Sunday laughed. “She sounds like someone I’d like to meet.”
Guilt made Gus lower his eyes.
“And your other sister?”
He yanked up his head and frowned, which made Sunday look confused.
“You said sisters. Sorry I assumed there was more than one.”
Jesus Christ. He was smarter than this.
“Good morning, my girl.”
They both turned as Porter was wheeled into the kitchen by his nurse.
“Daddy.” Sunday smiled and walked over to give her father a hug. “You look good this morning.”
“I feel good.” His voice was still, weak but there was a glint in his eye and a light, easy manner about him. He turned his attention to Gus. “Can we get you some breakfast?”
“No, sir.” Gus stepped back. “I’m good. I need to get to work.”
He needed to be away from Sunday and her questions. From his father’s probing gaze. He didn’t give them a chance to say another word and headed outside. He took the steps two at a time and then jogged to his truck. His chest was tight. His mind was all over the place. He leaned against the vehicle and stared at the ground. It took a bit, but he cleared the crap from his brain and relaxed.
He’d landed in the middle of a mess and only had himself to blame. His family situation was a lot more complicated than he’d realized, and now, with Faith in the picture . . .
“Fuck me.”
He grabbed his tools and started for the path that led to cottage four. He’d get through his day, then go and see Misha. She knew something. A piece of the puzzle he’d missed. It was time for answers. Time for some truths. Maybe time to come clean.
* * *
Gus left work early. His plan was to grab a shower before heading over to Misha’s, but he paused on the landing a few feet from Faith’s door. Distracted, he stared at the door for several moments because he wasn’t sure if she was at work. He knocked quietly, but there was no bark from Taco, and she didn’t answer.
He’d catch up with her later. Hoped to be home well in time for the winery.
By three-thirty, he was showered and pulled on a crisp white button-down over a pair of plain khaki shorts. He drove downtown and parked just up from the diner, then walked to the flower shop, where the nice lady behind the counter advised him that a dozen yellow roses were perfect for an old friend.
Crooked Lane looked exactly as he remembered, including Misha’s little yellow house. It had been recently painted; the shutters were crisp and white, and the flower boxes underneath them were overflowing with hot pink and purple petunias. He jumped from his truck, and she greeted him at the door with a smile and open arms.
“Don’t you look handsome,” she said with a wink as she accepted the roses. “These are beautiful.” Misha stood back. “Come inside.”
He’d always loved coming here as a kid, and when he spied the fresh batch of homemade oatmeal cookies on the kitchen table, he grabbed one with a smile.
“Don’t eat too many. I don’t want you to spoil your supper.”
He turned to her with a grin. “Is that chicken stew?”
She grabbed a vase and began to arrange the roses. “It’s my paprikash, yes. I made extra dumplings.”
“Is there any other way?”
Misha was from Europe, a mixture of many cultures, and the woman knew her way around a kitchen. She was hired to cook for the Boones as a young woman, but she’d become much more than that. She’d been the grandmother he’d never known. A kind face and soft words in a world of uncertainty.
Remembering his reason for coming dampened the joy he felt seeing her, and while he set the table and she doled out her stew, they made small talk. She caught him up on her family. She’d never married or had children but was extremely proud of her nieces and nephews. Most had gone on to college anddone well for themselves, but her great-grandniece had just been accepted to MIT, and she was beyond proud.
“That girl is going to change the world,” Misha said with a nod, sitting down across from Gus. The two of them talked about nothing that mattered as he dug into his meal, but by the time he finished. the mood had changed somewhat. He knew something was about to change; he just didn’t know what it was. And it was the unknown that made it hard.
“Now tell me about you.”
