“I know. Answer it.”
He pulls back, digs the phone from his pocket, and looks at the screen. “It’s my grandmother. Hey, Grandma. Everything okay?” I watch his face as he listens, and I see the exact moment concern turns to alarm. “I’m on my way. Thirty minutes. Don’t move anything heavy. Just sit down.”He’s already standing, packing up the backpack. “I’ll be there soon.”
He hangs up and looks at me, apologetic, frustrated, and worried all at once.
“She fell in the garden. She says she’s fine, but?—”
“Oh, you need to go. Of course. Let’s go.”
We practically run down the mountain. The hike that took forty minutes going up takes maybe thirty minutes going down, both of us moving fast, Wyatt in the lead, setting a punishing pace.
When we reach the truck, he pauses with his hand on the door.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “About the timing, about?—”
“Don’t apologize. Your grandmother needs you. That’s way more important.”
“Can I—” He stops and runs his hand through his hair. “Can we talk later about what almost happened up there?”
“We can talk whenever you want.”
He nods, and we climb into the truck.
As we wind down the mountain road, windows down and wind rushing through the cab, I think about the waterfall and how close we came to kissing. About how, for the first time in my life, the interruption doesn’t feel like the universe saying no.
It just feels like the universe is saying not yet.
CHAPTER 16
Meredith’s house is a small cottage-style home about five minutes from Wyatt’s cabin. It’s painted yellow with white trim and surrounded by the kind of garden that only comes from someone who has patiently cared for it for decades. Roses climb a trellis by the front door, and flower beds burst with late spring blooms, irises, peonies, and something purple I don’t recognize.
Wyatt is out of the truck before it’s even fully stopped, taking the porch two steps at a time. I follow a little more slowly, not wanting to intrude.
Inside, I find Meredith in a floral armchair in the living room, her left ankle propped on the ottoman. She looks more annoyed than hurt, but her silver hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s dirt on her pants.
“I’m fine,” she’s saying as Wyatt kneels beside her, gently examining her ankle. “It’s just a little twist. I don’t know why you raced all the way down here like the house was on fire.”
“Because you’re eighty-three years old and you fell,” Wyatt says. “And you live alone. Grandma, what were you doing out in the garden by yourself?”
“What I do every Saturday. Weeding. The peonies were getting choked out.”
She spots me hovering in the doorway and smiles. “Eleanor, what a nice surprise. Well, don’t just stand there, dear. Come on in.”
I step into the living room, and it’s exactly what I would expect from Meredith. Cozy and lived-in, with photographs covering nearly every surface and bookshelves lining the walls. A piano sits in one corner, sheet music open on a stand. The whole place smells of old books and lavender.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” I say. “Wyatt and I were hiking when you called.”
“Intruding? Oh, nonsense.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can talk some sense into my grandson. He acts as if I broke my hip, when all I did was roll my ankle.”
“You could have broken your hip. Can you move it?” Wyatt asks, suddenly worried about her hip.
“Of course I can move it.” She demonstrates, wincing slightly. “See? Fine.”
“Your ankle is swelling. We need ice.” He looks at me. “Eleanor, could you?—”
“Kitchen,” I say, already moving.
“Through there. Ice in the freezer, dish towels in the drawer by the sink.”
