She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, allowing herself to feel this way about a guest, about a man who was still grieving for his late wife. She decided to slip upstairs without going to find Felicity. She’d give her some privacy to say goodnight to Brent. And if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t quite ready for her granddaughter’s inevitable barrage of questions.
Chapter13
Eleanor tugged Winston’s leash and steered him in a new direction today on their walk. She deliberately headed in the opposite direction of Wisteria Street and Jonah’s cottage, the usual path she’d come to take over the last week or so. Her chin lifted as she recalled the stares of the townspeople when she’d gone to the theater with Jonah last night. So many of them craning their necks, watching Jonah and her find their seats.
Not that it was anyone’s business what she did. But the Whitmore reputation had survived generations of scrutiny in this town. She wouldn’t be the one to change that now.
Even though she hadn’t been a Whitmore since she was a young girl. But the Griffin name wasalmost as respected as Whitmore and part of the reason her father had been so determined that she marry Theodore.
It had been such a loveless marriage. He’d never shown her any affection, except occasionally when they were in public. At parties, he would rest his hand on her back and smile at her—a performance for the guests, not true affection. The cold silence afterward felt sharper after the tiny glimpse of the pretense of warmth.
At home he’d sit in his leather armchair, newspaper lifted like a shield between them. No holding hands. No quiet moments discussing their days. No praise when she pulled off a fancy dinner party for him.
What would her life have been like if only…
She shook her head. Dwelling in the past was for dreamers and romantics. She’d made her choice all those years ago, signed her name on that marriage certificate in flowing script. The ink had long since dried.
If-onlys were for fools. Everyone chose their path and lived with the consequences of their decisions. She couldn’t go back.
She paused as Winston pulled on his leash so he could snuffle along the base of a fence. She patiently waited for him to finish.
Her fingers traced the worn leather of Winston’s leash, a comfort she’d relied on through so many seasons of change. Memories of last night’s theater performance flickered through her mind—Jonah’s warm smile, his gentle hand at her elbow as they walked up the steps. Such proper, innocent gestures, yet they’d set tongues wagging all over town. She squared her shoulders against the memory.
She was too old, too set in her ways for this sort of attention. The peaceful routine of her daily walks with Winston felt safer and more appropriate for a woman like her. At her age, she should be well past such foolishness as romance. The whole town probably thought the same—their whispers followed her like a dried palm frond skittering down the sidewalk.
She was Eleanor Griffin, née Whitmore, after all. The thought settled heavily on her shoulders, the familiar weight of expectations and propriety crushing down on her.
And these butterfly feelings when Jonah smiled at her? Surely they were just another misstep waiting to happen. Maybe all this with Jonah was a mistake now too.
Winston finished his exploration and turned to trot down the sidewalk. She clenched his leash a bit tighter as she thought about this morning. She’d gone to the market and heard two checkout girls talking. They were talking about her.
And Jonah.
“Do you hear that he used to be a dockworker? What is she doing going out with adockworker?” one of the young girls had said.
“They’re too old to be dating, anyway.” The other girl shrugged.
She’d pushed her cart up to the checkout, given them both a hard stare—which at least caused them to blush—and stood silently as the girl rang up her purchases.
But they were just two of the many people who were talking about her, she was certain.
She and Winston rounded the corner back to her house. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Jonah standing on her front porch, leaning against the railing, his hands tucked into his pockets and a welcoming smile on his face. She approached cautiously, Winston trotting alongside her, his tail wagging at the sight of a familiar face.
“Jonah, what are you doing here?” she asked.
He took a step forward, his eyes filled with concern. “I just wanted to check on you, Ellie. I noticed the stares last night at the theater. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She felt a lump form in her throat. She’d hoped Jonah hadn’t noticed the whispers and sideways glances, but of course, he had. He was observant, always attuned to her feelings, even after all these years.
She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Part of her wanted to brush it off, to pretend that everything was fine. But standing there, with his warm gaze fixed upon her, she found herself unable to lie.
“I… I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I don’t like gossip associated with the Whitmore name. And I don’t like change, Jonah. I like my routines. It’s how I’ve survived my life.”
He nodded, understanding etched in the depths of his eyes. He took another step closer, reaching out and gently touching her arm. “But merely surviving isn’t the point, is it, Ellie? We have one life to live. Shouldn’t we live it to the fullest? Do what brings us joy?”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes—totally catching her off guard because she never cried. Ever.
Jonah’s words struck a chord deep within her. Still, she was unsure. And being unsure of something unnerved her. “Maybe we should take a step back.”
