Page 9 of Piece By Piece

Grant recognized that look. It was the look of somebody who had the entire event planned in their head and was just being polite by pretending to ask.

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“Look, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not looking for events or partnerships or any of that stuff. I’m not looking for… things,” he said, searching for the right word.

“Things?”

“You know, collaborative things. No offense, but I opened this shop to be left alone, more or less.”

Liza put the tangram piece down and looked at him.

He expected her to start arguing. That’s what people like her usually did. People who had energy and plans tended to push.

Instead, she just said, “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

“Well, okay for now.” She stood up and brushed off her hands. “That’s different from okay forever. Let’s just say I’m a patient person.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like a patient person.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises.”

She walked toward the door and then turned around.

She had spotted a framed crossword on the wall near the register, one of his early published pieces, matted and framed in dark wood. She walked closer and looked at the byline at the bottom.

“W. Elliott,” she read, pointing to the framed image. “Is this yours?”

Grant’s stomach tightened into a knot. “Oh, no. I just like the design.”

She looked at him, tilting her head, studying him.

“Well, whoever made this is really good. I like the clue structure. I don’t know what the technical term is for it, but it just feels elegant. I can tell you my dad would have loved this. He was a crossword fanatic.”

Grant didn’t say anything. He kept his hands in his pockets, the way he always did when he was trying extremely hard not to react.

“Anyway,” she said, turning around, “eat the cookies, Grant. Life is too short for uneaten snickerdoodles.”

As she left, the little bell rang, and then she was gone.

The shop was quiet again.

Grant stood behind the counter and looked at the plate of uneaten cookies. Then he looked over at the wall where the crossword hung and at the space Liza had just occupied.

It felt like she was still standing in the room.

She was definitely a lot. That was the only way to describe her. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in the way a sudden gust of wind was a lot when you’d been standing in still air for three years.

She filled up the room when she came into it. She kept touching things. She talked to strangers like they were old friends. He imagined she was one of those people who got in line at the grocery store and listened to everybody’s life story while they waited to check out with their eggs and milk.

She was, in every possible way, the absolute opposite of what he’d come to Seagrove for.

She reminded him a lot of Owen.

The thought arrived without permission and settled into his mind like a stone.