And even more importantly, how would she explain it to Penny?
* * *
The time span between the moment Colt asked out Eliza to the evening after their date had almost killed Grant. He’d contemplated tying himself to a chair to keep from skulking about town with the intent of sabotaging their date. Instead, he’d focused his pent-up energy working on Eliza’s website. Fortunately, it also happened to be the perfect excuse to stop by her house. And if he received an update on her date, so be it. He wasn’t one to pry.
Yeah, right….
Who was he kidding? He’d definitely pry.
A surge of fond memories washed over Grant as he mounted the broad porch steps leading up to the periwinkle-blue farmhouse.
The Carter residence had always been like a second home to Grant. After school, they would often split their time between homework around the kitchen island—devouring whatever baked good Eliza had concocted for them—and helping Hank at his hardware store.
To his surprise, Grant noticed most of the landscaping had remained the same. A brick pathway Sylvia had dubbed The Red Carpet cut through a lush English garden, ushering visitors to the house. Long strands of bistro lights canopied the lawn, casting an ethereal glow Sylvia fondly referred to as “stage lighting.”
Grant smiled at the memory, grateful Eliza had inherited her mother’s warm, vivacious personality, without all of her other idiosyncrasies.
However, the more Grant surveyed the familiar surroundings, the more the similarities bothered him. As if the unaltered details hid the fact that everything inside the house—at least, everything that mattered—had completely changed.
Adjusting the strap of his leather portfolio strung over his shoulder, Grant rapped on the front door.
Seconds later, Sylvia greeted him on the other side, her broad smile momentarily distracting Grant from her frilly feather-trimmed house coat.
“Did I… come at a bad time?” Grant faltered, trying not to gawk at the ostentatious plumes of her matching slippers. “Why, Grant Parker! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Sylvia pulled him into a hug so tight, Grant’s glasses nearly popped off his face. “Don’t be silly. Come in! Come in! To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I was hoping to show Eliza some new ideas I had for her website.” As Grant crossed the threshold, familiar sights and scents bombarded his senses. The plush, whimsical furnishings befitting the dressing room of a headlining actress, complete with framed movie posters. And the mouthwatering aroma of vanilla bean and warm chocolate chip cookies.
Sylvia’s smile faded. “Oh, honey. Didn’t you hear? She’s on a date with Colt tonight.”
“I thought that was last night?” Grant’s gaze flickered around the entryway, as though Eliza would appear any second.
“Well, it was. Except Ben had a big project due this morning so they postponed it to tonight. That child runs her life, you know.”
Sylvia laughed but Grant didn’t know what to say. Feeling foolish, he took a step toward the door. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll—”
“Grant!” Ben’s bright, exuberant greeting carried down the hallway as he skipped toward them. “You’re here!”
Something about the boy’s excitement in seeing him tugged at Grant’s heartstrings. “Hey, Ben. I stopped by to show your mom something, but I’m on my way out.”
“Do you have to go?” Ben’s dark eyes pleaded with him to stay. “I have something to show you.”
“Oh, um…” Grant hesitated, caught off guard by the invitation.
“Yes, please stay,” Sylvia encouraged. “In fact, you should join us for dinner. Hank would love to see you.”
“Thank you, but I couldn’t impose.”
“Don’t be silly!” Sylvia waved her hand with a dramatic flourish. “I always make plenty. And goodness knows there’s enough dessert around here to feed the entire cast ofLes Mis.”
Grant chuckled as Sylvia’s affable banter put him at ease. “Okay, then. I’d be happy to stay for dinner. Thank you.”
“Hooray!” Ben cheered, grabbing his hand. “Come see what I made. I used the color wheel, just like you showed me.”
As Ben tugged him down the hallway, Grant marveled at the sensation of Ben’s small hand in his, as though one simple gesture carried an unspoken pact of trust and confidence.
One Grant realized he would do almost anything not to break.
Chapter 11
