“What if you’re not misreading it?” Lynda countered gently. “What if he’s feeling the same way?”
Susan nodded. “From what I saw on my last visit, Patrick lights up when he talks about you. And didn’t you say he offered to help with your house renovation?”
“He’s already given me some pointers,” Kathleen said. “But he’s a professional contractor. He’d probably help anyone who asked.”
“Maybe,” Isabel said. “Or maybe he’s looking for excuses to spend more time with you.”
“I have an idea,” Susan said suddenly. “Isabel and Lynda have already taken big leaps of faith. What if Kathleen and I push our comfort zones? I’ll seriously explore selling the business and maybe starting something smaller here.”
“And Kathleen could stop overthinking her relationship with Patrick and see where it leads,” Lynda said with a grin.
“That’s a big leap,” Kathleen said with a frown.
“Frank told me the biggest changes often start with the smallest steps,” Isabel said. “And we’ll all be here to support you through whatever happens.”
Kathleen looked around at her friends. “All right,” she said finally. “But I get to define what ‘seeing where it leads’ means.”
Susan held out her hand to Kathleen. “It sounds like we have a deal.”
With a firm handshake, Kathleen smiled. “We do. I have no idea what I’ll do about Patrick, but I’ll give it my best shot.”
As they cleaned up the remains of their picnic dinner, Kathleen felt a sense of anticipation she hadn’t experienced in years. Change was coming. And, for the first time in years, it felt like an adventure instead of a threat.
Chapter 4
Patrick parked his truck outside Jack and Emma’s cozy home and picked up the bottle of wine he’d brought with him.
A few years ago, he’d met Emma and her two children at what turned out to be a surprise engagement party for his grandson, Noah. From that first moment, Emma had reminded him of his late wife, Mary. She was radiant and warm, with a smile that lit every room she entered.
Her twins, Molly and Dylan, were reflections of their mom’s generous spirit. Patrick had watched with quiet satisfaction as Jack, his oldest grandson, fell in love with Emma during his visits to Sapphire Bay. What started as a friendship had blossomed into the kind of deep, lasting love Patrick had shared with his wife.
As he climbed the wooden stairs, he smelled the delicious scent of Emma’s famous pot roast. He was getting used to how different evenings like this felt from the sterile dinner parties he’d hosted in his Manhattan penthouse. Those had been about business connections and social obligations. This was about family.
The door swung open before he could knock, and nine-year-old Molly launched herself into his arms with the kind of unrestrained affection that still caught him off guard.
“Poppa!” she squealed, her red curls bouncing as she hugged him tight. “Mom made your favorite dessert, and Dylan’s building something super cool, and I have lots to tell you about what happened at school today. Madison thinks Toby is so smart, but he’s not really.”
Patrick chuckled, the sound coming easier now than it had when Jack and Noah were children. Back then, his laughter had been rationed and measured, kept behind the walls he’d built around his heart after losing his son and daughter-in-law in a car accident. After their parents died, Noah and Jack came to live with Patrick and his wife.
“Slow down, sweetheart,” he said to Molly. “We have all evening.”
“Molly, let Poppa come inside,” Emma called from the kitchen, her voice warm with amusement. She appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her smile genuine and welcoming. “It’s great to see you, Patrick. Jack’s in the living room with Dylan. They’re working on Dylan’s science project.”
Patrick handed Emma the bottle of wine. It wasn’t the expensive vintage he would have brought to a Manhattan dinner, but a local wine he’d discovered at the general store. “Mabel recommended this one. She said it pairs well with your pot roast.”
“Mabel knows her wine,” Emma laughed. “Though I suspect she knows more about everyone in town.”
As they walked toward the living room, Patrick saw Jack kneeling on the floor. With his suit jacket discarded and his sleeves rolled up, his grandson was absorbed in helping Dylan construct an elaborate bridge using wooden craft sticks. The scene made something tighten in Patrick’s chest. It wasn’t the old familiar ache of regret, but something warmer and prouder.
“The key is in the triangular supports,” Jack was saying, his voice patient and encouraging. “See how the weight gets distributed when we add this crossbeam here?”
Dylan nodded, his red hair falling into his eyes as he concentrated. “Like how you and Poppa build the tiny houses? With the beams that hold everything up?”
“Exactly like that,” Patrick said, settling into the nearby armchair with a grunt that reminded him of his age. “Your dad understands engineering better than most people twice his age.”
Dylan looked up, his face lighting up. “Poppa! Can you help us? The bridge has to hold a book, and we’re trying to span it between these two chairs.”
Molly held Patrick’s hand. “I want to tell Poppa about school first.”
