Brandon sagged against the doorframe, looking much thinner than he had just a month before. The kid was a starter on the high school football team, but the season was over, and he had plenty of time to heal. “I know, but it’s driving me nuts,” he said. “I’ve been trying to relax and elevate my leg like Doc told me to, but honestly...” He looked at the freshly shoveled driveway with what could only be termed longing.
“Brandon, what are you doing?” Millie yelled.
“Hey, Millie, it’s just me,” Serenity called.
Rustling sounded, and Millie partially slid to her grandson’s side. Their farmhouse was two stories, probably twice the size of Serenity’s home, and painted a barn red that had faded nicely over the years.
The woman smiled. “Serenity, come in and have something to eat. Oh, no. You didn’t just shovel my walk, did you?” She looked down at the shovel. “I was going to head out and do it, but I wanted to finish baking these pies first.”
“It was no problem,” Serenity said. “I know Brandon isn’t supposed to do anything physical yet, and I wanted to get to it before he did.”
“Oh, yeah.” Millie laughed and nudged her grandson. “I almost had to sit on him to keep him from coming out here earlier today.”
While Brandon was dressed casually in faded, low-slung jeans and a basketball T-shirt, Millie wore a light pink dress beneath a well-loved purple and green apron. Her hair was a mass of dark gray curls, and her eyes a twinkling blue. “Well, come on in. Will you have some pie?”
“I would,” Serenity started, “but I left groceries on the counter.”
Brandon sniffed the air and smiled. “The apple pie is ready. I can tell. How about a rain check, Serenity?”
“Absolutely.” Her stomach growled.
Brandon pushed away from the doorway. “I’ll escort you back to your place.”
“The heck you will.” Millie slapped his arm.
Serenity laughed. “If you two need anything, let me know.”
She slogged through the rapidly falling snow to her house, ditched her boots in her mudroom, and quickly put away her groceries. Darkness was already descending, and she glanced at her watch, somewhat surprised she hadn’t heard from Rory. Had he given up that easily? Truth be told, after he’d dropped by the hardware store the night before, she’d expected him to show up again or at least call.
A plaintive meow caught her ear. She tossed her cotton grocery bags into the pantry before striding into the comfortable living room with its generously appointed sofa and armchairs that she had upholstered herself in light green fabric. Practical white pillows adorned both ends of the couch and the chair cushion. She’d wanted to sew some sparkles on them, but they just didn’t fit the farmhouse. “What do you want?” she teased.
Rufus meowed again as if irritated she hadn’t immediately sought him out.
“You are so cranky.” She bent down to ruffle his fur.
The cat was a bit unkempt, no matter how often she brushed him. His fur was thick and gray, and his eyes were an iridescent green that held both a grumpy skepticism and a soft hint of mischief. He was oversized but in decent shape.
“Did you have a good day?” She adored the old guy.
He purred against her hand. She often took him to the hardware store with her, so he wasn’t alone all day, but he hadn’t been in the mood that morning. He was the moodiest cat she’d ever met, yet he was all hers.
“Come on. I bought you some treats.” She led him into the kitchen, where she filled a little bowl with his favorite yummies.
He gave her one look as if saying,It’sabout time, and then slowly started eating.
“You are so grumpy,” she muttered, her stomach growling again. Apparently it was a night for canned soup.
Her doorbell rang, and she paused in opening the pantry. Before the phone calls and the odd flowers, she wouldn’t have thought twice about her doorbell ringing after dark. Now she froze for just a second.
Shaking her head, she passed through her living room to look through the peephole. She stilled. Against her better judgment, she patted her hair into place before opening the old wooden door. “Rory, what are you doing here?”
“That’s a nice welcome.” He held up two large bags of food. “I went to Nordeliano’s. Your favorite was actually the special tonight. Must be fate.”
“Oh, man.” She could never turn down spaghetti Bolognese. Itwasher absolute favorite, and of course, he knew that. Part of her still wanted to just kick him in the knee, but the part of her that had shoveled two driveways was really hungry. “All right, you can come in,” she said once the delicious aroma filtered toward her.
“I figured.” He kicked off his boots right inside the door near the alcove and then strode across her cozy wooden floor to drop the bags on her reclaimed timber, country-style, and very charming table. She’d found it at an estate sale in Spokane about five years ago and loved it. The chairs were a matching wood with light yellow cushions she’d sewn herself.
“It was nice of you to grab dinner,” she told him. “But I haven’t changed my mind.”
