“Sure. Of course.” Stan stared at the floor, coughing into his hand. “I’ll, uh, just get my book. I think I left it… Ah, yes. There it is.” Crossing the room, Stan plucked an autobiography of George Washington off the side table by his armchair. “Don’t rush on my account. I’ll read in the den. I’m glad to see this place getting some use again.” Tipping his head, he shuffled out of the room, leaving Grant slightly winded.
The entire exchange baffled him, but Grant didn’t want to linger in the stuffy room any longer than necessary. He gathered his laptop and sketchbook before tucking his cell phone into his back pocket.
Taking one last glance around the space, Grant noticed the bookcases looked a little dustier than he remembered. He supposed now that his father was mostly retired, he didn’t have much use for them. Strange, considering Grant could hardly recall a time when his father wasn’t locked inside his office. True, it was much worse in New York when he handled the accounting for several prominent hedge fund managers. But even after relocating to Poppy Creek, Stan kept busy, splitting his time between tax preparation for locals and working remotely for a few of his previous clients.
Bitterness wriggled around Grant’s heart, and he shook his head, dismissing the toxic thoughts before they took hold.
Grant needed to start Landon’s project, but he would never be able to harness his creativity surrounded by so many painful memories.
Moving to the back porch, Grant arranged his laptop and sketchbook on the bistro table overlooking his mother’s magazine-worthy garden that abutted a thick grove of white pines and mountain hemlock. Grant relished the seclusion, but Harriet constantly complained about her battle with poison oak, a rash-inducing shrub that pervaded the area. Another way in which his mother had never learned to embrace their move.
Serenaded by two cardinals perched on the patio umbrella overhead, Grant opened his laptop and clicked the file for Morris Bio Tech. But after staring blankly at the screen for several minutes, Grant closed the lid and flipped open his sketchbook.
Over the next two hours, the ideas poured from his fingertips, creating magic on the page. Albeit for a completely different project. The desire to show Eliza his designs for her website and get her input consumed Grant, filling him with pure, unbridled excitement.
Her face flashed into his mind—the uncertain yet burning glint in her eyes from last night. For a moment, Grant thought he could put their troubled past behind him. Maybe he could forgive the way she’d broken his heart more than once. First, when she’d abruptly ended things, without so much as an explanation. Then, when he’d found out she was having someone else’s child. How had his mother put it?Some tourist passing through town.
The words had dripped from his mother’s lips like acid, eating away at his soul. At first, Grant hadn’t believed her. It didn’t sound like Eliza. She didn’t have flings. And she’d never wanted kids. Neither of them had. But if they’d ever changed their minds, Grant had assumed they would take that leap together.
But maybe he didn’t know Eliza as well as he thought he did.
Chapter 9
Bright streaks of light streamed through the bakery windows, reflecting off Grant’s laptop screen, making it difficult for Eliza to concentrate.
“What do you think?” Grant glanced in her direction, his intense blue eyes bright and expectant.
Eliza blinked, momentarily distracted by the wisp of hair draped across his forehead. To her dismay, she had an irresistible urge to brush it aside and run her fingers through his thick, unruly waves.
Biting her lip, Eliza forced her attention to the table where Grant had set up his laptop and laid out several sketches and watercolors of various logo designs and branding ideas.
“I think…” she began, then hesitated. His work was exquisite. But spending time together was starting to get… complicated.
Filling Eliza’s pause, Cassie gushed, “They’re stunning! Truly gorgeous. In fact, I want to frame this one on the wall.” Cassie lifted a watercolor depicting a matching mug and saucer with a vibrant red poppy resting on the edge of the plate next to a French-style macaron. Based on the coloring, Eliza suspected the flavor might be café au lait—a tiny yet telling detail that made her emotions even more conflicted.
“I’m glad you like them.” Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Grant stole a glance at Eliza. “What do you think?”
I think… I think…Eliza furrowed her brow, trying to focus. What cologne was he wearing? It smelled spicy and faintly sweet, like gingerbread dipped in dark chocolate.
“Liza?” Cassie prompted, tugging Eliza from her scent-induced trance.
“Oh, um…” Flustered, she forced her attention to the design Cassie held in her hand. The striking red of the poppy paired beautifully with the soft, robin’s-egg blue of the mug and saucer. And as Eliza peered closer at the petals, she noticed brushstrokes of cerise and magenta, melding her favorite color with Cassie’s. “It’s perfect,” she murmured, a slight catch in her throat.
Her gaze met Grant’s, and a current of awareness rippled between them.
Grant removed his glasses, wiping them on the hem of his T-shirt. “Great. So, I was thinking the website layout could—”
“Mom! Mom! Guess what?” Ben barged through the front door, waving a piece of paper as though he’d found a treasure map.
Luke strolled into the bakery behind him, an affectionate grin on his face. “Someone has great news.”
Eliza cast a furtive glance in Grant’s direction before returning her focus to her son. “Oh, yeah? Let’s hear it.” She smiled, although her pulse skittered anxiously.
“Look! I got an A!” Ben shoved the paper into her hands, beaming from ear to ear.
Eliza’s heart swelled at the look of pure joy on his face. After months of poor grades and concerned letters from his teacher, this one A had brought the light back into his eyes. And it came as no surprise to Eliza that it was the result of an art project.
She gazed fondly at the forest of trees surrounding a large body of water in the center. “Willow Lake?”
