Rom-Com Collection (Part1). Kristan Higgins
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lovely shade of pink. “Thank you for asking me. I never had a girl, you know.”
“I do know.” Faith’s smile widened; Goggy often dropped well-known facts as if she was revealing them for the first time. “So you and Pops will be okay without me?”
Goggy turned the hot water on and began filling the sink. She didn’t believe in dishwashers. “We’ll be fine,” she said. “It was nice, having someone break up our routine.”
Guilt cartwheeled merrily through Faith’s heart. “I’ll stop in every day,” she said.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I understand,” Goggy said. She opened the first box and started setting glasses in the hot, soapy water. “I envy you. I wouldn’t mind having a nice new place like this and living by myself, either. Starting over.”
Faith looked at her, surprised. Not something you’d expect from an eighty-four-year-old woman. Or maybe it was exactly what you’d expect.
“What’s it like, being married for so long?” Faith asked, opening another box.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Goggy said. “Sometimes I feel like your grandfather has no idea who I am. I’m sure he thinks he learned everything there was to know in the first week we were married, and there’s been nothing new since. But there is! Sometimes I want to tell him about a book I’ve read or something someone said in church, and he barely listens.”
Faith made a sympathetic noise. “You got married when you were so young,” she said. Her grands had known each other only a month before they got married. Back when you did stuff like that.
“Don’t I know it,” Goggy said.
“You must’ve fallen in love right away.”
Goggy snorted. “Hardly, sweetheart. He had land, we had a little money, he’d just come back from the service, and our families approved.”
“Did you love him?”
Goggy’s face hardened. “What’s love, anyway?” She scrubbed a glass so hard Faith feared for its future.
“Want to sit down, Goggy?” Faith asked. “Let’s have some coffee and talk.”
Her grandmother looked at her, her eyes soft. “That’d be nice, honey. No one thinks I have much to say these days. Just you.”
Faith made the coffee, grateful for the Keurig and its speed. She set Goggy’s cup down in front of her and sat down next to her grandmother.
“I was engaged to a boy who died in the war,” Goggy said, and Faith choked, she was so surprised. Goggy patted her idly on the back. “His name was Peter. Peter Horton.”
Peter, Goggy said, was the boy from down the street, the milkman’s son. His mother was British, which made him seem very glamorous. They’d had an understanding—Peter would go off to war, “because that’s what people did back then, Faith, no matter if you were rich or poor. Even Hollywood actors went to war.” Upon his return, they’d marry.
He died in France, and Goggy hadn’t much cared much after that. John Holland, why not? She did want to have children. And there weren’t so many options for women back then.
“But I still think of him, Faith,” Goggy said now, her voice quiet and gentle. “Sometimes, I’ll be doing laundry or going up the stairs, and I wonder if he’d even recognize me. I wonder if we’d have been happy. I think we would have. He’d bring me flowers he’d picked in a field, and write me poems, and sneak looks at me in church.”
“He sounds wonderful,” Faith said, wiping her eyes on a napkin. Her chest ached, knowing Goggy had once been so sweetly courted, so in love.
“He was.” Goggy was quiet for a minute. “Your grandfather, he never tried very hard. I was a done deal.” Goggy glanced at Faith and reached over to squeeze her hand. “So I understand how you must feel about Jeremy, in some ways. The love of your life won’t be the man you end up with, and you’ll always compare the two.”
“Well, I hope not,” Faith said. “But, Goggy, I’m so sorry. That’s such a sad story. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “No one wants to hear an old lady’s stories.” Goggy sighed and then rose to her feet with surprising vigor. “Let’s get cleaning. This place looks well enough on the surface, but those cabinets could be hiding a world of germs.”
* * *
FAITH WOKE UP AT THREE in the morning with an idea.
The first event at the Barn at Blue Heron would be an anniversary party for her grandparents. She could have the place done in time, or at least mostly, and she’d organize a big party for them, and maybe Goggy and Pops would remember some good times. Some love. Surely you couldn’t be married for six and a half decades and not love your spouse.
Poor Goggy. How hard it must’ve been, moving on from that idyllic love to something so utilitarian with Pops, wondering what life would’ve been like if Peter had come home from the war. Dad, too, faced with so many days without Mom, his life so different from the one he’d imagined.
She wished she could call Jeremy, hear his kind voice. Maybe her grandmother was right...she’d never find someone to love who measured up to her first love. Just like Goggy. Just like Dad.
Crap. She seemed to be crying a little.
Blue gave a soft snort, then wagged his tail in his sleep. The moonlight was sweetly unfamiliar, cutting into her room in slices of cool white. From the kitchen came the sound of the refrigerator cycling on. Otherwise, it was quiet.
She may as well get up, check the production schedule for the barn. She padded barefoot to her office, Blue following dutifully, his ball in his mouth, then flopped down at her feet as she sat at her desk, as if they’d lived here for years instead of hours. Faith rubbed her foot through his thick fur, earning a croon of appreciation from the beastie.
You couldn’t be too lonely with a dog. That was for sure. Faith turned on her computer, then noticed something.
The apartment smelled like chocolate.
Now, that was nice. And a little odd. Maybe the bakery was opening already? As the computer warmed up, Faith went to the front windows to check. Nope, Lorelei’s windows were dark.
She went to the door and opened it a crack. The hall was dark, but there was a band of light coming from under the door of 3C, and the smell of chocolate was stronger here. Blue poked his head out, too, and licked his chops.
Levi was baking.
Baking at 3:17 in the morning.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TWO WEEKS LATER, all Levi wanted was to get into his apartment without Faith’s big dog leg-humping him in the hall, pour himself a beer and watch the Yankees win. It had been a very long couple of days; he was trying to train Everett, but the kid had a mind like a sieve. Nevertheless, Levi was letting him be in charge tonight, no matter how unsettling the thought was.
“You call me if there’s anything you’re not sure about, okay?” he asked. “And you keep that gun holstered. If I hear you took it out without my direct consent, you’re fired. I don’t care who your mother is.”
Everett beamed. “Roger, Chief. Don’t worry about anything.” He put his feet up on the desk, missed and fell out of his chair.
Levi suppressed a sigh. “I’ll check in later.”
“You’re a control freak, did anyone ever tell you that?” Emmaline said as she pulled on her raincoat. On her desk was a book entitled Taking Control of Your Life: How to Change a Dead-End Job into the Career of Your Dreams.
“Looking for a new job, Em?” he asked.
“Looking to get yours.” She gave him one of her