“I can’t,” he managed to say.
She moved closer and he had no choice. Her eyes were kind, her smile sad. “I’m not mad that you left. Please don’t put that on yourself. You were just a little boy with a cowlick I couldn’t control and a smile that made my heart sing.” She winked. “I hope that smile still exists.”
“On occasion.” He attempted a smile. “For the right woman.”
“There he is. The charmer. Just look at you. How handsome you are.” She blinked away the wetness in her eyes and cleared her throat. “How are the boys and Iris?”
“They’re good. Harrison is a dreamer and travels a lot. He wants to save the world. And Ollie is an intern with his eyes on becoming a surgeon.” He waited a heartbeat. “Iris is here with me. She kind of forced the situation and refuses to leave.”
“She sounds like a handful. I’d like to meet her.”
“You have no idea.” He paused for a few moments. “How did you know?” The words were barely whispered.
“Your eyes,” she answered. “I’d know them anywhere.”
“Misha, I . . .” He swore under his breath and grabbed her up into a hug that was a long time coming. “I’ve missed you.” Once he set her down, he spoke quietly. “I should have found you sooner. I knew you were still in Fire Lake. I heard Ford and Ben talking about it.”
She frowned at that. “You’ve been in contact with your brother? I just saw them, and he never said a word.”
“He doesn’t . . . none of them know.” He attempted a smile. “I guess they don’t pay as much attention to eyes as you do.”
“I see,” she murmured, gripping his hand tightly. “Have you talked to Porter?”
He nodded.
“Then you know.”
Again, he nodded. What was there to say? The man was dying.
“What are you doing here, August? I’m assuming you’ve made a big life for yourself out there in the world beyond Fire Lake. You always were the one I knew would leave.”
“I’m working on the cottages at the estate. Getting them back to what they used to be.”
“You’re working for your father?” She didn’t bother to hide her surprise.
“I know, it sounds idiotic even to me.”
Something flickered in her eyes, and she squeezed his hand gently. “We should have a proper talk. There are some things you need to know.”
“Things?”
Misha muttered something under her breath, then glanced away. “About your parents and your . . .”
“My?” he prompted.
Misha looked as if she were struggling with what she wanted to say. But then she sighed, a soft sort of resigned sound and gave a small shrug. “Your uncle.”
To say he was shocked would be an understatement. Hell, up until recently he hadn’t known he’d had an uncle.
“I still live at the end of Crooked Lane. Come for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Little yellow house?”
“With white shutters.” She gave him one last hug. “I’m so happy to see you and I can’t wait to hear about the life you’ve been living.”
“When is good?”
“Any time after four. We’ll have roast chicken and I’ll make hot chocolate and cherry cake.”
