“Of course not,” he said. “Even if we could do it all over again, we’d take you back in a heartbeat. You’ve brought nothing but joy to our lives, Krista Jean.”
She swallowed hard and blinked up at the sky, just to keep the tears from spilling. “Don’t call me Krista Jean.”
Walt chuckled. “That fire. That’s how I know you’re still our Krista.”
She laughed, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her sweater.
He stepped closer, placing a warm, weathered hand on her shoulder. “So, what’s the story with this Joe fella?”
Krista sighed. “He’s just passing through. Traveling. Writing. We’re doing this swap for a week, and working together trying to figure out what happened to Great-Grandma Isabel, but that’s it.”
Walt raised a single eyebrow. “Mmhmm.”
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing.” He shifted his weight, voice thoughtful. “Just think it’s a shame, is all. Seems like a nice, hardworking man.” His eyes softened. “And I trust my instincts. They’ve served me well all these years. That Joe…he’s a good one.”
Krista blinked. “Grandpa.”
“What?” He lifted a shoulder, unbothered. “A man doesn’t have to stick around forever for me to see his character. And if he did?” Walt gave her a look that felt suspiciously like a gentle blessing. “Well. Your grandma and I would be just fine with that.”
Krista groaned, face warming. “He’s just passing through.”
“Sure,” Walt said, turning back toward the trail. “But he looks at you like he might forget that.”
Krista sighed.
Could Gramps be right? Because even now, in the hush of the woods, she could still feel Joe’s hands on her skin, the weight of his gaze, the kiss they didn’t finish.
And perhaps today, in her apartment, diary open between them and their eyes catching just a little too long—she’d discover this thing between them was only just beginning.
EIGHTEEN
JOE
Friday, Day One of the Summer Swap
“Welcome, roomie!”
Joe had barely stepped over the threshold before Kit called out from the kitchen. The condo smelled like caramelizing peaches, espresso, and something buttery enough to make his stomach growl. He had about half a second to take in the space before something long, loud, and low came barreling toward him.
Frankie skidded across the hardwood, barking like Joe was an armed intruder.
“Frankie!” Kit called over to the pup. “You know Joe. You don’t need to announce him to the building.”
The moment Frankie sniffed Joe’s shoes, he immediately switched to frantic tail wagging and joyful whining.
“Hey, buddy.” Joe laughed, bending to scratch behind the dog’s ears. Frankie melted into him like they were reunited war heroes. With the dog happily leaning into his hands, Joe finally had a second to take in the apartment.
The sunlight from the huge second-story window spilledacross the exposed brick, catching on bright splashes of red, blue, and yellow artwork that lined the walls. The living room looked lived-in and loved with mismatched throw blankets draped over a sofa full of texture, a plant in the corner thriving despite its dramatic lean toward the sun. The kitchen gleamed with state-of-the-art appliances and sharp knives that suggested Kit took cookingVery Seriously.
The whole place felt like Krista’s order and Kit’s chaos had collided…and decided to live together in harmony. Kit looked up from the stove, waving a wooden spoon. Her dark hair was pulled back, covered with a blue bandana, and she wore a chef’s coat, even though she was in her own house. “You’re just in time. Taste tester number one, reporting for duty.”
“I didn’t know I signed up for that,” Joe said.
“You didn’t.” She plopped a tart onto a plate and thrust it into his hands. “But here we are. Breakfast.”
He took a bite. Then another.
