It only took five minutes to clean the bathroom. At first, having never shared a bathroom with a man before, she’d been expecting the worst. She’d heard a lot of horror stories over the years. But Nick was very neat and good at cleaning up after himself, so it hadn’t been a problem.
There was a sweatshirt in the tub, though, and she remembered him saying he’d gotten caught in the rain yesterday, and that he’d do a wash when he got home today. Lucy had a few things, so she added the wet sweatshirt to make a load and started the washer.
Gloves, she thought.
She’d run to Smith’s Hardware and buy herself some gloves. And she’d have some time to browse the eclectic offerings and maybe find something else she needed.
When she walked into Smith’s Hardware and the old-fashioned bell over the door rang, Don looked up from the counter. He didn’t smile and call out a greeting the way he had when she was with Nick.
He just stared at her for a moment, gave a curt nod and went back to whatever he’d been doing.
Maybe he was just busy, she told herself as she wandered the aisles. Not customer busy, since she was the only one in the store as far as she could tell, but paperwork busy.
She found a good pair of leather work gloves, along with a lighter pair of gardening gloves. There was also a cute, pink-handled hammer she couldn’t resist, but Don’s cold reception had sapped the idea of exploring the store of its charm.
When she set the gloves and hammer on the counter, he looked up again. This time his eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t look much like your mother.”
“No, not really,” she said, taken aback by his abrupt tone. She hoped he wouldn’t follow it up by asking if she looked like her father because she had no idea. She’d always assumed she must.
“Helen’s good people,” he said. “We look after her in this town.”
Heat prickled across Lucy’s chest and up her neck. The man didn’t care who she looked like. He just wanted her aware he knew she was Iris Macauley’s daughter and they’d be keeping an eye on her.
She forced her lips into a stiff smile. “I’m glad Gran lives in such a great community. Have a good day.”
Before he could say more, she headed for the door. Between the Facebook culling and being reminded this town would hold her mother against her, she wasn’t in the mood to explore any of the other businesses.
When she got back to the cottage, she left the gloves and hammer on the counter. After throwing the load of laundry into the dryer, she put some chicken breasts in marinade for supper later. And she took great satisfaction in crossing gloves off the list.
She read until the dryer buzzed, and then made quick work of folding and putting away her laundry. She wasn’t sure what to do with Nick’s sweatshirt, but he probably wouldn’t mind if she just set it on the bed.
It felt slightly wrong to open the door, but when Lucy stepped inside the room, it was still very much her grandmother’s space.
Like the rest of the cottage, the bedroom had a warm, comfortable vibe without a lot of clutter. An old maple dresser Lucy knew was older than Iris. A matching bedside table with a lamp and a short stack of paperbacks. A gorgeous wooden rocking chair she knew her grandfather had bought for Helen when she was pregnant with Iris. A soft braided rug covered much of the hardwood floor, and a large window looked over the backyard.
Lucy could remember sitting in that window, watching the birds and butterflies in the garden with Gran, and the memory made her smile. As did the framed photo of Helen and Lucy walking the beach together when she was maybe twelve years old. It was the only photo on the dresser besides Helen’s wedding photo.
There were no photos of Iris anywhere in the cottage that Lucy had seen, which was sad.
And there was very little sign Nick had been sleeping in this room. The phone charging cord on the nightstand. Two duffel bags on the floor next to the rocker, which held a stack of folded blue sweatshirts. A pair of sneakers sat under the rocking chair, though Lucy had never seen Nick wear them. He usually stepped in and out of his work boots at the door, not bothering with tying them.
And there was the fact the quilt that was meant to cover the bed had been folded down out of the way, and was currently half shoved between the mattress and the maple footboard.
Since Nick seemed to never be cold, it didn’t surprise her the flannel sheet was enough of a cover for him at night. And even though she spent a lot of time awake at night, unable to sleep, she rarely heard the mattress creaking or shifting. He was probably a heavy sleeper.
Maybe because that bed looked incredibly comfortable.
And she was tired after an emotional day.
Nick probably wouldn’t be home for hours. She could stretch out and take a comfortable nap. Just a short one, and then she’d smooth the covers and feel ready to make a plan.
And Nick would never know she’d been in his bed.
* * *
There wasn’t a single soul Nick would admit it to, but he’d spent some time over the last week imagining what it would be like to have Lucy in his bed.
Of course, when he was in the shower or trying to sleep at night, Lucy wasn’t wearing his favorite hoodie—or anything at all—and he was in the bed with her.
