Page 68 of Something Old

She inhaled the shop’s familiar, heart-lifting scent of lemon and peppermint. Through the big arched doorway leading to the rest of the shop, she heard Aisha, who’d come in to help for a few hours, cheerfully chatting with a customer.

Madeline’s thumb found the ring she never took off and rubbed along it. The silver was warm to her touch, heated by her blood—her life—running in her veins. And almost as if the ring was the famous lamp from stories of old, as she rubbed it, she saw Grant’s old truck roll into view outside the big window and come to a rest.

She smiled, then whispered, her voice saturated with love, bittersweet old memories, and the joy of new ones too, “I wouldn’t have chosen any of this. I would’ve kept what I had, of course, I would’ve . . . but I have family again, Ronny. Here. Family of my heart. And . . . I’m so grateful.”

It was as if the room inhaled sharply, though it was probably just a breeze from the slightly ajar window. The curtains rippled.

Madeline knew, just knew, Lauren would be laughing and groaning, saying something like, Ugh, you are so sappy, Mom.

What she wouldn’t give to be teased by Lauren again or to exasperate her with what she had sometimes referred to as Madeline’s “smothering.” But also . . . how fortunate she’d been to have had Lauren at all, to have gotten to love her for the time they had.

Sorrow clogged Madeline’s throat, and she closed her eyes. I love you, she thought. That will never change. No one will ever replace you, and I will never forget you.

Du-uh, came the immediate response, but Lauren’s voice was soft with affection. Of course, you won’t—but also, that’s not how hearts work. They don’t need to replace. They just make more room for the new.

Madeline didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, or roll her eyes. It was so precisely like something Lauren would say that it was hard for her to know if it was merely her wishful thinking or imagination or—

She released a heavy sigh, just as the supportive weight of a kind hand rested on her shoulder. Grant. Lyle used to comfort her a similar way, seeming to sense when she’d needed touch, not words. It was a lovely memory.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mads,” Grant said cheerily as she turned to him. The instant he saw her face, his own expression changed. “You okay?”

Madeline patted his arm. “Yes, thanks . . . I was just thinking about Lauren and everybody.” She cleared her throat. “And feeling grateful.”

Grant’s voice was soft as velvet. “But sad too?”

She shrugged. “Yeah . . .”

Grant wrapped her in a hug and planted a kiss on the top of her head. Madeline sagged against his solid form, taking solace in him. After a moment, Boots, in his new favorite role as of late—that of bossy, four-legged chaperone—wandered over, head-butted her leg, then looked up at her meaningfully as if reminding her . . .

“Shoot!” Madeline glanced at her watch and immediately changed gears. “Right! I need to lock up. We’re closed, and we have plans.”

Grant smiled, and his expression was as comforting as soft, worn denim and as cheering as a sun-kissed sky. “Yes,” he said happily. “We do.”

Epilogue

Five months later . . .

The problem with talented, busy people was that they were in demand and busy, Madeline thought, smiling with understanding as Aisha turned down her job offer. She hadn’t actually expected her to accept but thought it was only fair to offer it to her first.

“I appreciate you thinking of me, and I love covering for you once in a while, but between making stuff, my work at River’s Sigh B & B, and you know, Mo and Jase . . .” Aisha’s cheeks flushed as they always did when she mentioned her young man, even in passing, “I’m just not the person you need for the shop. You need a part-timer with passion—and availability. And—” Aisha paused and glanced out the funnily-positioned little bay window that jutted into the shop’s back yard. “It really wouldn’t hurt if they had a green thumb or something.”

Madeline followed her gaze and winced. She hadn’t had to worry about the yard the past busy months, but now winter was on its way out. What she had started privately referring to as the jungle was . . . well, jungle-like. Already. And it was only March.

“I was hoping the snow would last longer,” she admitted ruefully.

Aisha laughed. “You might be the only person in Greenridge to wish that!” Her phone buzzed with a notification, and she glanced down. “That’s my little drill sergeant finished her swimming lesson. I’d better scram.” Her face scrunched. “I’m sorry I can’t help you out more.”

Madeline waved her hand. “No worries. You’re just so great that I, of course, wanted to see if I had a chance—but I have another idea up my sleeve.”

“What, you? With an idea? I’m shocked.”

“Yeah, yeah, cheeky thing. Get out of here.” Madeline waved at Aisha fondly as she pretty much ran out of the shop—then she stood for a moment, tapping a contemplative finger against her mouth. What she hadn’t told Aisha was that the “idea up her sleeve” might be purely wishful thinking. She glanced at the clock by the payment counter. At least she wouldn’t have long to wait to find out.

Sure enough, Gwen popped into the shop within minutes, sending the door’s bells jingling. She paused for a moment, inhaled deeply, and seemed to shake off some of the stress she so often visibly carried. Madeline hoped she was about to be a happy surprise, not something that added to her load. Gwen pushed her hair out of her face—and sensed Madeline’s eyes on her.

She jumped. “Oh! I didn’t see you there. It’s so near to closing time, I’d thought you’d be straightening one of the rooms or something.”

Madeline grinned, but before she could launch her pitch, the door jangled again, and so did her nerves—and Gwen’s, from the way her face paled.