I jumped when the oven dinged, letting me know the temperature had reached three hundred and seventy-five degrees.
Maybe I really was letting this old house get to me.
I set the bowl aside and dug into the paper sack to find the almond extract.
Almond extract I was certain I’d purchased this afternoon at the store.
Almond extract that wasn’t there.
With a frown, I sank back onto my heels. Frustration leaked into my veins.
Damn it.
My first pie, and I was already failing. It was one of those ingredients I could probably get away with not using, but it just wouldn’t be the same. Looking around, my attention landed on the pantry.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, Gramma,” I mumbled, opening the pantry door and rummaging through the few items that hadn’t already been discarded.
“Aha.” It was a cry of victory as I held the bottle of almond extract in the air.
Victory that was short-lived. It’d expired three years ago.
“Damn it,” I muttered again. I tossed it into the garbage bin right before my eye caught on a white envelope tucked on a shelf at the side of the pantry wall. Like a forgotten partner to all the expired spices and extracts. A token of the past.
Apprehension swelled, anxious and uneasy, and I slowly moved forward.
It felt as if it were some kind of secret.
As if I were on some kind of forbidden mission.
Silly, I knew, but my fingers trembled when I reached in and tugged it free, the paper tacked to something sticky on the pantry wall.
That anxiousness thickened like molasses, my throat full and bobbing, my stomach twisted in a vice.
My name was written across the front, the familiar handwriting scratchy from an unsteady hand.
“Oh God.” Grief came swooping back in, but I smiled through the tears that were suddenly clouding my eyes as I ripped into the letter.
There was so much comfort in knowing she felt confident that one day I would find what she’d left for me.
I tugged it out and quickly scanned the card.
All moments matter. We just rarely know how important they are until the chance to act on them has already passed.
My spirit flooded with love, and I clung tight to the reminder of this amazing woman who’d always viewed the world as if it were right on the cusp of something magical. The tough times nothing but a stepping-stone to propel us to where we were supposed to be.
I took a fumbling step back when I sensed the change outside my kitchen window. A light had flickered on across the street. Drawn, I inched across the creaking floor, again keeping myself hidden as I crept toward the window. I pulled back the edge of the lacy drape and peered that direction, not sure if I felt guilty for doing it or if it was somehow my duty.
Because this time there was no question I was spying.
Unable to look away.
Somehow knowing I didn’t want to.
The bulk of him took up the entirety of his kitchen window, his hair, which was a dark, golden blond and a little long on top, was in complete disarray and stuck up in all directions. As if he’d spent the night tossing in bed, waging a war I didn’t understand. I couldn’t make out his expression with the way he had his head dropped between his shoulders, his hands most likely propped on the counter to hold himself up. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t clearly see him fighting with whatever demons plagued him.
“Shit,” I whispered, clutching the letter in my hand, waging my own war. The battles I’d once fought in this town had been lost. The memories of them stalled me with trepidation, the strength I’d found through the years away coming against them and instilling me with courage.
I glanced at the letter again.
