Chapter Four

      Grace would love nothing more than to go back to her campsite and lick her wounds. Next time, she needed to think twice before inviting someone else to her pity party.

      In one swift, stealthy strike, her boss had put an end to her sulking. And yes, despite her strong desire to turn tail and run, Kaleb was still her boss. Despite their disagreements, she felt as though she could make a difference at Mountain View Tours.

      Of course, that also meant she’d still be working with Roger, so she supposed she should put aside her preconceived notions and, at least, give the guy a chance.

      Now here she stood in Mama and Roger’s cottage-style kitchen, feeling like a bit of a jerk. She hadn’t realized he’d lost his wife of thirty-five years. Probably because she never took the time to listen to anything her mother—or anyone else—had to say about him.

      “What can I do to help, Mama?” She pushed up the long sleeves of her purple T-shirt and headed toward the farmhouse sink under the window to wash her hands.

      “Why don’t you set the table while I finish with this salad.” Her mother rested the knife on the marble-topped island and wiped her hands on a dish towel before opening one of the white cupboards behind her.

      “Silverware?”

      “First drawer on the right.” Mama pointed with her elbow while pulling out a stack of plates. She set them on the counter. “We’ll eat in the dining room tonight.”

      “Okay.” Eating utensils clasped in one hand, Grace reached for plain white plates with her other. “I think you gave me one too many.”

      “No, I didn’t. The fourth one is for Kaleb. Roger thought it would be nice to invite him for dinner, too.”

      Grace simply stood there, uncertain what to make of her mother’s sudden announcement. After all the head-butting she and Kaleb had done today.

      “Oh, and place mats and napkins are in the drawer in the hutch.” Mama picked up her knife and continued slicing tomatoes. “Let’s go with the turquoise ones. Add a little color.”

      Good thing Grace’s workday had ended on a positive note. Otherwise, seeing Kaleb tonight could prove to be even more awkward.

      She moved into the dining room and set the plates and silverware on the table before searching for the linens. Not that it would be difficult. Mama always kept them in the right-hand drawer.

      Turning toward the wall at the far end of the room, she vaguely recognized the tall piece of furniture whose glass case held Mama’s collection of pastel-colored Depression glass. The style of the piece was similar to the one Grace remembered growing up, except instead of the honey oak finish, this one was white.

      She pulled the crystal knob to open the drawer on the right and gasped. It was the same piece. While the outside of the hutch had been painted, the inside of the drawer still bore hers and Lucy’s names. Names they’d written in permanent marker along the inside of the drawer. A move that had earned them both a stern scolding and a lengthy time-out.

      Stepping back, she stared at the furniture piece, a bittersweet feeling leaching into her heart. She remembered the look of pure delight on her mother’s face the Christmas Daddy presented it to her. “You need a special place to display your collection,” he’d told her.

      Grace thought it was the most beautiful, if not ginormous, thing she’d ever seen. Yet as she stared at it now, the hutch looked prettier than ever. Like a better version of itself.

      A noise in the kitchen interrupted her reverie and stole her attention.

      “Smells delicious.” Roger closed the door behind him, wiping his booted feet on the rug before making his way into the room. His arm snaked around her mother’s waist as he set a plastic grocery sack on the counter. He said something, though the words were too soft for Grace to hear. Whatever it was, though, made her mother giggle and had a blush creeping into her cheeks.

      “Love words” were what she and Lucy used to call it when Daddy would whisper sweet nothings into Mama’s ear. Sometimes she would blush, sometimes not, but either way, Grace and Lucy knew it was an intimate conversation, meant only for Mama and Daddy.

      Suddenly uncomfortable, Grace grabbed the place mats and napkins and returned her focus to the table.

      “Hello, Grace.” Roger stood just on the other side of the doorway between the two rooms. “Glad you could make it.” Hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, he seemed to look everywhere but at her.

      Just like she did when she was uncomfortable.

      Could it be that Roger was as nervous about tonight as she was?

      “Thank you for having me.” Hands shaking, she finished laying out the silverware, realizing she’d forgotten to grab another set. “You have a lovely home.”

      “Yeah.” He moved closer, just enough to admire the dining room and adjoining living room. Both had that same cottage feel, lots of white furniture against dark hardwood floors and pale blue-gray walls. “Your mother’s quite the decorator.”

      He’d let her mother redecorate? But this was his house.

      “She managed to fuse our former lives and our new life into something fresh and different.”

      Much like the old hutch.

      All of Lucy’s words about Roger being a good guy flooded her memory. Grace had chosen to ignore her sister. Now her emotions warred within.

      Perhaps her mother wasn’t quite so eager to forget the past after all.

      The doorbell rang then.

      “That would be Kaleb.” Moving along the opposite side of the table, Roger headed toward the door.

      Feeling as though she still had egg on her face when it came to her boss, Grace took the opportunity to retrieve that fourth set of utensils.

      Inside the kitchen, her mother was removing a large baking dish from the oven. The aromas of meat, cheeses and whatever other secret ingredients made up Nonna Gigi’s famous lasagna wafted throughout the room, reminding Grace of simpler times.

      She inhaled deeply, wishing she could find a way to capture the scent for those times when life got rough. “That smells amazing.”

      “Always does.” Mama set the pan atop the stainless-steel stove, then grabbed a sheet pan that held a split loaf of French bread spread with garlic butter and sprinkled with cheese. “Now all I have to do is get this garlic bread baked.” She set the pan in the oven and adjusted the heat.

      Hearing Kaleb’s voice in the other room, Grace opened the drawer and took out another knife, fork and spoon. “Mama?”

      “Yes, baby.” Leaning her hip against the island, she gave Grace her full attention.

      Grace pushed the drawer closed. “Did you know Kaleb was injured in the army?” His revelation had stunned, if not shamed, her. Sure she’d noticed that something was a little off in his gait on occasion, but she thought maybe he had a bad knee. Boy, was she wrong.

      “Oh, yes. He doesn’t hide it. In fact, he’s an inspiration to everyone here, sharing his story at area schools and churches. He’s our own real-life hero.”