You know—the tall, dark, wealthy, genius, charismatically sexy type.
Nope. Gimme a good old nerd with an anemic bank account and a healthy cardigan collection.
I helped Ava brush the horse’s chestnut coat in small circles, explaining how Dash could cue her to the right pressure. Within minutes, Ava was so absorbed in the work, her body tension had slackened and her face no longer held a taut frown.
“Am I doing this right?” Ava asked later, her hand smoothing across the horse’s flank.
Dash lowered his head and his ears relaxed, while I pushed aside errant thoughts of a gentleman farmer and found a smile of my own.
I cataloged the way the horse leaned into Ava’s touch, the way Ava’s hands carefully executed every move of the brush. How her face had softened and her breathing calmed.
Healing was in this barn stall today. The air swirled with possibility, and I offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
“It’s definitely right, Ava.” I smiled at the girl, welcoming the bloom of hope in my chest. “Of that, I’m certain.”
Chapter Twenty
Hours later I stood before Miller’s massive front door, holding a box of cupcakes, mashing the doorbell, and wondering what I was doing accepting a dinner invitation.
On my short drive over I’d admitted a terrible truth to myself: I was attracted to Miller.
But I was also going to take that feeling, hold a pillow over it, and suffocate it until it had no life left. Because Miller was an old friend and my boss. I did not date old friends and bosses. No. That would end badly. Not that Miller wanted to date me. He most definitely, surely did not. He was probably back with Alexis the Makeup Entrepreneur, and the two of them would have quite the laugh that I had misinterpreted a few heavy gazes and curious hand placements as anything more than friendship.
I pushed the doorbell again, ready to get this dinner started and return to the comforts of my little home.
“Hattie!” Poppy answered the door with a toothy grin and her scowling sister behind her. “Are you here to eat dinner with my uncle?”
“I’m here to eat dinner with all of you.” I stepped inside the home, once again taken aback at the place. It was like something out ofArchitectural Digest. “I’m most excited to visit with you girls. Can I sit by you at dinner, Poppy?”
“Yes!” The little girl giggled and took my hand.
“And Ava, you must sit on my other side so I can tell you my sister Olivia’s ideas for your birthday party.”
At that Ava’s neutral expression lifted. “She’s already come up with ideas?”
“It’s going to be the best party this town has ever seen.”
“Want to see my room?” Poppy asked, ready for the conversation to return to her.
“I should probably let your uncle Miller know I’m here first.”
“His phone tells him if anyone so much as steps foot on the property,” Ava said. “He knows.”
“Plus he’s outside with the grill he made.” Poppy swung our joined hands back and forth. “A while ago he caught a piece of chicken on fire and said some bad words.”
I straightened her pink bow, which was holding on for dear life. “Does he need a time-out?”
“Yes,” Poppy said. “No cupcakes for him.”
Upstairs, we walked through Poppy’s room first, a large space covered in pink. Dolls and teddy bears smiled from their pile on her bed, and books sat in stacks everywhere on the hardwood floor. The room had clearly been professionally decorated, but Poppy’s own hand-drawn art hung crookedly by gold tacks in a patchwork display on most of the walls. She was a girl who needed to put her own stamp on things.
Ava was reluctant to lead the tour to her bedroom, but she took us through the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that joined the girls’ rooms and showed us her domain. It had one accent wall that Olivia would’ve definitely approved of—a funky floral mural. Pink, black, and gold seemed to be the color palette, and it fit Ava well. Her laptop sat at a small white desk, while her unmade bed boasted half a dozen decorative pillows. Two floating shelves claimed one wall, and I walked over to inspect the framed photos on display.
“That’s my mom and dad.” Poppy pointed to the largest picture in the top center, a wedding photo of their parents.
“I love your mom’s dress and your dad’s uniform. They both look so beautiful.” And I wasn’t just saying that. Kayce had Miller’s electric blue eyes and piercing gaze. Her face was turned up to her husband’s, smiling adoringly at the man she had just married. And how Jonathan looked at his bride. So full of love and wonder. I’d donate both kidneys and my Starbucks rewards card to have a man look at me like that—and actually mean it.
How sad that their love story had ended ten years later. Had Kayce seen signs? Could Jonathan have been helped more? As I stood beside these two girls who regarded the photo with palpable sadness, I was reminded of mywhy—the reason I did what I did. Our military veterans deserved long, full lives and the best in mental health care. We owed it to themandtheir families.
