“I do,” I say, tracing idle circles on her arm. “The man would never admit it, but he’s soft about love. He’ll bless it. You’ll see.”
Her lips curve, reluctant but hopeful. “Then we’ll tell him in the morning.”
“In the morning,” I echo, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
She nestles closer, her laughter low and tired. “Imagine us, confessing to Eli like two teenagers caught behind the barn.”
I chuckle into her hair. “Don’t give me ideas, Firefly.”
By the timewe make it to the kitchen, Eli is seated at the table, as he rifles through a stack of yellow invoices. A half-eaten biscuit rests on the plate beside him, crumbs scattered.
He looks up when we enter—first at me, then at Clara. His brows rise, and a slow smile stretches across his face.
“Well,” he says, setting the papers aside. “Didn’t expect to see the two of you appear so early this morning.”
Clara flushes, fumbling with the hem of her sleeve. “Eli, I?—”
He holds up a hand, chuckling. “I don’t need your words, Clara. I’ve got two eyes and a lifetime of sense. You don’t need to explain what’s plain as day.”
I settle into the chair opposite him, Clara beside me, leaning forward. “Still, we wanted you to know. We’re…Well, Clara is going to stay. Devil’s Ridge will be her home, with me.”
Eli studies us for a moment, his gaze sharp but kind. Then he exhales, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t say I’m surprised. The way you two look at each other—it’s the same way Silas and Caroline looked at each other. And I’ll tell you now, I’d be a damn fool to stand in the way of love when it shows itself.”
Clara’s hand finds mine under the table, her grip tight with relief. I squeeze back, feeling something uncoil inside me.
Eli reaches for his coffee, his mouth twitching with that dry humor of his. “Just promise me one thing, you two. If you’re going to keep each other up until dawn, do it on a night when I don’t have to be up early in the morning.”
Clara’s cheeks flush crimson. I laugh, shaking my head. “Eli, I’ll thank you to keep your wisdom to yourself.”
Clara rises from her chair, still pink. “I need coffee for this conversation.”
Before she can reach the pot, the sound of tires crunching over the gravel drive drifts through the open window. Eli frowns, leaning back to listen. “That’s not Grace’s car. She doesn’t drive like she’s escaping the law.”
Moments later, a firm knock rattles the door, followed by a familiar voice that carries more cheer than the morning has earned. “Were you planning to let me just stand out there, Eli Montgomery, or are you too busy gossiping over biscuits?”
Eli groans, rubbing his temples. “Lord help us, it’s Ruth.”
And there she is—Ruth Montgomery in all her glory, wrapped in a bright shawl and a grin that could shame the sun. “I brought pie,” she declares, hoisting a basket. “And before you say anything, yes, it’s apple. No, I didn’t poison it.”
Clara smiles, soft but curious. “You must be family.”
Ruth eyes her from head to toe, assessing with the affectionate scrutiny only women of her sort can muster. “And you must be the reason Eli’s been humming again. I’m Ruth Montgomery—Eli’s sister, resident meddler, occasional psychic, and, apparently, the only one in this family who remembers how to bake.”
I stand, grinning. “Clara, meet Ruth. She’s got the sight, too.”
Ruth blinks at me, then looks back to Clara, her tone light but edged with wonder. “You’reher, aren’t you? The one he’s been waiting for.”
Clara’s brow furrows, her voice trembling slightly. “Wait—your last name is Montgomery?”
Ruth’s grin deepens. “It is.”
Clara’s hand flies to her mouth. “Irene…Was your grandmother’s name Irene?”
Ruth nods, amused. “It was. Eli and I grew up hearing stories about her—sharp tongue, big heart, couldn’t mind her own business to save her life.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Sounds familiar. Meddling must run in the family.”
Ruth winks, settling into a chair. “It does. And it looks like we’ve come full circle, doesn’t it?”
