil and mark lightly on the back of each one when you think it was taken? Then we can arrange them chronologically.”
“Perfect, dear. I should have a pencil in the kitchen by my grocery list.”
I ran to the kitchen to grab the pencil, and when I returned, we shuffled through the photos, sipping our drinks as Grams reminisced. Her mind seemed sharp as ever.
“That’s Lil, your great-great aunt. She was quite the beauty of the family and lived so long she had four husbands. I think that’s a graduation picture.”
I laughed, studying the doe-eyed teenager in a white dress with a high lace collar. “She was very pretty.”
A few minutes later, we came across some photos of Grams and Gramps in their teens. There was one I’d never seen of her on his shoulders at the beach, both of them laughing.
“Oh my gosh, look at you! So cute!”
She giggled. “He was, wasn’t he? And I was so terrible at that age. He used to come pick me up from school in his dad’s Packard. I’d see him pull up through the glass on the door and I’d wait a good five minutes before sauntering out just to make sure everyone knew it was me getting picked up in that fancy car. He’d get so cross with me. Then I’d—”
A knock on the front door interrupted her story. Grams’s face lit up. Then she said, “I wonder who that could be.”
“Are you expecting someone?”
Grams rose to her feet and went to the door. Whoever she saw through the screen made her smile. “Well, hello, Mr. Woods! How nice of you to stop by.”
“I’m here to work on the porch, remember?” The voice was quiet and deep.
“Oh, that’s right.” Grams thumped her temple with two fingers. “Good heavens, I forgot all about that. It’s so nice of you to remember.” She looked over at me. “Stella, dear, come over and meet Ryan Woods. He’s the nice boy next door who helps me out so much.”
Oh, right. The neighbor boy. I set down the photos I was holding and walked over to the door.
I don’t know what I was expecting, possibly a skinny teenager with acne and a shaggy haircut, but definitely not six-feet-four inches of solid muscle and a stubbled jaw. Boy? This was a man in every sense of the word. I could practically smell the testosterone coming off him. And he was gorgeous. Short dark hair, light brown eyes, and wide shoulders. His chest seemed massive. His hands huge.
“Hello,” I managed, my heart knocking hard inside my chest. The words fuck fling reverberated through my brain.
He nodded shortly but didn’t smile. “Hi.”
“Stella’s here visiting me from Detroit. I think I told you about her, didn’t I?” Grams asked.
“Yeah.” He glanced behind him, where I saw some tools on the porch. “Okay if I get started?”
“Of course, dear. Do you need anything?”
“No. I borrowed a few things from Cloverleigh.”
“Wonderful.” She turned to me. “Mr. Woods works for the Sawyer family over at Cloverleigh.”
“At the farm?” I asked, pleased that my voice sounded normal. His appearance had caught me off guard. “Or the inn?”
“Mostly outdoor stuff.” He looked at me, and I thought he was going to go on, but he didn’t.
“Stella runs marathons,” Grams said out of nowhere. “Did I tell you that?”
“Uh, yeah.” Ryan looked at the tools again, and I could tell he just wanted to get to work.
Grams was having none of it. “Ryan enjoys running too,” she told me. “I see him all the time hotfooting it down the road. And he’s so quick! It’s no wonder he’s so fit. Don’t you think he’s fit, Stella?”
“Oh, I’m all right. And a little exercise is good for me. My hips are feeling better already, now that you’re here.”
Was it me, or did her grin look a little devious at that moment?
“That’s good,” I said, picking up my suitcase by the handle. “But you should keep your appointment on Thursday. Just to make sure everything is okay. How about your eyes and ears?”
“What about them?”
“You mentioned your vision and hearing weren’t good when we spoke on Saturday. While I’m here, maybe you should schedule an appointment with your eye doctor as well?”
“Maybe,” she murmured, already turning away from me and heading back to the kitchen. “I have to check my chicken now. You go on upstairs, and when you come back down, we’ll have five o’clocktails and you can tell me all about what’s new with you.”
“Okay.” I watched her go, more than a little suspicious that her whole senility bit on the phone had been an act. But what could I do? I was here now, so I might as well enjoy my visit with her. Who knew how much longer she was going to be around?
I took my suitcase upstairs and hung a few things in the closet, put my toiletries in the bathroom, plugged in my tablet to charge, then sat down on the bed and texted my sisters and mother. I’d called them on the way up to give them the scoop.
Hey, arrived at Grams house and she seems fine. I’ll keep you posted.
Then I scrolled through my messages and happened to see the last one I’d gotten from Walter. See you tonight, it read. When he’d typed those words, he’d known he was going there to dump me. In public. On my birthday.
When I met Esther, I felt a powerful attraction I couldn’t ignore. She just … does something to me.
Fucking Esther.
I threw my phone aside and went over to the closet again.
On the inside of the door was a full-length mirror, and I scrutinized my appearance. I had on dark jeans, a blue-and-white-striped blouse and black blazer from J.Crew, and loafers on my feet. My hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail. I wore minimal makeup.
It was average, everyday me. Neat, clean, and professional.
My style was a little bit preppy and understated, I supposed, but was it … boring? Unfeminine? Invisible? Grams had made it sound like I might blend into the furniture down there. Was I enough to do something to a man?
I turned to the side and looked at my body in profile. I’d always hated my big chest, which didn’t seem to match the rest of my body. My ass was flat as a pancake. My sisters, Emme especially, were always after me to flaunt the one set of curves I’d been given, but I rarely wore anything that showed them off. Why couldn’t you take some stuff from one part of your body and distribute it to another part?
A moment later, I left the bedroom and headed downstairs, thinking a five o’clocktail sounded pretty damn good.
Grams made us a couple martinis (the old-fashioned way, stirred in a tall glass pitcher and poured into two glasses) and assembled a plate of crackers and cheese. We brought them into the living room, where she’d put on a Sinatra record.
It made me laugh. “You still use that record player?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It still works. And I love my record collection. It took your grandfather and I years to build.” She sat down next to me on the couch and smiled. “He just adores Sinatra. But who doesn’t?”
“Adored, Grams. Past tense. Gramps is gone now, remember?”
“Oh, right.” She touched her cheek with her fingertips. “I’m such a silly potato. I lose track of the years sometimes. Sorry, dear.”
“That’s okay. Hey, would you like to look through your old photo albums with me?” It was something we used to do together when I was young, and I’d always enjoyed it, but I also thought if she was getting confused about time, the photos might help her place people properly in the past.
“I’d love to. Actually, dear, I just found a box of old photos I’d like to put into an album. Maybe you can help me sort them?”
“Of course. Where is it?”
She pointed toward her bookshelves. “Right there by the stereo. The white shoebox.”
I brought it over to the couch and opened it up. There had to be hundreds of old pictures in there, some black and white, some in the faded colors of the sixties and seventies, some in the brighter hues of the years my sisters and I were here visiting. Some said the date at the bottom, but others didn’t. “Wow, Grams. Why don’t I get a pencil and mark lightly on the back of each one when you think it was taken? Then we can arrange them chronologically.”
“Perfect, dear. I should have a pencil in the kitchen by my grocery list.”
I ran to the kitchen to grab the pencil, and when I returned, we shuffled through the photos, sipping our drinks as Grams reminisced. Her mind seemed sharp as ever.
“That’s Lil, your great-great aunt. She was quite the beauty of the family and lived so long she had four husbands. I think that’s a graduation picture.”
I laughed, studying the doe-eyed teenager in a white dress with a high lace collar. “She was very pretty.”
A few minutes later, we came across some photos of Grams and Gramps in their teens. There was one I’d never seen of her on his shoulders at the beach, both of them laughing.
“Oh my gosh, look at you! So cute!”
She giggled. “He was, wasn’t he? And I was so terrible at that age. He used to come pick me up from school in his dad’s Packard. I’d see him pull up through the glass on the door and I’d wait a good five minutes before sauntering out just to make sure everyone knew it was me getting picked up in that fancy car. He’d get so cross with me. Then I’d—”
A knock on the front door interrupted her story. Grams’s face lit up. Then she said, “I wonder who that could be.”
“Are you expecting someone?”
Grams rose to her feet and went to the door. Whoever she saw through the screen made her smile. “Well, hello, Mr. Woods! How nice of you to stop by.”
“I’m here to work on the porch, remember?” The voice was quiet and deep.
“Oh, that’s right.” Grams thumped her temple with two fingers. “Good heavens, I forgot all about that. It’s so nice of you to remember.” She looked over at me. “Stella, dear, come over and meet Ryan Woods. He’s the nice boy next door who helps me out so much.”
Oh, right. The neighbor boy. I set down the photos I was holding and walked over to the door.
I don’t know what I was expecting, possibly a skinny teenager with acne and a shaggy haircut, but definitely not six-feet-four inches of solid muscle and a stubbled jaw. Boy? This was a man in every sense of the word. I could practically smell the testosterone coming off him. And he was gorgeous. Short dark hair, light brown eyes, and wide shoulders. His chest seemed massive. His hands huge.
“Hello,” I managed, my heart knocking hard inside my chest. The words fuck fling reverberated through my brain.
He nodded shortly but didn’t smile. “Hi.”
“Stella’s here visiting me from Detroit. I think I told you about her, didn’t I?” Grams asked.
“Yeah.” He glanced behind him, where I saw some tools on the porch. “Okay if I get started?”
“Of course, dear. Do you need anything?”
“No. I borrowed a few things from Cloverleigh.”
“Wonderful.” She turned to me. “Mr. Woods works for the Sawyer family over at Cloverleigh.”
“At the farm?” I asked, pleased that my voice sounded normal. His appearance had caught me off guard. “Or the inn?”
“Mostly outdoor stuff.” He looked at me, and I thought he was going to go on, but he didn’t.
“Stella runs marathons,” Grams said out of nowhere. “Did I tell you that?”
“Uh, yeah.” Ryan looked at the tools again, and I could tell he just wanted to get to work.
Grams was having none of it. “Ryan enjoys running too,” she told me. “I see him all the time hotfooting it down the road. And he’s so quick! It’s no wonder he’s so fit. Don’t you think he’s fit, Stella?”
