Was it worth having a conversation with her about his dilemma? He’d been wrong on so many fronts—could he be wrong about her willingness to embrace a lifestyle far removed from New York?
Was there any harm in asking?
The two seagulls landed at the edge of his patio, cuddled up together, and stared at him.
Wanting a handout, no doubt.
He broke off a piece of salmon and tossed it to them.
They each took half—but they didn’t fly away after they ate. Nor did they pester him for more.
Strange behavior for gulls, which could be annoyingly persistent.
He forced himself to eat a few bites of his meal.
Having a talk with Stephanie wasn’t a bad idea. With her business background, she’d be used to frank discussions.
But that didn’t solve his other issue—how to reconcile his growing feelings for Stephanie with his love for Jo Ann.
The forkful of potato he’d just swallowed stuck in his throat, and he fumbled for his glass. Took a sip of water.
Was it disloyal to think about another woman in romantic terms?
Would Jo Ann be upset?
Yet finding a new partner wouldn’t diminish anything they’d shared. No one would ever take his wife’s place in his heart.
He pushed more food around on his plate and lifted his face to the heavens.
Lord, I could use a little direction here. I want to do what’s right—but I feel like I’m at an intersection without signs. Please show me which road to take.
At a raucous cackle, he shifted his attention to the gulls.
They ruffled their feathers, nudged each other, and in perfect harmony took flight. Within seconds they’d disappeared from view in the direction of the harbor.
Not the most talkative dinner companions—but sociable.
He went back to eating. Most of the food had grown cold, but it didn’t matter. His mind wasn’t on his meal anymore.
It was on whether to let what seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity slip through his fingers—or grasp this unexpected gift, which had the potential to radically alter the solitary years ahead that he’d come to accept as his lot.
18
Woo-hoo!
Katherine pressed the end button, tossed her phone on the couch in her rental house, and exited onto the deck.
A lungful of the fresh, invigorating air sent energy and optimism coursing through her on this last Saturday of August.
Or—more likely—her upbeat attitude was the result of the accolades her truffles were receiving.
According to Jeannette at the lavender farm, today’s patrons had raved over the samples she’d dropped off yesterday—and the woman had asked for more for next weekend.
That meant they had to be good.
Kind as the tearoom owner appeared to be, she ran a business—and she wouldn’t serve her guests anything that wasn’t stellar. All of the offerings on the three-tiered stand last weekend had been top-notch.
On top of that, Stephanie had passed on the complimentary comments she’d overheard at Hope House during a break on Wednesday. From what she’d picked up, many of the volunteers had been trying to figure out who donated the truffles—and not a morsel had remained on the tray Zach retrieved for her.
Maybe she did have a knack for chocolate-making—at a higher-than-hobbyist level.
A cloud scuttled across the sun, and as the light dimmed she glanced toward the house next door, hidden behind the towering coniferous trees.
It would be fun to share this happy news with Zach—but he’d been laying low since the day they’d stripped wallpaper together. He hadn’t even been at The Perfect Blend when she’d stopped for a latte yesterday on her drive back from the lavender farm, and the female barista with the multicolored hair hadn’t explained his absence.
Had he gone to Atlanta?
But if he had, wouldn’t he have told her?
Why would he, Katherine? It’s not as if you two are anything more than neighbors.
Sad—but true.
Well . . . not sad, really. It was a mutual choice to stay at arm’s length—except for that brief kiss on the beach.
The cavalcade of sensations aroused by that meeting of the lips swept over her again, and she gripped the railing to steady herself.
Zach Garrett definitely knew how to kiss. Better than most of the so-called heartthrobs with whom she’d shared an onscreen clinch.
But there was more to a successful relationship than chemistry, and until they sorted through—and resolved—all those other parts, it was important for them to keep a lid on their emotions.
Surely, though, it would be okay to share the reaction to her truffles—and follow up on their conversation from Wednesday, ask if he’d come to a decision about Atlanta. Any caring neighbor would do as much.
You’re rationalizing, Katherine.
Her chin tipped up. No, she wasn’t. There was nothing wrong with paying her neighbor a quick visit. She’d stay ten minutes, max.
Armed with that plan, she strode across the lawn, through the trees, and onto his deck.
The driveway was empty—so Stephanie wasn’t home.
Perfect.
Much as she liked Zach’s aunt, having the owner of The Perfect Blend all to herself would be the icing on this cake of a day.
She crossed to the sliding door and knocked.
Thirty seconds later, he appeared on the other side and slid it open.
“Hi. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Nothing important.” He returned her smile—but his was a bit weary around the edges. “Come on in.”
“I’m not staying. I just had a piece of good news to share.”
“That would be welcome about now.”
She frowned, her cheer fading. “Is your dad all right?”
“As far as I know. I’ll get the whole story soon.” He motioned to the floor behind him.
A duffle bag was beside the couch.
“You’re going to Atlanta.”
“Yeah. I decided this afternoon. I leave tomorrow morning. What’s your news?”
In light of the ordeal Zach was facing, the positive reviews on her truffles suddenly seemed inconsequential.
“It’s no big deal. I just had a call from Jeannette at the lavender farm.” She filled him in.
A fan of creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me. Like my aunt said, they’re world-class. Are you going to supply more for her next weekend?”
“I haven’t committed yet.”
“You should. Stephanie told me the volunteers on Wednesday loved them too. In fact, I was thinking about asking you to donate a tray of them to the Taste of Hope Harbor event for Hope House. I heard earlier today it’s been scheduled for September 14.”
The same day she owed Simon an answer about the movie offer.
But whatever she decided career-wise shouldn’t affect her ability to provide truffles for the Hope House fundraising effort.
And if she did accept the role and return to Hollywood, a truffle donation would let her exit on a sweet note.
“I’d be happy to. Let me know how many you’ll need.”
“I’ll check and get back to you.”
She’d done what she’d come to do—and her ten minutes were up. She ought to leave.
“How long will you be gone?” The question spilled out before she could stop it.