Almost Home Read online

  But should she wait until the floors were done to begin painting?

  Tomorrow, she told herself. Dallas’s ice cream and her plans for the house could all wait until tomorrow.

  She hooked the pen onto the notebook and dropped both on the floor, then turned off the light, thinking of all the nights she’d spent in this apartment dreaming of the day when she’d have a pretty house to call her own. Of course, in that dream, she’d also had her own handsome guy to share it with.

  Then again, all things considered, one out of two wasn’t bad.

  STEFFIE hit the hardware store on Charles Street as soon as her daily supply of ice cream was in the cooler and Tina was behind the cash register. She’d awakened with a clear head and a definite vision for her house. She knew exactly what she wanted, and couldn’t wait to get started. She bought the paint for the entire downstairs and the room she’d selected as her bedroom and bath, as well as all the supplies she needed: brushes, pails, rollers, and pans. It had taken two of the countermen to help her load it all into the back of her old Pathfinder.

  “I’m a busy woman. I don’t have a lot of time to waste,” she’d explained as she paid the tab. “As long as I’m already here and I know what I want, I might as well take care of as much of my business right now as I can.”

  Later that afternoon, she met with Jesse Enright, from Horace’s law firm. He had the papers all laid out for her on his conference-room table when she arrived.

  “I know you’re busy and don’t have a lot of time to spare,” he said when he finished explaining the terms of Horace’s will and the legalities of the papers she was about to sign, “so I made sure everything was in order and ready to go. If you’re satisfied, I’ll show you where to sign.”

  He handed her a pen with the name of the law firm, Enright and Enright, in gold block letters, with his name underneath in script. After she’d worked her way through the stack, she handed him the pen.

  “Thanks, Jesse.” She couldn’t help but grin.

  “Keep the pen.” He grinned back at her.

  “Thanks,” she said again.

  “It’s nice to see someone happy for a change,” he told her as he packed up her copies of the deed and the tax records and everything else he was sending her home with. “So far today I’ve had two divorces and this morning I had to go to court with a very young client who was arrested for stealing his parents’ car.”

  “How young is very young?” she asked.

  “Eleven. I had to convince the judge it was a onetime thing to satisfy his curiosity and that he’d never do it again and that community service would be appreciated.”

  “Did the judge buy it?” She clutched the envelope tightly, still barely able to believe her good fortune and doing her best to keep from breaking into a happy dance.

  “After he had his say, he agreed. But he did put the fear of God into that kid.” Jesse walked her to the door, his hand lightly on her arm. “For which the boy’s parents were grateful.”

  “I’m not even going to ask you who the kid is.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Right. Client confidentiality.”

  He nodded, his blue eyes dancing. “And probably a good customer of yours.”

  “Most of the kids in town are.”

  He opened the heavy wooden door and held it for her.

  “Thanks again, Jesse.” She stepped outside onto the brick walk that led from the sidewalk to the office building that was slightly set back from the street.

  “Look, Steffie.” He stepped out with her. “If you need help with anything—with the house, whatever—give me a call, okay? I’d be more than happy to give you a hand with … well, with whatever you need. I spent my summers working for a carpenter back when I was in school. I swing a mean hammer.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled her prettiest smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you at the leukemia run next week.”

  “You signed up?” She paused on the walk. Steffie and Grant’s parents had organized the first run years ago in honor of their deceased sister, Natalie, and since then, it had become an annual event.

  Jesse nodded. “It’s a good cause, and it seems like a good way to become involved in the community.” He stepped out onto the walk, his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t been in town long enough to get to know too many people, unless they’ve come into the office or they’re friends of my uncle’s. I figured it was time for me to get out and meet people on my own. All work and no play and all that.”

  “There are a lot of ways to become part of the community, so I’m glad you chose Natalie’s Run. Obviously, it’s a cause that’s very important to my family and me.” She shook his hand. “I’d be happy to introduce you to some of the people I know.”

  “That would be great, Steffie. I’d appreciate that.”

  “And you know, you don’t have to run. You can walk,” she told him. He really does have nice eyes. And a terrific smile. Are those dimples? Sigh …

  “I already entered to run, but it’s good to know I have an option.” He walked her as far as the driveway. “So, I guess I’ll see you there.”

  “Yes,” she assured him. “You’ll see me there.”

  Options, she repeated to herself as she returned to her shop. Always good to know there are options …

  Jesse might be an option, she mused. He’s a really nice guy, he’s cute as the devil—dimples!—and as far as I know, he’s eligible.

  So you, Wade MacGregor, are not the only guy in town, she thought smugly.

  “As a matter of fact, from this moment on, I’m immune to you. You have no hold over me,” she mumbled as she entered Scoop through the back door. “You are so not worthy of me, and I’m happy to be looking elsewhere. I deserve better,” she reminded herself.

  “Are you talking to me?” Tina called from the front of the shop.

  “What?” Steffie’s face turned red. She hadn’t realized she’d been talking out loud. “No, sorry.”

  She grabbed her apron from the rack and tied it on, and went out front to wait on her customers.

  The paint was still in the back of the car when she pulled into the driveway around seven. She raised the back hatch of the car and tried to estimate how many trips it was going to take to get everything into the house. She decided to unlock the door first so at least she wouldn’t have to wrestle with heavy boxes and the lock at the same time. On her way back to the car, she heard her name being called.

  Wade. She pretended not to have heard.

  “Hey, Stef.” He crossed the street, jogging with Austin in his stroller. “Hey, great house. Congratulations. I heard the news.”

  “Oh, hi.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Immune, she told herself. I am immune. “I guess you saw Grant.”

  “Nah, Berry heard from Grace Sinclair.” He stopped on the other side of the fence. Austin peered around the awning of the stroller and smiled shyly before ducking back.

  I remain immune to him, and his little boy, too.

  “I wonder who told Grace?”

  “I’ve no idea. She does just always seem to know things, though.”

  Austin struggled quietly to get out from his restraints.

  “So, want to give us a tour?” Wade asked.

  She’d been this close to him before, and really, she hadn’t meant to stare, but it occurred to her how like his sister’s eyes Wade’s were. That odd shade of smoky lavender …

  “Of course.” She mentally slapped herself on the forehead. “Lavender. Lavender and honey. Lavender honey.”

  “What?” A puzzled Wade tilted his head to one side.

  “Never mind.” Steffie glanced down in time to see Austin escape. “Ah, Wade. Fugitive.”

  “Yeah, he’s gotten pretty good at it.” He turned to the little boy. “Austin, come say hi to Steffie.”

  Austin came closer, his eyes—so dark, she noted, so unlike his father’s and his aunt’s—study
ing her.

  “This is Steffie, Austin. Daddy’s friend. Can you say hi to Stef?”

  Austin looked up at her and said, “Steppie.”

  “Wade, did he say ‘Steffie’?” She smiled in spite of her vow to remain immune. “I think he said ‘Steffie.’ ”

  “Steppie,” Austin repeated.

  “There. He did. He said my name.”

  “He’s pretty quick,” Wade told her.

  “He’s really cute,” she said. He was really cute. She could remain immune to Wade and still acknowledge the adorableness of his boy-child.

  “Thanks.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask who Austin looked like—maybe get some insight into Austin’s mama—because clearly, the child looked nothing like Wade. Dark hair, big brown eyes, and, she thought, olive skin, though that could be tan. They had been living in Texas, and it is pretty hot there, right?

  “Isn’t it almost his bedtime?” She went through the gate and around to the back of her car to start unloading. With any luck, Wade would strap his son back into the stroller and stroll on home.

  “It used to be. He’s been staying up a little later since we came to St. Dennis because we take a walk after dinner every night, and then he likes to play with his cousin.”

  Before she realized what was happening, Wade had lifted the heaviest of the boxes of paint cans and started to walk toward the house. When she started to protest, he said simply, “I have it.”

  With Austin toddling behind, Wade set off for the house.

  Steffie grabbed the bag with all the brushes and mixing sticks and the rollers and tried to catch up.

  “You can put them down right here in the front hall.” She trailed behind him. “Thanks, Wade, you don’t have to …”

  But he was out the door again, having passed her on the sidewalk, and at the car, hoisting another box and carrying it as if it were light as a feather.

  “Wade, I appreciate your help, I really do. But don’t feel as if you have to …”

  “I don’t, Stef.” He lifted the last of the heaviest boxes. “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know.” Stef gave up. She picked up the roller pans and went inside. Austin pulled tentatively at a strip of peeling wallpaper that hung almost to the floor.

  “Step.” He pointed to her when she came in.

  “Austin, you are one smart cookie,” she told him.

  “Not a cookie.” He giggled, and she fought the urge to ruffle those dark curls of his.

  “Long as we’re here, maybe you could give us a quick tour.” Wade placed the last of the boxes on the floor.

  “Sure.” How could she not, after he’d carried in all the paint? She led them through one room into the next—Austin riding on Wade’s shoulders—until they ended up in the kitchen.

  “Nice cabinets, Stef.” Wade stood Austin on the floor. “Are you going to make any changes in here?”

  Fighting a sigh—why wouldn’t he just say, “Nice house,” and then leave?—she nodded and walked him through the remodeling she had in mind.

  “It’s going to be great,” he told her enthusiastically. “I’m happy for you. You’re going to have a terrific house.”

  “Thanks. I always loved this place.” She could have told him more, like how she and Horace had spent so many hours making ice cream here in the kitchen, but she just couldn’t bring herself to share any more of herself with him than she already had over the years. What would be the point?

  Austin rubbed his eyes and leaned heavily against Wade.

  “Someone’s just about done for the night.” Wade picked him up, and the child nestled against his chest and closed his eyes. “And I guess you have some things you wanted to do here.”

  She walked them to the door.

  “Thanks again, Wade. I appreciate you giving me a hand.”

  “My pleasure. Anytime I can help out, give me a call. I’m pretty good at painting ceilings and doing the cutwork.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, knowing full well that she’d walk through fire before she asked for his help.

  Wade walked down the uneven path to the gate, then turned suddenly. “Hey, do you have a ladder?”

  “What?” She stepped outside.

  “A ladder. You didn’t have one in the car, and I didn’t see one in the house.” He leaned over to place Austin in the stroller.

  “I didn’t think about needing one,” she admitted. How could she have forgotten a ladder?

  “Even as tall as you are, you’ll still need one to reach the tops of the windows and the ceiling.” He smiled. “I saw one in the carriage house the other day. I’ll drop it off.”

  “No, Wade, it’s okay. I can pick one up at the hardware store tomorrow.”

  “Why go to the trouble when we have one? As far as I know, Berry’s not planning on doing any painting anytime soon, so you don’t have to worry about returning it until you’re finished.”

  “Really, Wade—”

  “See you.” He waved and started to jog down the street. Steffie walked to the end of the drive. He did look good in jogging shorts, she’d give him that. She thought back to the other morning, when he’d stopped at the shop wearing jogging shorts and a tank. Now, that was a nice picture to call up, she couldn’t deny it.

  She started to turn back to the house when Wade surprised her by looking back over his shoulder and waving just before he turned the corner onto Parish House Road, and her heart twirled around in her chest.

  Now, why did he have to do that?

  “Immune. Right.” She snorted and jammed her hands into her pockets and walked back into the house. “Way to hang tough, Wyler.”

  * * *

  “Did you try the new pumpkin spice latte?” Vanessa poked Steffie in the middle of her back. “Carlo is going seasonal this year.”

  Steffie shook her head. “I know this is a revolutionary thought, but how ’bout coffee that just tastes like coffee all year round? No need to change with the season, no need to be creative.”

  “You change your ice-cream flavors with the seasons,” Vanessa reminded her.

  “Ice cream is different. It has to have a flavor. Coffee already has one.” Stef stirred her mug of breakfast blend. “Oddly enough, it’s called ‘coffee.’ ”

  “You could just make vanilla.”

  “Boring.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Nah, you can’t compare.” Stef took a chair at the table where Grace, Nita, and Barbara were already seated. “And you have to be seasonal because if you use fresh fruits, they have to be in season. Strawberries in early summer, peaches later, apples even later.” She took a sip. “Other stuff in between.”

  “But strawberries seem to be in season all the time, somewhere.” Nita looked up as Vanessa and Stef sat down.

  “But I prefer stuff when it’s in season here,” Stef said.

  “What do you do in February when you want to make strawberry ice cream?” asked Barbara.

  “I use the berries I froze the June of the previous year.”

  “So, they’re not really in season when you use them,” Vanessa pointed out smugly.

  “But they were in season when I froze them, so technically, they count.” Stef held up her mug. “And coffee is always in season.”

  The women debated the merits of flavored coffee over unflavored for another minute.

  “Stef”—Nita leaned forward slightly to make eye contact—“was that Wade MacGregor I saw helping you unload your car last night?”

  “I was unloading the car, and he just happened to be passing by on a walk with Austin.” Stef raised an eyebrow. “Where were you?”

  “I just happened to be driving by and I saw him getting something out of the back of your car,” Nita explained.

  “I bought paint,” Stef told her.

  “My, you’re not letting any grass grow under your feet, are you?” Grace smiled.

  “I want to move in as soon as possible,” Stef
explained. “Why should I keep paying rent when I have a house of my own?”

  “And it’s a lovely house, dear.” Grace patted Steffie’s hand. “I hope you’ll be very happy there.”

  “Thank you, Miss Grace. I know I will be.”

  “So how much paint did you buy that Wade had to carry it for you?” Vanessa asked.

  “I bought enough for the entire downstairs. And my bedroom. Oh, and my bath. And Wade didn’t have to help carry it. He was just being kind. ’Cause of his sister and my brother, you know …”

  “So tragic about his wife,” Grace murmured. Every head at the table swiveled in her direction at the same time, as if on cue.

  “What? What did you hear?”

  “What tragedy?”

  “Who told you …?”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said softly. “I thought everyone knew.”

  “Knew what?” Stef asked.

  “Well, about Wade’s wife dying.” Grace looked somewhat chagrined to find out that she’d possibly be the source of gossip.

  “What? She died? As in, DIED?” Vanessa gasped. “When? What happened to her?”

  “And who told you?” Barbara asked.

  Steffie sat mutely, taking it all in.

  “Well, now, if I’d known that no one knew, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Grace was almost apologetic, but it was too late. The beans had been spilled, as Barbara was only too happy to remind her.

  “Yes, but you did, so now you have to tell us everything you know,” Barbara prodded.

  “Well, it seems he was married to Austin’s mother, who passed away from an illness. I didn’t want to pry and ask Berry for too many details, you know.” Grace glanced around the table. “Lest I appear insensitive.”

  “God forbid,” Nita deadpanned.

  “Who was she?” Steffie asked.

  “She was his partner. The woman he went into business with. She got sick and died just recently.”

  “How recently?”

  “I don’t know for certain, Stef, but I believe it was over the summer,” Grace told her. “Berry said he wrapped up all their business in Texas and closed up shop, then packed up that trailer he hauled up here. Just pulled up stakes and came on back.”