Like he’d been in the military.
Maybe he had. He held himself tall and straight. Like good posture had been drilled into him.
She was so surprised he hadn’t thrown a fit about Beau pooping in his yard. In a million years, she wouldn’t have predicted that outcome. A good reminder that she’d judged the man before knowing him.
Which was what happened to her all the time. Something she’d come to abhor.
She should do something for him to repay him for that unexpected kindness. But what? She’d been planning on making brownies for the book club group. They were her go-to indulgence and she’d been making them for years. She’d gotten the recipe from the personal chef of Calvin Klein, a designer she’d had the pleasure of working with several times, and the chef claimed the recipe was Katherine Hepburn’s.
Blaise could just as easily make two batches and take one to Brick. She thought she had enough ingredients. Smiling, she went to the kitchen to be sure.
She did. She turned on some classic tunes and got to work. Beau was lounging in his usual spot by the doors that led out to the front porch, sprawled on the tile, which was undoubtedly cool.
She set the oven temperature. Thankfully, she’d bought a foil baking pan so she could leave the brownies behind at the book club, and the pans came two in a pack.
She sang along with the songs, old stuff that her parents had listened to and now filled her with a sweet nostalgia, as she measured and mixed. If Beau minded her singing, he was too nice to say.
The oven beeped its readiness. She popped the two pans in and set a timer, then went to catch up on the day’s events on her iPad while she waited for the brownies to bake.
A sudden idea came to her. A nosy kind of idea, but it was the kind of thing she figured others did to her all the time.
Blaise sat cross-legged on her sofa, the afternoon sun slanting through the sheer curtains and across the cushions. With her iPad balanced on her knees, she told herself she was only indulging in a harmless bit of curiosity.
Everyone Googled their neighbors, right? Especially ones like Earl Tanner, who looked like he’d been carved from old stone and scowled as if smiling was an expense his budget didn’t cover.
She typed his name—Earl Tanner, Beechwood, Florida—and waited. Not much came up at first: a few public records, some outdated property listings, a mention in the minutes of a local homeowners’ meeting from some community years ago. He seemed to have perfected the art of leaving no trace. Blaise admired that a little. She’d spent years being photographed, recorded, and commented on. Disappearing entirely sounded like heaven.
Then she found it.
Patricia Ann Tanner, beloved wife of Earl Tanner, passed away peacefully at home on May 14, 2018. A dedicated teacher, gardener, and volunteer, she is survived by her husband of forty-two years, her sister, Caroline, and her two sons. Services are private. In lieu of flowers, donations are requested to the Wounded Warrior Project and the local animal shelter.
Blaise read it again.Forty-twoyears. That kind of devotion felt rare these days. It was the sort of loyalty she’d once thought defined love. She felt an ache in her chest she hadn’t expected, but then, she’d been thinking about Jay. He’d been that loyal.
If he hadn’t gotten sick, he’d still be right here beside her.
Beau stretched, sighing in his sleep, and sunlight caught the edges of the tablet. Blaise set the iPad aside to stare at the bright afternoon beyond her windows, the Gulf visible at the horizon where one blue melded into another.
She hadn’t meant to go snooping, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about Brick—the man next door who mostly spoke in single syllables and carried himself like someone used to enduring life rather than living it. Whatever his story was, she hoped someday she’d get to hear it.
Maybe Earl Tanner wasn’t such a grump after all—maybe he just hadn’t found a new reason to smile.
Something she understood all too well.
Chapter Seven
The lump in Cece’s throat had yet to go away.
She and Natalie had spent the last hour wandering the mall, looking at purses that cost more than what Cece had made in a month as a working reporter. They both seemed to be pretending that the bombshell Nat had dropped over lunch was something that could be dealt with later.
Cece didn’t really feel that way. She wanted to pull Natalie into her arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, but empty words weren’t going to solve anything and there was no point in making a promise she couldn’t deliver on. Cece had no idea what would happen next.
They were both staring into a display case at a selection of Louis Vuitton wallets, most of which would leave Cece without money to put in said wallet if she purchased one. She couldn’t keep pretending. “What are you going to do?”
Natalie glanced at her, smiling too brightly, the lights from the store reflected in her eyes. “About what?”
“About Jim.”
Her smile disappeared. “I don’t know, Mom.” Her voice was low and gruff, a clear sign she didn’t want to talk about this here.
