Page 41
“Thanks,” she said. Her brothers would be there too. She had to hope the three of them didn’t come to blows.
From the living room, she could hear the muffled sound of the TV as the children finished watching their movie.
She peeked around the corner long enough to see both children tucked under the same blanket on the couch, Kodiak sprawled at their feet along with Ludwig and Elise. Stanley was in the recliner, eyes closed.
“He’s out,” Wes said quietly, coming up beside her. “Kodi too.”
The dog’s tail thumped once as if in denial, then stilled.
After a moment, Kodiak shifted, extricated himself from the cats and stood before limping toward them.
“Looks like he needs to go out,” Wes said.
“My backyard is fenced,” she answered. “You can let him out there.”
She led the way toward the mudroom, automatically flipping on the light that cast a warm glow over the row of hooks, the kids’ outdoor gear, and the shoe tray holding snow boots and hiking boots.
“This is a good-sized yard,” Wes said when she opened the door to the deck. Beyond, the yard stretched in a soft white expanse under the porch light, snow glittering over the sleeping flower beds.
She made a face. “I know. What was I thinking? I don’t have time to take care of a yard of any size. Sometimes I think I should have stayed in my condo.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asked, letting Kodiak out onto the deck. The dog hobbled down the steps and trotted into the snow with purpose. “Seems like it would have been more convenient.”
“Life isn’t always about choosing the convenient path, is it?” she said quietly. “I heard this house was for sale, and I was tired of sharing walls and ceilings with neighbors. I could hear my next-door neighbor at all hours. She had three Chihuahuas as well as a chronic cough.”
“Yikes,” he said.
She smiled faintly. “Exactly. Plus, I wanted a place where I could play the piano or guitar whenever I wanted without having her knock on our adjoining wall. Something in me just wanted more space.”
“Let me guess. You were tired of your neighbors calling the cops on you for all those wild parties you throw.”
“How did you know?” she asked, keeping her voice perfectly deadpan.
For a heartbeat, he almost smiled. She saw a hint of it tug at his mouth and felt an absurd flare of accomplishment. Once upon a time, she’d known exactly how to make him laugh. The urge to do it again—to peel away some of that distance and watch his eyes warm—was ridiculously persistent.
She tamped it down.
“I wouldn’t call it an impulse purchase,” she went on. “I spent weeks trying to make up my mind. But it felt right. I walked in, and the house . . . well, it sounds silly, but it felt like it sang to me.”
She winced, feeling her cheeks heat. “That sounded less ridiculous in my head.”
He leaned against the doorframe, looking past her into the yard. “Doesn’t sound ridiculous at all from a woman whose whole life has a soundtrack.”
“By the time I had to buy a new lawn mower, weed whacker and pruning shears, I was questioning my own sanity,” she admitted. “Also, did you know snowblowers cost approximately a million dollars?”
“At least you don’t have to worry about gardening for a few months,” he said.
She smiled. “My dad calls winter the great equalizer. His yard looks as good as the neighbors’ when everything’s covered in several inches of snow.”
That drew a real smile, quick and genuine, and her heart gave a silly little hop.
“How are your parents?” he asked.
She looked out at the yard, picturing her father in his puffy coat, carefully shoveling her front walk last week while pretending he “just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“They’re okay,” she said. “My dad had a heart attack a few years ago, so that slowed him down some. He hates that.”
She shrugged. “He still tries to do more than he should. My mom is as busy as ever. She’s running a booth at the Christmas market with some of her friends. They’re selling baked goods. Pies, cookies, cupcakes. I have no idea how she thinks she’s going to keep a booth stocked for ten days straight, but she doesn’t seem concerned.”
