He led her to the door and stepped out onto his front porch. He smiled at her. “I’m glad you stopped by. Drop by anytime.”
She climbed down the stairs and turned back to him, searching his face. A battle raged within her. She hesitated, then plunged on. “Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow night?”
“At your house? I’d love to.” He nodded eagerly. “So I guess you learned to cook in the years I’ve been gone.”
She laughed softly. “No, not really. But I’ll ask my cook to make us something nice.”
He tried to hide his grin with little success. “Well, it still sounds nice.”
“I’ll see you at six.” With that, she headed down the sidewalk with Winston trotting slowly at her side. She glanced back once and saw he was still standing outside on this porch, watching her. Just like he used to when they were young and she’d hurry off to return home before her father knew she was gone.
When they got home, Eleanor hung Winston’s leash on the hook by the door. The familiar jingle of his tags and his nails clicking against the hardwood floors broke the silence as he trotted off to the kitchen and headed straight for his water bowl.
She wandered into the living room, her footsteps echoing in the empty house. The silence settled around her, a reminder of the solitude that she had grown accustomed to in recent years. She paused by the bookcase, her gaze drawn to the framed photographs that chronicled—or ridiculed—her life.
There was a picture of her and Theodore on their wedding day. Her expression held the expected smile even if her eyes showed a hint of sadness. Another showed Cliff as a baby, cradled in his father’s arms, his tiny face scrunched up in sleep. Ah, Cliff, the son who now wanted to ruin the quaint look of the island with a multi-storied building at the end of the boardwalk. Eleanor’s fingers traced the edges of the frames, wondering what life she thought she’d be living when she decided to marry Theodore. But she’d made her choice and did what her father expected of her. A Whitmore always did what was expected.
She moved to the window, looking out at the quiet street. The sun was beginning to set, its warm beams painting a soft layer of light over the neighborhood. She watched as a young couple walked by, hand in hand, their laughter carrying on the gentle breeze. For a moment, she was transported back to a time when she and Jonah had been that couple, lost in each other’s company. Though, they had always hidden in the shadows, never allowing anyone to see them.
The sound of Winston’s bark pulled her from her reverie. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his tail wagging expectantly. “All right.” She smiled indulgently, moving toward the kitchen. “I suppose it’s time for your dinner.”
As she filled Winston’s bowl, a twinge of loneliness crept over her. The house felt too big sometimes for just her and Winston. But then, she couldn’t imagine doing that downsize thing that older people were always talking about. This house was her home. Every corner held memories of the life she’d built here. Even if that life wasn’t exactly as she’d hoped.
Pushing her thoughts aside, she walked back into the front room, her steps measured and precise. She moved to the bar cart in the corner, its polished brass gleaming. The wine bottles stood in neat rows—a collection she’d curated over the years. Her hand hesitated over several before selecting one of her favorite Cabernet Sauvignons.
The crystal wineglass clinked softly as she set it down, the deep red liquid catching the light as she poured. She took a small sip and let the rich flavor settle on her tongue. Theodore had never approved of women drinking alone, but Theodore wasn’t here anymore. No one was here to tell her what to do. Not Theodore. Not her father. No one could tell her how to live her life. And that freedom was welcome, almost enough to overcome the emptiness of the house.
Winston entered the room, gave her a lazy glance, and wandered over to settle in his bed. She walked over and sat on her favorite chair, her thoughts drifting to dinner tomorrow. She’d need to speak with her cook about the menu. Maybe a nice beef tenderloin. But perhaps that was too formal? She took another sip of wine, frustrated by her own indecision. When had she become this person who second-guessed everything?
She smoothed her hand over her skirt, a nervous gesture she thought she’d left behind decades ago. Just like that flutter in her heart when she saw Jonah earlier today. She’d felt like a young girl again for a brief moment, standing there on his front porch.
Foolish, really. She was far too old for such schoolgirl reactions. But there it was—that same skip in her heartbeat she’d felt the first time Jonah Burton smiled at her. Back then, she’d told herself it was just a passing fancy. Her father had already arranged her marriage to Theodore Griffin, after all. The Whitmores and Griffins had been planning that union since she was in pigtails.
But Jonah’s smile still had the same effect on her, even after all these years. Even after everything that had happened between them. Even after she’d chosen duty over love.
She took another sip of wine. For now, she allowed herself this moment of remembering—of feeling. The house was quiet except for Winston’s soft snoring from his bed in the corner, and in that silence, she could admit to herself that some things never changed. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many carefully constructed walls she built around her heart, Jonah Burton still made it flutter.
Chapter4
The next afternoon, Darlene stepped onto the porch carrying a batch of her famous chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, their edges perfectly baked to a golden brown. She offered some to a young couple nestled together on a loveseat with books resting on their laps. At the far end of the porch, Mr. Donovan sat hunched over a notebook, his pen tapping against the page.
She approached him slowly, not wanting to startle him. His brow creased in concentration, and he seemed lost in whatever world lived inside those pages. “Mr. Donovan, these just came out of the oven, if you’d care for one.”
His gaze drifted up slowly, like someone swimming up from the depths of the sea. “Oh, thank you, Darlene. That’s very kind of you.” He reached for a cookie and the corners of his mouth tilted up in a small smile.
Darlene hesitated. “Care to take a break? Do you mind if I join you for a bit?”
“Not at all.” He gestured toward the empty chair, his shoulders relaxing just a touch. “I could use the company.”
She settled into the chair beside him. “You look a bit perplexed, Mr. Donovan. Something troubling you?”
He sighed, setting down his pen. “Please, call me Mark.”
“Okay, Mark it is.” She nodded and took one of the cookies off the tray.
“And yes, I’m a bit frustrated. I came here hoping to find inspiration, but it seems my muse has abandoned me.”
“You’re working on…?” She eyed the blank page in his open notebook and the crumpled pages beside him on the chair. The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the pristine white paper, making the emptiness seem even more vivid.
