Page 67 of Something Old

“No?” The timbre of Grant’s voice changed. “How about this?”

One minute, Madeline was standing in his cute little home, making—and fielding—lame jokes, which she loved, but still . . .

The next, the bottle of wine she was holding was spirited away, and Grant had lifted and deposited her on his granite-topped island. His body was wedged between her thighs, his hands were on her hips, kneading her buttocks, and although the moment was super quick and nothing had even happened yet, Madeline could hardly breathe for wanting.

She undid his flannel button-down shirt, exposing his chest and a treasure trail of fur that started at his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. His nipples, dark as plums, hardened as the air hit them.

He must’ve felt fair was only fair because he made quick work of her shirt too. Madeline’s skin was burning—no hot flash necessary—and when his eyes widened at the sight of her satin-encased breasts, all her nerve endings tingled. Releasing her breasts from their confines, he held them for a moment, just admiring them. Then he gently brushed her nipples—and then not-so-gently rubbed them until they were as erect as his. Her insides turned to molten lava.

“It is like riding a bike,” Madeline whispered joyfully without meaning to.

“I had a BMX. I could do amazing jumps with it,” Grant whispered back, equally nonsensically, then lowered his mouth to kiss her.

Chapter 35

Grover huffed a huge sigh, then let out a mournful moan as the realtor pulled away. Grant reached down to rub his ears. “I know, boy. I know.”

He wasn’t just trying to pacify his dog, either. He did feel sad. Not in an am-I-making-a-huge-mistake way, but in a longing-for-what-might-have-been-if-the-world-were-different sort of way. Fall had moved in with a vengeance. The trees were bare, the sunlight brilliant and penetrating. It was impossible not to notice the season had changed in every way. Soon the house, albatross that it was, wouldn’t be Grant’s problem anymore. However, that also meant the largest, most tangible connection he had to his father—and to his family’s past—would also be no more. If only he’d come to understand his dad before he’d died. If only—

But you couldn’t change the past. You could only move forward with whatever new knowledge you acquired. Grant lifted his travel mug of coffee in a toast to his dad’s memory, and Grover stood up and stretched, just as a squirrel in a nearby tree started up a noisy chatter.

Instantly, Grover’s whole demeanor shifted. On a mission, he charged into the bushes that lined the driveway, obviously confident that this time, finally, he would succeed. He would get the cheeky guy above him. Grant laughed. So maybe the dog hadn’t been mournful after all. Maybe, as ever, it was just him projecting.

Like Grover, Grant couldn’t stay glum for long. As surprising as it continually was to him, he still had a lot of get-up-and-go left in himself as well. He smiled, imagining describing this inner comparison between himself and Grover to Madeline.

She’d say something like, “Am I supposed to be the squirrel in this scenario?” and act indignant, but that’s what it would be: an act. Madeline. Madeline. Even just repeating her name made him happy.

He still couldn’t believe his—their—good fortune. With so much in the world that was hard to bear, hard to understand, and hard to endure, what a gift it was to find someone who just . . . got you. Seemed meant for you. Was the tonic for his gin. The PB for his J. The nut to his bolt. No—this was going too far. He was embarrassing himself in his own head! Still, he just . . . couldn’t believe it.

He whistled as he made his way to his truck. He was going to call his sister—see if she’d come for a visit. He figured, what with the regularity they texted and called each other now, there was actually a chance she might. And then he was going to head to his new workshop, which was coming along nicely. And then—then he was going to see what Madeline was up to. It might take him a bit to track her down since it was no longer a given that she’d be haunting her shop. She still loved the place with a passion, but these days, more often than not, she was busy with other things after hours. With other people. With him.

Grant knew he was grinning like a kid as Grover bounded over, not discouraged in the slightest by his failure to get the squirrel.

“We can’t all be lucky, boy.”

Grover snorted and shook his head, making his ears flap, then hopped up into the truck and curled up on his side of the seat.

Chapter 36

It had been a banner week for china, linens, silverware, and glassware sales, with people happily oohing and ahhing over pieces to make their Thanksgiving tables festive. As Madeline spent the last half hour or so before she was due to close restocking and reorganizing, her mind was abuzz with happy thoughts and no little bit of awe.

She was doing it! The Second Chance Shop was . . . a thing. She was almost at her do-or-die six-month moment-of-truth time, and she was turning a solid profit, even after paying herself a wage and covering the business’s full operating costs. She hadn’t had to dip into her personal savings account for anything for a while now—a good thing since it was nearly empty. She’d rebuild it, though. The holiday season would be a good one, she was sure—and she’d have her new tenant paying rent by early spring. Her tenant. The idea of Grant being her tenant was a joke they both found funny, even if it was also technically accurate.

She rested her hand on a stack of linen napkins, delicately embroidered with small leaves and acorns. So pretty, so perfect for this time of year. They triggered a slight dilemma. She and Grant were hosting a potluck dinner for Thanksgiving—their first event-event as a couple. A couple. The idea still made her blink from time to time. Her little house was going to be filled to the brim, and in addition to dinner, she wanted to give small thank-you gifts. She had a set of four heavy cut-crystal tumblers for Sam and Aisha’s dad, Charlie, whom Madeline had yet to meet. She’d put aside a gorgeous cheeseboard with copper detailing for Annie and Lita, who were bringing one of their incredibly decadent salted caramel cheesecakes for dessert. She’d already decided on a Fitz & Floyd pumpkin-shaped soup tureen that had come in with a box of donated stuff—people gave away such treasures!—for Aisha, Jase, and Mo, knowing that Mo and Aisha, especially, would love it. Not only was it gorgeous and fun, but apparently, Aisha regularly made a pumpkin soup that was the “yummiest soup in the whole world,” according to Mo and confirmed by Jase.

But the napkins . . . Aisha was definitely someone who’d appreciate them over paper ones. They wouldn’t just sit in a drawer at her house. She’d use them, Madeline was sure. So, there it was. No dilemma, after all. She’d give Aisha both. Madeline snatched up the pretty, practical napkins, then tucked them into the bag at her feet and continued to putter.

The only tarnish on her bright, shiny dinner party plan was that Gwen, who’d initially seemed shyly excited by the invite, had passed when she heard other people would be there.

Madeline was so wholly caught up with the here and now, and the shop was so busy and bright, filled with last-minute customers and brilliant fall sunlight casting a golden glow on everything it touched, that she wasn’t prepared for Ronny’s voice in her head—a voice that trembled. Not prepared at all.

I’m really happy the store has worked out for you, that this change has brought so much healing.

Madeline’s heart panged. Hard.

But are you sure that you’re sure? There’s no reason to have your Second Chance Shop here. You should be near family.

Madeline smoothed her hand across Magda’s hundred-year-old buffet. As Magda had warned—or promised, Madeline thought with a soft smile—it hadn’t made it this far unscathed. Life had left various marks and dings, including a deep scar on one side that Madeline knew would never completely disappear, no matter how time softened it or people tried to polish it away. Yet—again as Magda had observed and Madeline herself had noted time and time again about other things—despite its wear and tear and obvious signs of use, or maybe because of them, it was beautiful.