Her back was still leaning against the door when there was another knock. Cora flung the door open, annoyed that Alfred had not already left.
But it was Roy, not Alfred, who stood before at her the door, and Cora’s heart leapt in her chest.
“Roy!” Cora squeaked with more enthusiasm than she intended to express. She immediately felt foolish.
“I was coming to collect the papers my father left to you. The ones regarding the deed to the house?”
“Yes, of course,” Cora replied, stepping aside to let Roy enter. She peeked around the corner for her father, worried what he might think if he saw Roy standing in their kitchen, but he seemed to have gone to the outhouse.
Cora left Roy in the kitchen while she went to her bedroom, quickly locating the papers in the trunk at the end of her bed. When she returned to the kitchen, Roy was standing with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking around the room the way one does when they first enter a new place and are taking in their surroundings.
“These are everything you need,” Cora said. Their fingers slightly brushed against each other as she passed the papers to him, and an electric shock traveled from her fingers to the pit of her stomach.
“Was that Alfred Mills just leaving here?” Roy asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. She imagined the wealthiest man in Lakewood was the last person he would have expected to run into at Cora’s house.
“Yes,” Cora said numbly. “My father invited him here for lunch. He asked my father for my hand in marriage, and my father has given his blessing.”
Roy’s eyebrows shot up at this revelation, causing the jagged scar under his eye to flutter handsomely.
“And what about you?” Roy asked softly after a moment of silence. “Does he haveyourblessing?”
Cora lifted her eyes to meet Roy’s gaze. She knew what answer she was supposed to give, but Roy’s comforting presence gave her the strength to bare this small part of her soul.
“No—I’m not so sure that he does.”
Chapter Twelve
After spending another night in his childhood bedroom, Roy woke up to the sunlight casting a shadow at the end of the bed and the sound of feet shuffling in the kitchen. Rather than being worried about an intruder like the last time he heard noises in the house, however, he sat up in bed knowing that Cora had made her way back to the house. Although he still found it odd that she was so comfortable just letting herself into his father’s house whenever she pleased, he also found it oddly comforting to not wake up alone.
He ran a head through his unruly, chin-length hair in a futile attempt to tame it. He slid on his trousers and looked down at his shirt—the same shirt he had been wearing for the past three days that was now covered in dirt stains and was undeniably giving off an unfavorable scent.
Walking quietly and steering clear of the kitchen, Roy made his way into his father’s room and shut the door softly behind him. Feeling like an intruder, he opened his father’s cedar wardrobe and surveyed his father’s collection of long-sleeved shirts. He could picture his father wearing each one, and he swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. He bypassed the many crisp, white options that would make him resemble too much a pastor and selected a blue striped button-down shirt.
He carefully removed the shirt from the hanger and held it in his hands, remembering his father wearing this on those rare occasions when he wasn’t the town pastor but was just a father taking his son fishing. He had a flashback to sitting on his father’s bed when he was a little boy, bouncing excitedly on the edge of the bed in anticipation of their fishing trip and watching his father button his shirt. Those were good days, before all of the conflict and discord about his future had taken hold over their relationship. He pressed the shirt to his face, inhaling the scent. It was subtle but still present, a smell of pine that unquestionably belonged to his father, and his hands shook with grief.
He shrugged the shirt on over his shoulders, fastened the buttons, and headed toward the kitchen where, just as he had suspected, Cora was there preparing coffee.
“You know you can’t just keep letting yourself in here, right?” Roy said as he entered the room, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms in front of his chest. While he intended for his voice to sound strict and firm, he found himself watching with amusement as Cora navigated the kitchen with the ease of someone who had lived here for years. Then again, that wasn’t too far from the truth, as she had spent far more time here in the past five years than he had.
Cora didn’t respond to his remark, instead handing him a cup of coffee. Roy couldn’t remember the last time he drank coffee out of a cup with a matching saucer, but he instantly recognized the reddish-brown drawings of boats, cherry blossoms, bamboo, and flowers surrounding the cup and saucer. This was a cup his father had pulled out occasionally when they had company over, boasting that it was Victorian and made in England.
Roy graciously accepted, raising the mug to his lips and allowing the warm liquid to take its effect, sharpening his senses. Roy was acutely aware of Cora watching him intently, as if she were studying him.
“So, what is your plan?” Cora finally asked, taking a drink and continuing to stare at him over the edge of her cup.
“What do you mean?” Roy asked, although he knew what she was asking and was just stalling. He pulled out a chair and took a seat across from her. Unlike in the days before, when their interactions had seemed tense and stilted, conversing with Cora, sitting across from her at the table and sharing a cup of coffee with her was starting to feel more natural, as if it had always been this way between them. Still, he was uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking, as it reminded him of the difficult decisions that rested on his shoulders.
“What is your plan for all of this?” Cora gestured vaguely at the surroundings. “Your father left everything to you, remember?”
“Yes, I realize that,” Roy grumbled, taking another sip of coffee, which was one of the best cups he had had in years. The coffee at the ranch got the job done of kickstarting his energy, but it had the unappealing appearance of mud and water and was extremely bitter. Rather than taking the time to enjoy his cup of coffee, he would choke it down for the effect of the caffeine. Even the coffee he had attempted to make yesterday came out much the same way.
But this cup that Cora had prepared was bold and strong, and he could easily imagine himself sitting outside on the porch and enjoying a leisurely morning while savoring every sip.
“What’s your secret with the coffee?” Roy asked, not wanting to hold back that he was impressed. Cora gave a shy smile—perhaps she was not used to compliments or wasn’t expecting Roy to give her one—and then explained her process with confidence.
“I break an egg and mix a part with the ground coffee just before I put it in the pot,” Cora said. “It takes out the bitterness from the grounds, and it makes the caffeine go further.”
Roy raised my eyebrows, impressed. “Smart. I’ll have to remember that for when I go back to the ranch.”
