“You were more like my mother and father, all in one.” Kate put her back to the counter and set the watering can on the floor. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You would have grown up just fine, that’s what you would have done. You’re smart, Kate, and talented and beautiful. If that boyfriend of yours is smart—”
“He’s not my boyfriend—”
“—he’ll realize what a prize he has in you.” Grandma picked up one of the pots and turned the determined flower to face Kate. “All these little guys needed to grow is some love, my dear. Love can change everything. Even a silly boy—”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“—silly man’s heart,” Grandma finished. “I’ve seen Trent look at you, and that boy loves you.”
“Grandma, that was more than fifteen years ago. His feelings have surely changed.”
“Maybe so. Or maybe he just needed a little more time to mature. Like my Stanley here.” She tapped the plant’s plastic pot.
“Stanley?” Kate laughed at the name for the delicate purple bloom. “Well, no matter what you think, I know I have a better shot at getting Stanley there to fall in love with me than Trent.” The thought saddened her, but she refused to let that show. Grandma would only worry, and if there was nothing between Kate and Trent, what was there to worry about?
“Patience, care and attention. Good things grow from that recipe.” Grandma took Kate’s hand and got to her feet. “Now, let’s go have some soup.”
“And cookies?”
“Of course. What kind of grandma would I be if I didn’t bake you cookies?” She pressed a kiss to Kate’s cheek, the soft scent of her fragrance and decades of memories filling the space between them.
They ate lunch and just as Kate was starting the dishes, her phone dinged. She ignored the first text. The second. When it dinged a third time, she pulled it out of her pocket. We need to chat ASAP. Before we meet today, I thought I should tell you I saw Trent’s Instagram blowing up, Angie had written. Finally, All kinds of buzz. People wondering who he’s dating. It’s not you, right?
The last few words hit Kate like a sucker punch. Was Trent dating someone? And why did she care? This was supposed to be a solely professional relationship.
Then Angie followed her text with a screenshot of Trent’s Instagram account. It took Kate a second to look past the breathtaking scenery, the elegance of the bridge…
To her own ankle, sock, and boot in the corner of the picture. She pulled up Instagram, went to his account and read through the comments. Angie was right—speculation was running like a freight train. Surely Trent must know about this. Why had he left the photo up?
We should chat today, Kate texted Trent, four innocuous words that didn’t begin to express her nervousness over being exposed as the author. That couldn’t happen, right? Not from just a snippet of a picture, and a shoe at that. She started to put the phone back when she saw the little bubble of his reply, as if he’d been waiting for her to text.
I agree. Meet for coffee?
Sure. She named a coffee shop near his office and on her way to Angie’s. In about thirty minutes?
Perfect. See you there, KitKat.
Every time he used her nickname, it made her heart trip. For that split second, they were dating again, and her world was as perfect as it could get. Then reality came rushing back and reminded her that all she was to Trent was his ghostwriter. Nothing more.
Kate kissed her grandma’s cheek and promised to come back the next day and help her repot the rest of the primroses. She brushed off Grandma’s questions and said everything was fine. It could be, right? This picture could be nothing. Then Kate gathered her things, hailed a cab and headed across town.
She was early for their meeting, which gave her time to grab a cup of tea and a warm cookie, then set up at a table by the window of the coffee shop. A light rain had started up, and droplets ran down the front windows in hundreds of lazy rivers.
While she was waiting, Kate opened her laptop and managed to whip out a short post on her Secret Life of a Ghost blog.
My newest project—and sorry, can’t give you any deets—is with someone who is really hard to resist. Nice smile, witty remarks, and so very sweet to me. Every time we get together to work on the book, I feel like I’m on the edge of a mountain, staring down a waterfall and debating whether to jump into the dark pool below. Crazy, I know. Can you guys relate? Ever get really close to a person you were ghostwriting for?
She hit Post, then answered a few comments from the last post, and opened up the file for Trent’s book. She needed so much more content, especially about his childhood. Maybe they should go see his parents, if Trent’s family still lived a couple of hours away. A quick trip, gather some research. Might be worth a shot to ask him, although given his earlier reticence about his past, Kate wasn’t so sure he’d agree.
She tried to write, but not a single word came to mind. Her attention strayed to the parking lot, her breath caught in her throat.
Until she saw him.
Trent had walked here, hunched into one of his GOA raincoats with the same boots he’d worn on the hike. He looked ready to whisk her away on an adventure, somewhere far from the busy city and the crowded coffee shop. He stepped inside, shook off the worst of the rain, glancing around the room as he did. His gaze came to rest on Kate, and her heart stuttered.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” An odd shyness came over her. They’d spent an entire morning together a couple of days ago, and had talked via email and text every day since. She’d known him for years, and yet she felt her cheeks heat and her pulse race. The picture, and the rumors swirling on the internet, had changed everything. It was as if she felt responsible for her own foot ending up in a photo. Which was insane, of course.
Trent slipped into the seat across from her. Almost every table in the coffee shop was full, and a low current of conversation ran beneath the soft jazz on the sound system. Local artists had hung paintings on the clapboard walls, watercolors and oils of scenic areas around the state. Even Moulton Falls was immortalized in a painting on the far wall, a taunting reminder of their hike.
Trent cleared his throat. “I take it you heard about the photo?”
He’d seen it too. A part of her had been hoping maybe he hadn’t. That Sarah had deleted the image and the rumor mill had died down in the last fifteen minutes. “Trent, I had no idea I was in that picture, or that people—”
He put up a hand. “Hey, it’s not your fault, not even a little, so don’t beat yourself up. It was an accident.”
“I feel bad, though,” she said, then lowered her voice when she noticed how close the other customers were. The last thing either of them needed was more gossip or someone putting even more pieces together. “You have all these people questioning you now, and so much on your plate with the IPO and the book and—”