Chapter Fifteen
Sophie
Sophie did as her sister suggested: she slept on it.
Or tried to.
Sleep was elusive at best, and she couldn’t even blame Caroline’s active feet. She was falling for Denver. All throughout the party, she watched him. No matter how much she denied her feelings, Denver was already nestled inside the depths of her heart. It occurred to Sophie that she might even be in love with him. She wasn’t willing to fully accept that possibility, but it lingered in the nearby distance.
After dropping Caroline off at school and cleaning lodge rooms with Cadence’s help, Sophie made a decision and showered. Though she made a little bit of an effort with her appearance Saturday night for Tessa’s sake, staring in the mirror today, she realized she wanted to do so for her own sake. “Are we really going to do this?” she asked herself, applying makeup she hadn’t worn in months.
Denver had today to write the final chapters of Malcom’s latest mystery. She knew he’d be home, and felt a twinge of guilt at disturbing him. Maybe someday in the future, he’d use what she was about to do in a book.
A knock at the door drew her attention. “Come in,” she called from the bathroom, adding a thin coating of lip gloss. The memory of that kiss still stirred something deep inside her, almost a week later. Tired of fighting it, she decided she very much wanted to try it again.
“Wear this.” Cadence stood in the doorway, pink scarf outstretched toward Sophie.
“Do you think—”
“It’s from Denver?” Cadence laughed. “Of course it is, Soph.”
“But you and Rilee didn’t even mention him as a suspect last week. He can’t be my secret admirer.”
“Some things you have to figure out on your own. You know the answer, Soph.” Cadence helped Sophie layer the scarf just right so the stargazer lilies popped. “Will you be back for dinner? Tessa promised you the carbiest carb-loaded meal of all tonight. You’ll need the energy.”
Tomorrow morning Sophie would run—and complete—her first marathon. Twenty-six-point-two miles. Because of her confusing feelings for Denver, she’d almost forgotten about the race. The weeks of training and preparation. The single end-goal that had consumed the last four months of her life. “I’ll be back.”
Cadence winked. “Bring Denver.”
“How did you know—”
“I haven’t seen you wear makeup since Dad’s funeral.”
Cadence turned to leave, but Sophie stopped her with a question. “What if someone else gave me all these gifts and Denver just wants to be friends?” She thought back to Annie flirting with him at the bank last week and again at the book club. The barista’s number on his coffee cup with heart doodles. Denver could have his pick of any single woman in town—most of them didn’t come with a kid. “What if I’m wrong?”
“What if you’re not?”
The powerful words followed Sophie to Denver’s front porch. She knocked gently on the screen door, listening for typing or music through the open screen. “Denver?” she called.
Sherlock bounded to the door, tail wagging with vigor.
“Hey, buddy. Where’s your dad?” She waited another minute, listening for footsteps or any sign of Denver before stepping inside. Sherlock nudged his head against her leg, begging for an ear-scratch.
“Denver?” she called out again.
Sophie searched the main floor, finding only a pot of cold coffee and some baking instructions in Tillie’s handwriting. Sophie let her guard down completely, wondering what life might be like if they were a family unit. Would Sophie cook the meals while Denver raced against deadlines? Would they talk book plots in the kitchen over morning coffee after they dropped Caroline off at school?
Making a full circle back to the front door, Sophie dropped into the office. It was Denver’s favorite room of the whole house.Would he mind Caroline living here even though it doesn’t have a door?His quiet environment would be disrupted.
The massive L-shaped desk drew her closer—the place where all the magic happened. Books came to life. The last time she caught a glimpse of the newest addition to Denver’s writing cave, it’d been through a dusky dark lens. The night she nearly kissed him in the kitchen until Caroline interrupted them.
Sherlock nudged her hand with his head, demanding she put it to good use. But Sophie hardly got a pat in before the dog stiffened, his attention laser-focused on the window. She saw the rabbit before Sherlock raced to the window and commenced rapid-barking. In the commotion, half the loose papers on Denver’s desk wafted into the air and sailed to the floor.
“Really, Sherlock?”
Sophie bent to pick up what she assumed were notes for either the ending of Denver’s current book or ideas for his next. But normally he wrote those out by hand; these pages were typed.
“You never print your books out—”
