“Clearly, it’s something. I take it you agree with her?” A not-so-subtle voice inside Grant’s head told him to stop now and walk away. He needed to cool off and think before he spoke. But an even louder voice—the reckless one—wanted his father to say it out loud.
“Well…” Stan started slowly. “You’re not the boy’s father—”
“And if anyone knows aboutnotbeing a father…” Grant trailed off, short of the final blow. But it didn’t matter. He’d made his point. It was stamped across Stan’s pallid features.
Regret pierced Grant’s heart, and he set down the soda bottle, ready to apologize. “Dad, I—”
Stan cleared his throat. “Your mother said she won’t be back in time for dinner, so she left a casserole in the fridge. The heating instructions are on the notepad on the counter. I’ll be at a card game at Mac’s tonight.”
Without another word, Stan strode out of the kitchen.
Leaving Grant to stew in his remorse.
Chapter 15
Wincing, Grant dropped the square of sandpaper, flicking his wrist to dull the pain as it fluttered to the floor. He deserved the splinter. And then some.
Grant thought helping Luke with the wedding arch would clear his head, surrounded by the restorative scent of cedar and pine sap. Not to mention the repetitive motion of sanding. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the harsh words he’d said to his father earlier that day. True or not, they never should have left his lips.
“Careful,” Luke told him. “The wood’s pretty rough. I’ve received my fair share of splinters on this project.”
“Then I have some catching up to do.” Grant attempted a smile as he stooped to pluck the sandpaper from the pile of sawdust covering the hardpan floor.
As he straightened, he took a moment to soak up the surroundings. Grant had to hand it to Luke. The man had built an impressive workshop. When he’d first reconnected with Luke behind his store in town, Grant had assumed Luke did most of his woodworking in the courtyard. But now, seeing the enormity of Luke’s converted garage, Grant realized how off-base his assumption had been. “I have to say, this is quite the setup.”
“Thanks.” Luke gazed around his workspace with a satisfied smile. “It’s taken me several years to build it up to this point, but I’m pretty proud of it.”
“I take it Cassie is moving in to your place after the wedding, then?” The answer seemed obvious to Grant, considering Luke’s home and workshop sat on an enormous piece of land flanked by a lush pine forest and tranquil stream, a slice of heaven in an already idyllic setting.
Plus, Luke’s house wasn’t your typical bachelor pad. The striking two-story log cabin could easily grace the cover ofArchitectural Digest.
To Grant’s surprise, Luke’s smile faltered. “We’re still discussing it.”
“Really? I might be dense, but whowouldn’twant to live here?”
Luke’s smile reappeared, albeit more subtle this time. “I appreciate that. But a lot of factors go into the decision. While my whole life is here, the cottage means a lot to Cassie. And she hasn’t lived there very long.” Luke sighed, casting a wistful gaze around the room. “It would be hard to leave this place. But I want to be wherever Cassie is, as sappy as that sounds.”
A familiar ache gripped Grant’s heart. And while he wouldn’t admit it, he knew exactly how Luke felt. He’d gladly give up his life in San Francisco to be with Eliza. A dream that had never seemed more out of reach. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out.” Grant offered a smile he hoped communicated both sympathy and optimism.
“Yeah, I’m sure we will.”
The two men went back to work, settling into a comfortable silence.
Lulled by the rhythmicswish, swish, swishof the sandpaper, Grant’s thoughts returned to the conversation with his father.
Being back home had forced him to face emotions he’d artfully repressed. Orthoughthe’d repressed. But considering he’d never quite settled into a rich, full life in San Francisco, preferring to keep to himself rather than make meaningful connections…. Grant had to acknowledge the facts. If he didn’t resolve his issues—both with his father and Eliza—he’d be destined to live a life secluded in bitter isolation whether he remained in Poppy Creek or not. Because the walls he’d built had nothing to do with his apartment in the city. And everything to do with the walls around his heart.
“What about you?” Luke asked, disrupting his moment of introspection.
“What about me?”
“Something’s clearly on your mind. Is it Eliza?”
“Not this time.” Although, Grant couldn’t deny it was a good guess. Eliza seemed to consume his thoughts on an increasingly more frequent basis these days.
“Then it must be serious.” Luke pulled a stool from beneath his drafting table. “Wanna sit?”
“No, thanks.” Grant kept his gaze fixed on a knot in the wood, pressing firmer than necessary with the sandpaper. Something about smoothing out the rough edges of the beam felt like progress, even if he’d barely grazed the surface of his own issues.
