Page 81 of The Treasure House

I spent most of our goodbye trying not to cry like a baby.

“I wrote out instructions for the cats and left them on the kitchen table,” Flo said, pressing a hot kiss on my cheek as she bent between the car seats to say goodbye. “Send me photos so I know they’re alive.”

“Won’t you want to know if I’m alive?”

“I’ll know because you’re sending me pics of the cats,” she said with an eye roll. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too.” I peppered her with kisses. “Have fun.” I glanced at Tim. “And good luck,” I said, forcing a smile. “I hope you have a beautiful wedding day.”

“Thanks, Zoe. I’ll send you pictures,” he said, patting my shoulder, “so you know she’s alive. I know how you worry.”

He made it sound like I was neurotic. “Thanks,” I said dryly. “Fly safe. Let me know when you arrive!”

I watched them walk together into the airport, him tall and lanky, her small and energetic. I sat there in the car and waited for their plane to take off, feeling a tightness in my chest. And then their small commuter plane taxied down the runway and they were off, soaring into the iron-gray skies. It was only four o’clock, but it was growing dark, the streetlights flaring in the misty air. As I drove home, the rain kicked in, and the sound of it against the windshield made me feel lonely. I turned up the music to keep the feeling at bay.

Flo had called me lonely. It had stung because she was right. I was lonely—and always had been. And I wasn’t sure I knew how to be any other way.

The weather swept in as I curled down the coast, and the woods were churning in the winds as I turned onto Tinker Street. The front light was on at my house when I pulled into the driveway, and I could see smoke being tossed into the night as it emerged from the chimney. Jake.

When I dashed around back, trying to get in before I was saturated, I found the porch empty but the lights on. Jake had hung all the clear PVC sheeting, which snapped a little on its anchors in the wind, but it did an astonishingly good job of protecting the porch from the weather.

“Wet out, is it?” Jake drawled, as he emerged from the kitchen. He had his hands in the pockets of his work jeans and was trying to keep a straight face, but I could tell he was pleased by his work, and even more pleased by my reaction to it. His double dimple was a deep dent.

“This looks incredible.” I turned on the spot, taking it in. I could barely tell it was raining outside.

The porch was almost done. Jake had finished all the timber screens and oiled them up, and the space had an open, airy feel. A lick of paint on the back wall and in that little washroom and the porch would be ready for decorating. I felt a sizzle of excitement at the thought.

“I’ll bring a belt sander tomorrow and get to work on those old floorboards,” Jake said, leaning against the doorframe. “They’ll take no time to refinish, and then I’ll clean and seal the bricks and you’ll be able to move some furniture back in.”

I heard a bark.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I brought Hazel up. She gets separation anxiety if I’m gone too long.”

“The cats—” I started, alarmed.

“They’re fine. They’re in the hall. I’ve tied Hazel up by the table.”

True to his promise, Jake had kept my fire alive in the kitchen. The room wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t cold. Hazel looked up when we came in, her tail thumping.

“You need to hang your storm windows,” Jake told me mildly. “You’re lucky we haven’t had any real bad weather yet. It can really blow here on the coast.” He reached down to pull on Hazel’s ears. “Want me to do that tomorrow?”

“Oh, no, you’re doing too much for me already.”

He gave me an amused look. “You know how to hang them yourself?”

I bit my lip. The answer was clearly no.

“Why don’t we split the difference, and I’ll show you how to hang them?”

“All right.”

We stared at each other. The silence extending between us, the only sounds the fire cracking and Hazel’s snuffling.

“And then maybe you might want to have dinner with me tomorrow?” Jake said slowly, without dropping his gaze.

“Dinner?” I winced as my voice cracked.

His double dimple dented.