She glanced sideways at Wendell, and it was as if they were almost back there. His dark hair was still thick, though speckled here and there with silver. His lake-blue eyes still so earnest, if the corners were creased. It was possible Wendell was more handsome than before, a grown-up who’d retained the boyish smile but the posture and confidence of a man.
“I heard you were engaged,” he said, eyes on the horizon.
So he had known. She looked at him. “I was. But I’m not now.”
It was his turn to look at her. “How does that feel?”
She shrugged. “We were together a long time. Thomas was a great guy: smart, kind, hardworking. But I guess it turns out he wasn’t my guy.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you,” Wendell said.
“I’m not. It’s hard thinking about starting over, and honestly, sometimes it can be downright paralyzing. But it forced me totake stock of where I was, and I realized I wasn’t happy.” She’d said this many times to friends and her parents. But here on Wendell’s porch, for the first time, it felt true.
“So you’re back home for now.”
“If this still counts as home, then yes.” Then she added, “For now.”
He nodded. “Does it still feel like home?”
Ginny was sure it did for him. Aside from college, and then the National Guard, he’d never really had the chance to leave. And after… well, he’d no longer wanted to. “I don’t know if it does,” she said truthfully. “I guess I’m figuring that out.”
Wendell did not press her, and he didn’t pry for details; that had never been his way. She almost wished he would; it felt good to talk. It felt even better to talk to him. But she reminded herself that this was better. One summer day at a time.
When dusk fell, Wendell stood. She watched the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he retrieved her plate from the porch floor. From behind the house, they heard Radcliffe whinny, and they locked eyes and laughed.
“Guess he’s ready for bed,” Wendell said. “I don’t know what to do with that horse, but for now I guess I should clean up and put him in the barn for the night.”
Ginny followed him inside. Wendell was a good man. That horse was not going anywhere.
In the kitchen, she turned on the tap.
“No, no,” Wendell said. “Guests don’t do dishes.”
She smiled uncertainly. “Is that what I am?”
Wendell looked apologetic. “I hope everything tasted all right,” he said, switching the subject. As he began rinsing dishes, she leaned against the counter and finished her beer. Her insides felt looser, like a part of her had given in to something. She didn’t understand what all this business with the horse really meant, or why he’d included her after all this time, but she’d come to a decisionabout it. “Well, while you’re trying to decide what the next step is, the horse is going to get loose and run off.”
Wendell turned off the faucet, flipped the towel over his shoulder, and turned to face her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you’ve got work to do. And you’re going to need help.”
For the first time all night, he smiled like he meant it. “Are you volunteering?”
That old familiar twinkle in his eye did something to her. There he was, still in there. “Maybe.”
He looked her up and down, his eyes resting on hers. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“Me being here?”
Wendell pressed his lips together. “No. That part’s nice. I meant us—talking like this. Back in my kitchen. Like old times, and yet…”
Ginny couldn’t help it. She stepped toward him and rested her hand on his chest. Wendell looked down at it.
“You have a good heart, Wendell Combs.”
He closed his eyes.
Ginny tilted her head up toward him and pressed her mouth, ever so gently, against his. It was more of a brush than a kiss. Wendell stood very still. She did it again, this time with intent.
