All I do is get in the way and bring them new problems that could threaten the amazing bond between them, the life Alaska talks about when he’s holding me, the future that’s everything they’ve dreamed.
I can’t be the nightmare to that dream.
I can’t be the bad luck charm that breaks them.
I can’t ever forget that what seems like an idyllic life with them is an illusion.
It’s all pretend.
Puppet theater.
Paisley could come along with her murderous smirk and cut our strings at any second.
God.
Maybe it’s because I’m brooding about Paisley and all the ugly possibilities that when I hear a footstep scuff behind me, I nearly shriek.
My belly jumps into the back of my throat as I whirl.
Too fast. Shrub’s leash tangles around my legs.
I stumble, flailing my free hand out for balance.
Only to steady as Ms. Wilma grasps my forearm, her thin hand surprisingly strong no matter how her skin thins with age, the bones standing out stark against papery flesh.
She watches me with a kind, yet sharp gaze, holding me firmly while I get myself untangled from my dog leash. All thanks to Shrub bouncing around excitedly the second he sees her.
I’m more awkward than I need to be, but then Ms. Wilma just watches like she knows something, and when she’s got that look on her face...
Yeah. I’ve got good reason for squirming, don’t I?
“A little jumpy, dearie?” she asks mildly, the second I finally get myself sorted and let go. “You looked rather out of it.”
I offer her a thin smile.
She treats this entire town like we’re all her grandchildren—not just Warren and the mess of the great grandkids they’re giving her.
I can’t say I’m not grateful for it.
“Just a lot on my mind,” I say as I bend to pick up Shrub so he’ll stop straining at the leash to get to the little clear glass watering can in her hand. From the crystallization on the sides and the faint yellow hue, I’m guessing it’s sugar water for her beloved hummingbirds.
Especially since my pup’s got a sweet tooth and he can smell cane sugar from a mile away, but I don’t need him jumping the town matriarch for a glucose fix.
While I handle the squirming, licking Pekingese, Ms. Wilma tucks her silvered hair back, adjusting the neat bun, and offers me a sympathetic smile.
“Sorry, Ms. Wilma. You know how he gets. This boy forgets his training the second he smells a treat,” I say.
Shrub flicks his tongue against my cheek and I can’t help but laugh, fighting his snout against my shoulder.
“No apologies necessary,” she says. “I must say, it’s good to finally see you smiling again...but it does worry me that your smiles are always so sad when there’s not a little cotton ball licking your face.” Her keen gaze pins me in place. “And it turns more melancholy when you look at that man and his son.”
“I...what?” I splutter, going hot from my collar to my scalp. “I don’t—there’s nothing—I mean—”
“You mean?” She looks at me almost too neutrally. “You mean to say that you’re talking yourself out of something wonderful before it even has a chance to bloom. I know you, Miss Felicity. I know that look from a dozen other folks around here the last few years. And I know the dreams your fears make you run from.”
I groan, hugging Shrub tighter.
“Not fair, Ms. Wilma.”
“Of course not. I only push you children because I want what’s best for you.” She reaches over and gently scratches behind Shrub’s ears. “The trouble is, some of you can’t see what’s best for you even when it’s hanging there right in front of your noses.”
“Ouch.” But I can’t help how my gaze drifts back to Alaska and Eli, or the warm feeling in my chest as I watch them. “It’s just...we don’t fit, ma’am. We’re two different people. We have so many different issues—personal ones—and we wouldn’t be easing each other’s woes by smushing them together. We’d be multiplying them.”
“You’re so sure of that, hmm?”
Crap. Her eyes drill me into the ground.
“...I mean, this is me,” I say weakly.
“Yes. You, Miss Felicity. Not Morgan Randall. Not even Harper Randall. You. How long are you going to spend your life doing penance for someone else’s crimes, young lady?”
Boom. Right between the eyes.
She really doesn’t pull her punches, does she?
Wincing, I glance down at the ground, my toes curling inside my boots.
“You know it’s not that simple.”
“Love never is. Seems all we ever do is complicate life by trying to make the big things simple. But sometimes we also mess ourselves up by not letting things simply be.” Her hand rests on my arm, so very warm. “What’s wrong with letting things simply be with two people who clearly care for you, dearie?”
I open my mouth and close it again.
No easy answer arrives on the tip of my tongue.
Do they?
Do Alaska and Eli really care for me, or does Alaska just feel like I’m his responsibility? It’s not hard to see he’s got a protector’s streak as wide as the Yukon, and even if he looks at me like I just stepped off a cloud, I wonder.
Maybe he’s just doing this because it needs to be done.
Because I’ve got no one else.
Because he stepped into a snare set up to catch me.
And because I’ve never been special enough for any man to just set aside his life and—
“Ow!” I rock back as a finger thwacks between my eyes.
“You stop that,” Ms. Wilma says sternly. “Look at you, with that cute little wrinkle between your eyes. You’re too young for wisdom lines and you’re overthinking things.”
“Only a little!”
“Little Miss Randall.” She smiles, much more gently than the impact of her finger. “Tell me this. What’s so wrong with loving someone?”
Again, my mind blanks on an answer.
That question shouldn’t rattle me so much.
“I don’t know, I...” I don’t know how to answer that, so I shake my head. “It’s just easier, Ms. Wilma. It’s easier to love something like making coffee. Not someone. It’s harder to take something away from you.”
“But do you remember who gave you the thing you love?”
“Dad.” Oh, no. My throat’s tight, my lips quivering, and my eyes blaze while I stare at Alaska and Eli like they can somehow save me from this awful dread in my chest. “I...I wanted to make him happy so much. I kept thinking if I could just make him happy, maybe he’d stop going off to look for things that hurt him. I was too young to understand, but I knew. I just knew...” I gulp in thick heavy breaths of air.
She reaches up and lays a soft hand on my shoulder, lending me the strength to finish. No matter what religion you are—or lack thereof—this woman will always be the town confessional, the shrink, and the heart surgeon.
“I knew when I made him those perfect cups of coffee and tried to make each one better than the last...he smiled at me. His eyes were so warm and he looked like he loved me so much that maybe this time he wouldn’t go away. Maybe he wouldn’t leave me wondering if he’d ever come back.” I dash at my eyes furiously, only for Shrub to decide to help out, licking at the tears pouring down my cheeks and making me laugh even while I’m sniffling, hurting. “And then one day he just didn’t.”