Page 54 of Something Old

“Go for it?”

“Yes, please. If you think that rebuilt engine is good, order it, and install it.”

“All right, I will. And I’ll get Luke to help me. It’ll keep him out of trouble and keep the cost down too.”

Anxiety about the ordeal ahead was jumbling with the information Matt was giving her. There was so much pain in the world, but also . . . so much kindness. Madeline had to take a deep breath before she could speak. “Thanks, Matt. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He was gone before she clicked End Call.

Madeline made the educated guess that Grant would be at his dad’s. It was too nice an evening for him not to be making the most of it, especially with the days already growing shorter and fall marching closer.

When the cabbie turned into the long driveway, he shook his head as he surveyed his surroundings. It didn’t take a mind reader to know he was shocked by the amount of stuff on the property. If only he knew, Madeline thought. This was sparse pickings compared to what it was like before.

She saw Grant’s truck through the trees and got the cabbie to let her out at the curve in the driveway before it opened up into the parking area. She wanted to walk in and surprise Grant properly.

“Are you sure?” The taxi driver didn’t bother to hide his leeriness.

“Yep, thanks.” She paid the man and hopped out with the bag of food she’d brought.

Anticipating Grant’s reaction to dinner, she smiled to herself. He loved sushi as much as she and Boots—she cleared her throat—as much as she did.

As she neared the corner of the house, she heard voices. Or, to be more specific, she heard a female voice. It was breathy and flirty-sounding, though she wasn’t close enough to make out actual words. Madeline had never in her life heard voices here except for hers and Grant’s, let alone someone female and flirty. And then she noticed something she should have before and probably would have, except she’d been preoccupied with trying to clear her thoughts of Boots. There was a blue Honda Civic snugged in cozily beside Grant’s truck.

Madeline peeked around the corner of the house.

Grant was standing by the door, and though his arms were crossed, he appeared amiable. A beautiful woman—and calling her “beautiful” was almost an understatement—who absolutely had to be Holly was standing close to him and speaking earnestly. As Madeline stared on, her mind whirling, Holly reached out and touched Grant’s shoulder, smiling up at him, then self-consciously played with her hair and tucked a long strand behind one ear.

Madeline frowned. Holly wasn’t supposed to be here yet. Madeline and Grant were still supposed to have . . . time. Holly had shown up out of the blue, way earlier than she’d said. Not that Grant seemed to mind.

Holly nodded, smiling even wider at something Grant said too quietly for Madeline to make out, and strode toward her car.

Shoot! Madeline ducked behind a stack of totes—and people said junk served no purpose—then bit back a dismayed yelp as Holly pulled a towheaded munchkin from out of the back seat. He wrapped his arms and legs monkey-like around his mom, who made her way back to Grant.

Grant smiled at mother and son, murmured something else Madeline didn’t quite grasp, and held up his hand in a high-five gesture. The little boy smacked Grant’s hand, looking serious—and Madeline realized that even though the child wasn’t Grant’s, he totally could be. They had very similar coloring, and for a toddler, he was long-limbed already. If Grant and Holly got back together, people would just assume . . .

Pressing a fist to her mouth, Madeline backed away from the scene before her. When she was well clear of the house, she turned and jogged the long driveway back to the road, her heart hammering with . . . what exactly? Not effort. She wasn’t that out of shape. Disappointment. Yes, that was it. Her shoulders sagged at the truth of it. Her intuition about Holly’s reason for returning was dead-on from the body language she’d witnessed. Worse, Grant’s unstressed demeanor suggested he wasn’t against the possibility of having Holly back in his life either.

Madeline wanted to give herself a hard smack. Why had she put the brakes on something she wanted? And even more importantly, why was she only now being honest and admitting she wanted Grant—and wanted him as more than just the friend she’d kept insisting she was content with? Why was it so common in life to only fully appreciate something you had once it was lost? Had losing so many people she loved taught her nothing?

At the main road, she texted for another cab and pulled herself together. She was being stupid. It was probably for the best—no, not even probably. It was for the best. It sucked, though—for her, sure, but also for Grant. Holly had put him through so much. He deserved someone kinder. Someone more like him.

What she was thinking suddenly struck her, and she rolled her eyes. Oh, Grant. He’s sooo great. He’s sooo nice. She was going to be as bad as Kelsey if she wasn’t careful, giving other women the stink eye if they didn’t think highly enough of Grant or treat him well. Her mirth died away as quickly as it bubbled up, however. First Boots, now Grant. It had been a hard week on friendships.

“Whoa, talk about seeing trouble where there might be none,” she muttered. She was being ridiculous in all sorts of ways. Why wouldn’t she and Grant stay friends, even if Holly was back in his life? Seeing them together might be awkward for her at first, Madeline admitted, but she’d get over it. And even there, she was being pretty presumptuous. One afternoon visit did not constitute a renewed relationship.

Chapter 28

It was strange that Grant hadn’t heard from Madeline since the night she’d called him with the bad news about Boots. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t reached out to her. He’d texted so many times without getting any replies back the past four days that he’d checked with his service provider to make sure his phone was working right.

He drove past The Second Chance Shop several times. It was always open, business as usual, so she was all right physically, anyway. He would’ve stopped in person, but every time he did a drive-by, feeling increasingly stalkerish, it was so busy, he didn’t want to intrude. And his recent evenings had been . . . full. That was part of why he was so eager to see her. Yes, to confirm she was okay, but also because he had so many surprising and wonderful—or he hoped they were wonderful, anyway—things to run past her.

Finally, he gave up on hinting. “What’s up with you? Why aren’t you answering? Are you okay? Send me something back, even if it’s just a thumbs-up. I’m starting to worry.”

His phone rang almost immediately, and he hit Talk without checking the call display. So happy—almost relieved—to hear from Madeline that he was unable to refrain from being corny, he answered with a boisterous, “Hello there, stranger!”

There was a breath of dead space, then a woman—definitely not Madeline—spoke hesitantly. “Grant?”

Grant recognized the shy voice immediately. “Gwen! Hey, sorry—thought you were Madeline.”