Trent chuckled at the image of Greg’s eight-year-old daughter banging on the drumset. “I’m the godfather. I’m supposed to buy toys that annoy the parents and make the kid happy.”
“Excellent job on that.” Greg grinned. “When she was six, she wanted a pony. I’m glad she didn’t tell you about that one.”
“I would have gotten one.” Trent winked. “She is the cutest kid, so it’s hard to say no.”
“I agree. I would hang the moon on her wall if she asked me to. Last Christmas, she wanted this miniature pony toy. It was on her list to Santa, and she wanted it to have real horse hair. Do you know, I spent weeks looking online and in antique shops and hobby shops, trying to find one?”
“Really? That’s so…sentimental of you.” Trent gave his friend a shoulder jab. “Nah, seriously, that’s sweet.”
“I didn’t find one until Christmas Eve. I was driving home from work, I was exhausted, and I just wanted to get home. I saw this one shop I’d never noticed before, and it was still open. At the last second, I decided to stop in, and what do you know? They had the exact thing Dana had asked for. I bought it, wrapped it up, and made her Christmas morning.”
Trent would like to think he would be that kind of dad when he had kids. He realized that for the first time, his mind had thought the word “when,” not “if.’ A future, where he was married and settled down and had a family? Maybe not such an impossibility with someone like…Kate? Either way, it was a thought for way down the road.
“My point, and I had one in telling you about the Christmas pony, is if she’s worth it, you go the extra mile.” Greg put up his hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger move. “I read about the whole thing with Kate and your book and the company in some online magazine. The internet trolls are saying she wrote a biased piece and it isn’t the truth. But I’ve heard you talk about Kate a couple of times on long runs, and she doesn’t sound like the kind of woman who would lie. She sounds like the kind who knows you pretty darn well and would shoot it to you straight, like Virginia does with me. I also get the feeling she’s the kind of woman who’s worth going all the way to Montlake Terrace.”
Trent thought back and realized Kate’s name had come up in some of those long-run conversations with Greg. All these years, Trent had thought he’d moved on, forgotten her, but she’d clearly lingered in his mind all along. “I could go to Timbuktu and it wouldn’t matter. I think she hates me right now.”
“Then maybe you have to go farther,” Greg said, breaking into a jog again. “And faster, you slowpoke turtle!”
Trent sucked in a breath and ran after Greg, pounding the pavement until his lungs hurt and his mind stopped replaying his last conversation with Kate and the hurt that had been in her eyes. Once again, he’d broken her heart.
With Penny’s advice in mind, Kate went back to work on her novel over the next few days. She’d talk the story through with her grandmother from time to time and read some passages aloud as they sat out on the porch at night, looking for the Big Dipper and eating whatever batch of cookies was fresh from the oven.
Grandma raved about every chapter like it was the next War and Peace, of course. Kate reminded herself that this was her grandmother, who would rave about Kate’s grocery list, but either way, there just seemed to be something wonderful happening with this story. Even Kate could feel it as she wrote.
Trent called and texted, but Kate ignored him. At least once a day, he asked if they could talk, but she never replied. She’d already fallen for him twice and had had her heart broken both times. Only a fool went back for a third strike.
All of it was compounded by the guilt she felt about what had happened. She hadn’t been the one to expose the truth, but maybe if she hadn’t talked to Loretta or hadn’t worn his jacket…
Trent was undoubtedly still angry about what had happened, and Kate wasn’t sure she could hear that at the same time she was nursing a broken heart.
The writing helped her block out that pain and the memories of him. Every once in a while, she’d pull up the picture of the falls and allow her heart a moment to mourn. Then she’d click the photo away and go back to her fictional world that didn’t have a ghostwriter, a Loretta, or a Trent darkening the pages.
She blocked out the rest of the world too, avoiding social media, her blog, her emails. Kate kept her head down and kept working on the book. As page after page poured out of her, her self-confidence grew, and the words flowed even faster. She helped Grandma turn over the soil and fertilize the garden, getting it ready for the spring planting. She made lots of soups, typing while the ingredients simmered or tea brewed in the delicate china cups Grandma loved so much. The weather began to abate as March began to edge toward April, and Kate set a little time aside every day to visit the garden and greenhouse.
“Thank you for everything,” Grandma said. Today, the two of them were working together, transplanting a trio of red geraniums bursting out of their pots. “But you’ve been with me for over two weeks now. I love having you here, but maybe you should go back to your own life.”
“Charlie’s here, you’re here, and my laptop’s here. I have everything I need.” Okay, so maybe Grandma had a point and Kate was hiding from the things she didn’t want to face, but it was all for a good cause—her grandmother and her novel.
“You have everything…except for the man you’re in love with.”
“I’m not in love with him, Grandma.” It was amazing how easily the lie slipped from her mouth and how believable the words sounded. “I just…got swept up in believing we had something real this time. I should have been more cautious.”
Grandma’s hand covered hers. “Love is about risk. Caution has no place in the equation.”
Kate scoffed. “I did that once. Not going to do it again.”
Grandma lowered herself into the wooden chair beside the potting table. She set the geraniums aside and began selecting some of the hardier cucumber plants that would go in the garden soon. “Did you know Grandpa Jack and I broke up once?”
“Really? No, I never heard that.” Her grandfather had been a charming, witty man who’d adored her grandmother. Every time he’d looked at her, it was as if he’d been watching a rainbow in the sky. They’d met as teenagers and had married straight out of high school. When Kate was six, he’d died, and it had taken decades for Grandma to get over the loss of her best friend.
“Your grandfather was a stubborn man, for all his charms.” Grandma’s eyes watered at the memory of her late husband. He’d been tall and dashing, with a full head of hair and pale green eyes that had always seemed to sparkle. “When we met, I was sixteen and he was seventeen. My father wasn’t going to let his little girl leave with an older man—” at that, Grandma laughed a little, “—so we sat on my front porch most evenings, sipping lemonade and playing cards.”