Page 46 of Windward Hearts

But she did know that she would have the friends that she’d made here for a long, long time. And that brought her more comfort than she could ever put into words.

CHAPTER TWENTY

A heavy cover of clouds had blown in from the shore, bringing with it a long day of drizzle and unseasonable chill. When the rain finally relented, Hope decided that the cool bite to the air wasn’t going to keep her from enjoying some outside time. She grabbed a space heater from the basement, then ran one of those orange heavy duty electrical cords from the outside outlet up to the porch, mentally sending up thanks to Grandpa Harry for keeping such a well-stocked garage and to Miriam for keeping everything in its place even years after her husband’s passing.

When that was all set up and the space heater was projecting its warming glow, she grabbed a blanket from the couch inside and put her quilting basket at her side.

It was almost perfect, she decided as she propped her feet up on the porch railing and looked out over where the street was glistening with the remnants of the day’s rain. She paused, considered, then popped back inside.

When she returned with a mug of peppermint tea in her hand, it was absolutely perfect.

The atmosphere was dreamy, what with the way the streetlights gleamed against the wet pavement as they flicked on, one by one. There was the occasional whoosh as a car drove past, but largely, all Hope heard was the errant chirp of a bird preparing to lay down in its nest, the humming chorus of droning insects, or the chirp of the neighbor’s cat in the window when the feline spotted something of interest.

It was lovely. Idyllic.

Miriam was already asleep inside. She and Hope had taken a walk around town earlier in the day, umbrellas shielding them from the gentle mist that floated down over them. It had been a good walk, and Miriam’s cheeks had looked pink with health by the time they were done. Even so, she still needed lots of rest, and she’d turned in early. Hope felt increasingly optimistic about her grandmother’s vigor, however.

She worked idly on one of the squares of her quilt, more for something to do with her hands than because she planned to make too much progress. Normally, she would use a sewing machine for this part of the process, but she didn’t want the noise to bother Miriam.

Also, she couldn’t sit outside and use the sewing machine, and enjoying the evening felt like the most important thing for now.

Despite her casual efforts, the rhythm of sewing gradually drew in her attention, and when a car pulled in front of the house, it took her more than a moment to look up and recognize the driver.

“Jared, hi!” she said, a pleased, surprised smile crossing her face as he came up the front walk. She set aside her project. “What are you doing here?”

He hefted a bag in his hand, one that, by now, Hope recognized easily. It was one of the paper bags with the Riverside Kitchen logo on the side, the kind that the restaurant used to package up takeout orders.

“I was wrapping up for the evening and I had some of Miriam’s favorite soup left,” he said. “I thought I would bring it over, rather than letting it go to waste.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she said. “She’ll appreciate it, but I’m afraid she’s already in bed for the night. We had a busy day, so she turned in early.”

“Ah, well, I hope you don’t think I’m flattering myself if I say that the soup is still really great reheated,” Jared said. “I’ll still leave it for her if you think she’ll want it. Or you’re welcome to eat it, but I will absolutely snitch on you. I’m not letting my good deed get stolen.”

She laughed at that, then held up her hands in a gesture of innocence.

“As good as I know that soup is,” she said, “I’m actually totally spoiled for your cooking now that I eat at the restaurant on shift. I can be generous enough to save that batch for Miriam.”

“Generous with soup, generous with compliments…” He shook his head jokingly. “You’re a paragon of virtue, Hope Landers.”

“Thank you,” she said as primly as she could, just to make him laugh.

There was a beat, a normal moment for Jared to turn around and decide to leave, his errand accomplished. She was far more pleased than she wished to investigate when he didn’t head back toward his car.

Instead, he peered at the quilt square that she had draped over the arm of her wicker chair.

“This is really nice,” he said, tracing a gentle finger over some of the stitchwork. “I like how you’re doing the—okay, I actually don’t know anything about sewing,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it just seems very… you.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, peering down at it, trying to see what he saw. “I think I’m a little lost in the technique of it to see the personal aspects, but when I do… I actually see my grandmother more than anything.”

“Well, the two of you have certain similarities,” he observed.

“I hope that’s a compliment,” she said.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “Miriam Landers is a legend in this town for a reason. And you’re fast on your way to joining her. I mean…” He looked down at her square again. “This is really beautiful, Hope.”

He sounded almost bashful as he said it, and she was briefly put in mind of the moment that he’d called her pretty, back in the kitchen in his restaurant. She’d been extremely uncool about it then, and she strove to be just the tiniest bit cooler about it now.

To this end, she kept her eyes on her quilt square and crossed her fingers that her smile didn’t give too much away.