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Her voice rose an octave. “The Muppets Take Manhattan?”
“You know it.”
Eyes bright, Kennedy darted past me and flew up the stairs shouting for Paul.
Daniel smiled. “Sorry about that. She’s a piece of work.” He put his hand on my lower back and moved me deeper into the foyer. “Was the drive over all right?”
“Yeah. It was pretty.”
His eyes crinkled as he drew me into a hug. I couldn’t resist tucking my face in against his neck to breathe in his comforting scent. All the tangled feelings I’d been fighting since our night in Nashville eased. This—him—us…? We could be good.
“I’ve missed you,” I whispered.
“Me, too.”
Can it be this easy? Surely, I don’t deserve to be forgiven yet.
Daniel let me go, nodding toward a hallway leading to the rear of the house. “Come on. This way.”
In the kitchen, windows lined the back wall of the room, revealing a stretch of gray river and green, leafy trees. Granite counters were tucked beneath dark wooden cabinets, and a matching table had been built into an alcove with bench seating—a breakfast nook, I believed it was called. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and warm chocolate chip cookies filled the air.
“Want a cup?” Daniel asked, motioning at the steaming coffee pot.
“Sure.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Both.”
“Go on, have a seat.” He nodded toward the breakfast nook. “I put some cookies in the oven after you called earlier. Sweets always soothe awkward moments. At least that’s what my grandmother says.”
I smiled.
Putting my camera down on the table, I slid into the alcove as Daniel had suggested. The whole drive over, I hadn’t been able to stop wondering what he meant by inviting me here, and what I could do or say to make things right between us. Now that we were in the same room, I wasn’t any clearer on either question than I had been before.
He passed me a mug of coffee, and I busied myself adding cream and sugar while he headed back across the room to grab an oven mitt before pulling a sheet of perfectly browned cookies from the oven. Pillsbury brand, I guessed, based on the scent and shape of them.
Fidgeting with my coffee mug, turning it around in my hands, I watched as he grabbed a spatula to make a stack of melty, mouthwatering cookies on a large, white plate.
The silence had gone on too long. We wouldn’t get anywhere without talking to each other. Cookies were great, but they wouldn’t fix anything. Only words could do that.
Me? Eager for words?Me?Peter Mandel? The boy who’d always said words were hard and had hidden behind his camera? Even now I was tempted to pick it up and distract myself by snapping some shots of Daniel’s kitchen, of the view outside, of Daniel himself, distancing myself from this moment. From him.
But as tempting as that idea was, deep down I didn’t want to use that crutch with Daniel. I wasn’t sure I deserved Daniel’s forgiveness, and I didn’t know how to get it, but at the very least, I knew I had to be honest with him—without hiding any part of myself behind a camera to make it bearable.
That? Would take words.
Gathering my courage, I started with the obvious. “How’s Bobby?”
“He’s at Baptist Hospital,” Daniel said, leaning one hip against the counter. His whole body seemed to droop as his brows drew down low. On the phone, he’d sounded comforting and optimistic, but now he looked defeated. I didn’t know if that was due to fear for Bobby, or from the sheer exhaustion of taking care of things at home. “I talked to him on the phone this morning. He seemed a little out of it from some of the drugs they’re giving him for pain, but he was lucid enough.”
“Are they allowing visitors? I’d like to go see him.”
“I think so. I plan to go see him soon if I can get a break here.” He rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. “I just haven’t had a chance yet.”
Daniel looked so tired. I wanted to hug him again and take the burden from his shoulders. I’d just opened my mouth to ask how I could help when Kennedy’s voice cut through the room.
“I told you Dan has cookies!”
