When she noticed Grant’s blanched features, Sylvia squinted in concern. “Are you all right? You look like Jimmy Stewart inRear Windowwhen he witnesses the murder.”
“I… I’m fine,” Grant stammered, stooping to grab his keys. “Thank you for the dessert.” With shaky hands, he accepted the Tupperware, careful not to smudge Ben’s painting, and turned toward the door. But how could he go outside after what he’d seen?
“Good night, dear.” Sylvia shot him one last quizzical glance before retreating to the kitchen.
Grant stood facing the solid oak door, unable to open it, knowing what awaited him on the other side. Any minute now, Eliza would come bounding up the front steps, her cheeks flushed, and anI’ve just been kissedglaze in her dazzling eyes. Grant couldn’t bear to see it. But what choice did he have?
Gripping the nickel-plated doorknob, Grant forced his wrist to turn, and his feet to step out into the brisk night air. But he moved slowly, with an apprehensive gait.
The low hum of a car engine and crunch of tires on the gravel drive drew his attention to the one spot he’d been too afraid to look.
Eliza stood at the bottom of the steps, completely alone.
Turning toward the house, she blinked in surprise. “Grant?”
“Hey.” Grant hoped the waver in his voice didn’t betray his heartache.
“What are you doing here?” She climbed the steps to meet him on the porch.
“I, uh, came to show you a few more ideas for the website but… you weren’t home.”Obviously. Dummy. Get it together.
“Right.” Eliza glanced at the ground, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Attempting to fill the uncomfortable silence, Grant blurted, “Look what Ben made me.”
Eliza’s gaze flickered to her son’s painting, then to Grant’s face. She wore an unreadable expression, but her dark eyes shone with a wistful, almost pensive glint. “It’s you,” she murmured in a voice so soft, Grant barely heard her.
“What did you say?”
“It’s you,” she repeated, reaching out to graze the edge of the paper with her fingertips, before jerking her hand back to her side.
Grant glanced at the painting, focusing on the blurry figure with black curly hair and rectangular framed glasses. He attempted a rueful smile. “My first portrait. What do you think? Do I have what it takes to be an art model?”
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Eliza’s mouth. “Maybe for Picasso.”
“Ouch.” Grant chuckled, feeling a weight release around his heart. Why couldn’t it always be like this? The two of them together, comfortable and uncomplicated?
“Well, it’s late….” Eliza shuffled closer to the door, and taking the hint, Grant sidestepped out of the way.
Ask her about the date….The thought pushed its way to the forefront of Grant’s mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He didn’t need to ask. He’d seen Colt lean in for the kiss. Why would he torture himself with the details?
“Good night,” Eliza called over her shoulder, one hand on the doorknob.
“Good night, Lizzy.”
Grant stood on the porch and watched her duck inside, closing the door behind her.
The click of the latch, though barely more than a whisper, sounded deafening in his ears.
If he’d ever had a chance to win Eliza back, it was long gone now.
Chapter 12
The warm late spring air buzzed with excitement as half the town converged at the Poppy Creek trailhead, clothed in swimsuits and water shoes.
“Can you explain the Creek Walk to me?” Cassie asked, her features scrunched in confusion. “Luke’s been talking about it all week, but I have to say… the way he describes it doesn’t make any sense. And it doesn’t sound anything like a walk.”
Eliza and Penny laughed.
