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With a sigh, she knew she'd already decided. Now, she just had to act. But she couldn't do that while Joel was out of town. She needed to talk to him in person.
Her thoughts were distracted by the sound of Leo giggling uncontrollably, and a smile lifted her lips. She got up and went into the bedroom, seeing Decker tickling Leo, who was rolling around on the floor in absolute delight.
"What is going on in here?" she asked.
"Someone wanted to be tickled," Decker said.
"More," Leo squealed, squirming under Decker's teasing fingers.
She watched them for a few minutes, enjoying the fun they were having together, then she realized how late it was getting. "It's time to get ready for bed," she said, instantly killing the mood.
Leo's face clouded over, but before he could burst into tears, Decker swept him up in his arms and got to his feet. "You're not a boy, you're an airplane. Let's fly into your bed," he said, taking Leo on a soaring run around the room before dumping him into the middle of his bed. "The plane has landed," he told Chloe while Leo giggled again.
"I'm not a plane," Leo said.
"Oh, my mistake."
"Can you read me a story, Decker?" Leo asked.
"I'm going to read to you," she answered before Decker could get hit up for another favor.
"Sleep good, Leo," Decker said.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" Leo asked eagerly.
"I hope so," Decker replied.
As Leo smiled happily, her gut clenched. Leo was falling for Decker, and she was terribly afraid she was, too. They might both be headed for a fall. But for now, she was just going to read a story and send Leo off into a sweet, happy dreamland.
ChapterEighteen
While Chloe read to Leo,Decker went out to his truck and retrieved the samples of tile and flooring he'd brought for Chloe to look at. He set everything down on the dining room table and then moved into the living room, his gaze moving to the stack of boxes and desk drawers that he'd taken from Eleanor's bedroom. The last thing he wanted to do was go through Ellie's things. But trying not to think about their connection wasn't working. He was going to be in her house for another six weeks. If there was something to discover, he might as well find it now and get it over with. And maybe there wouldn't be anything which would be even better.
He moved a couple of drawers around, not interested in the office supplies and stacks of Christmas and birthday cards, none of which had been used. But the bottom drawer held personal papers and what appeared to be several journals. He took the drawer to the coffee table and sat down on the couch. He picked up the first journal.
When he opened it and saw the handwriting, a chill ran through him. His gaze blurred as he read the first few paragraphs of what appeared to be a story—a story his father had written.
But why would Eleanor have a journal that his father had written in?
Shaking his head in confusion, he read the first page, then the second. The writing was rough. It felt like a draft. As the story took shape, he realized he was reading his father's very first book, a novel set in France during the second world war. Flipping through the journal, the writing tapered off in the middle of the fourth chapter. The rest of the pages were blank.
He closed the book and stared down at the blank cover, as his brain went back in time.
His father was sitting on the back porch as the sun went down, and he was writing in a book.
"What are you doing, Daddy?" he asked.
"Working on my story."
"Can you read it to me?"
"When you're older." His dad pulled him onto his lap. "It's a grown-up story, and one day I'm going to publish it. It will be in libraries and bookstores. I can see it now."
"What's it about?"
"It's about war, fighting for what you believe in, struggling to survive, taking chances, being brave even when you're afraid," his dad replied.
"I'm brave," he said. "I didn't cry when I fell down the steps this morning."
