Winter's Path: (A Seasmoke Friends Novel) (8 page)

Regardless, I rearranged the cabinets to my liking and put things away. The fridge and pantry were pathetically empty. Wondering if I had time to hit the store before Jenny got here, I glanced out the window. Miserable day to go shopping, but I didn’t have so much as a bottle of ketchup.

I went into the small half-bath and stopped short. A few days ago, all that had been here was a bar of soap and a roll of TP. She’d painted the room gray-blue shade of storm cloud and had hung navy hand towels on a bar. A ceramic sailboat sat on the vanity next to a lighthouse-shaped soap dispenser. A small picture of seashells hung on a wall. Hell, she’d even put a box of tissue on the toilet tank. Curious, I opened the cabinet under the sink and found the extra beach towels my parents had stacked neatly in two rows.

Huh. Wonder when Jenny had done this. The space wasn’t very big at all and I rarely came in here because the upstairs had a master and guest bathroom. Still, it looked really nice.

Shooting her a text to let her know I’d leave the patio doors unlocked for her, I used the bathroom and took off for the store. Two carts later, I returned to find her car in the driveway. Whatever she was doing, she wasn’t on the first floor. Not wanting her to get wet, I hauled the groceries in myself and shook the rain from my hair.

“Jenny?”

“Up here. I’m riffling through your underwear drawer. Love the red silk boxers.”

Certain that’s not what she was up to, I laughed. “Don’t have too much fun. Pretend you didn’t see the toys.” Eyeing the endless amount of bags on the floor, I sighed. At least we wouldn’t have to order out tonight. “Hey, I...”

My gaze landed on one of the living room walls and I stepped closer. She’d hung some photos. The frames were really cool. Driftwood? She picked out great pictures, too—me and my folks, her and I, our friends. She’d been busy turning my house into a home, making it mine. The styles and colors were masculine, but inviting. I never would’ve been able to pull this off alone.

Her feet padded down the stairs. “You what?”

“Went grocery shopping,” I mumbled and jerked my thumb at the wall. “When did you do this?”

She shrugged, and I noted the dark green paint on her hands. A streak across her cheek. “Today. You like?”

“Most definitely.” I focused on the picture of me and her, my arm around her shoulders and her head tilted in a laugh. We were standing on the back deck with the beach behind us. I thought it may have been three summers ago. “That’s one of my favorite shots of us.” I had one on my phone from last year I loved, too. Us by the bonfire. “And when did you decorate the downstairs bathroom?”

Her eyebrows pinged. “A few nights back. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, thanks. It looks great.” She nodded, and I glanced around. “Chicken okay for dinner?”

She eyed the bags on the kitchen floor. “By then, I’ll be so hungry I could eat my own cooking.”

Laughing, I set about putting things away, and she headed back upstairs to do who knew what. Maybe I’d been concerned over nothing. She was acting normal, not at all upset I’d mauled her last night.

Christ, she’d looked adorable with her hair tied up on her head in a messy knot and paint splattered on her skin, though.

CHAPTER SIX

Jenny

December—Six Years Ago

I
’ve never been so scared in all my life. Not even the time Jared had hurt me, nor the day I’d discovered my mother dead on the bathroom floor with a needle in her arm. Worry twisted in my belly and my hands wouldn’t quit shaking. Pacing in the apartment over the bar, I took a few deep breaths, but my attempt at calm wasn’t working.

The past year, I’d been noticing subtle changes in Grampy. Little things. Him forgetting where he’d left his keys, putting milk in the cabinet instead of the fridge, and once he’d called me my mom’s name. I’d chalked them up to him being distracted or just normal aging, but the other day had been an eye opener.

He’d driven to the liquor supplier and had forgotten how to get home. If it hadn’t been for one of our distributors finding him in the parking lot, lost, Lord knew what might’ve happened. Thinking he had a virus or something, I’d taken him to the ER. But when our doctor had called today with the results they’d run and said we should come into the office, I haven’t breathed since.

Alzheimers. Early stages, but still devastating. I sort of felt like I was in this numb state of shock, denial on the tip of my tongue. Even more gutting than the diagnosis had been Grampy’s reaction. He’d checked out. Emptiness had settled in his eyes and he hadn’t muttered more than a few sentences since yesterday. I’d had to open and close the bar. We needed to have a sit-down and form a plan before his mind slipped more, yet I was trying to give him a few days to absorb the news.

A sob ripped from my throat, not the first one today, and I plopped in a chair, face in my hands. Shit. He was about all I had in this world, and the thought of watching him slowly fade away was a knife wound. The doc had put him on medication and given us brochures for support groups, but none of that had been reassuring.

Dear, sweet Grampy.

Damn it all to hell.

I needed action, something to do, but I was afraid to leave him alone. Blowing out a slow exhale, I retrieved my phone from the table and shot a text off to the only person I wanted right now. It was two in the damn morning, but he’d answer.

Can you talk?

A few seconds later, Matt’s response came.
Sure. Wanna Facetime?

I probably looked like something dragged off the ocean floor, but Matt wouldn’t give a crap.
Yes. Sending now.

His face popped on my screen, his dark strawberry hair adorably disheveled, lids heavy, sleepy smile on his face, pillow crease on his forehead...and I lost it. Hot tears burned my cheeks and my throat closed. Through a watery haze, I watched his smile vanish and his form wobble as he sat up. I recognized his bedroom at his parents’ house behind him from my few visits to Greensboro.

“Jenny? What happened?”

Pinching my eyes closed, I covered my face to collect myself so I could speak. “Grampy...” Damn it.

Frenetic worry etched his face and he was a flurry of motion, holding the phone with one hand while the room whirled behind him. “Did...” He stopped, pressing his lips together. “Is he okay, darlin’? Did something happen to him?”

Oh God. I shook my head and sucked oxygen while he scurried back into hyperactive. “What are you doing?”

“Packing a bag. I’m driving down there. I can be there in five hours if—“

“No.” I loved him so much right now, but no. “You don’t have to do that. I’m okay. I just needed to see your face. Needed to talk.”

He stilled, studying my expression through the screen, and I had to resist tracing my fingers over his image. “I had my last final today before winter break. I’ve got nothing going on until Christmas next week.” He was in his last year at UNC, set to graduate this coming spring. He paused, concern wrinkling his brow. A swallow, and then his voice lowered. “What happened? You’re scaring me.”

Probably because, in all our years as friends, he’d never seen me cry. I glanced down at my lap. “We got the test results back this morning. It’s...Alzheimers.”

He seemed to stop breathing. The background blurred as he plopped on the bed. “Christ, darlin’. I...”

Understanding, I nodded. There was nothing to say that would make this better. When I glanced back at the screen, he was bent over in profile. “Now what are you doing?”

“Leaving my folks a note.” He was in the kitchen now. No, make that heading out the back door. “You stay on the line with me. Got it?”

Sweet Jesus. The man was a damn saint. “Matt—“

“Don’t you dare hang up.” The ding from his car door opening filled the silence, then the hum of his motor. His image blurred, and when it resettled, he was partially in profile. Must’ve set the phone on a dashboard base. His gaze flicked to the screen and then the road. “Five hours. I’ll even speed.”

I laughed for the first time in days, so damn grateful for him my heart hurt. “Look at you, breaking rules. I’m so proud.”

His face split with a grin. “Don’t get used to it.” He turned his head to check a blind spot.

“Matt, it’s late. You should go back home. I don’t want you to get in an accident because you’re tired.” I’d never forgive myself.

“Not tired. I promise.” He flicked a quick glance at me. “Are you okay?”

I was now. “Yeah. The news was...surprising. I just...I don’t know what to do. Grampy’s been quiet, trying to process, I guess.” I moved into my bedroom and laid down on my side, propping my phone on the pillow next to me.

We chatted for another hour before the crying jag caught up to me and my lids grew heavy. He ordered me to go to sleep and disconnected.

And when I woke up, he was sitting on my bed at my hip, coffee cup in hand and tender understanding in his eyes. “I made it in five hours. With no speeding tickets.” Then he pulled me in for one of his bone-melting hugs and, for a beat, my world was right again.

Present

W
hile the paint was drying in his upstairs bathroom, I made my way back into the master bath and removed the tape I’d put up around the trim. Neither rooms were big, so I’d been able to punch out the master while Matt had been grocery shopping and the other while he’d put items away and started dinner.

Straightening, I surveyed the forest green tone and nodded in satisfaction. Nice. Determined to get both bathrooms done, I unwrapped the shower curtain and hung it on the rod. Sheer with white trim, it had a leaf pattern woven through that matched the paint color. Task complete, I set out a leaf-shaped soap dispenser and put the emerald-colored towels away in the cabinet. By the time I’d hung the forest print picture on the wall, I was hoping the other bathroom was dry enough to tackle it before dinner.

I cleaned up and headed down the short hall. Not even tacky. Awesome.

In this bathroom I went neutral, using a dark beige color on the walls and a coastal theme. The shower curtain was red, orange, and brown stripes resembling a beach towel and the soap dispenser was a simple red. Towels, too. I hung a picture of the ocean at sunset and called it a day. After dinner, we could screw with Matt’s bedroom decor.

I headed downstairs and the scent of roasted chicken hit me. God, I was hungry and it smelled so good. I couldn’t cook to save my life, so I think the last time I’d had a home-cooked meal that didn’t involve a microwave was when I’d visited Matt in Greensboro last Easter. Before his mind had vacated, Grampy had been a great cook.

Rounding the corner, I stopped inside the kitchen doorway and smiled. A roasting pan was on the stovetop and the small table was set with actual plates instead of paper. Matt was leaning over the island, phone in hand, brow pinched as he stared at the screen. He wore a fitted gray tee that conformed to his lean, muscular biceps and torso, and a pair of jeans that emphasized his perfect ass. He ran his fingers over his lips like he did when deep in thought. The movement never failed to make my girly bits weep.

For a moment, I let myself get lost in the domestic scene. Him making me dinner. Homey scents wafting through the house and him waiting for me to arrive so he could pull me in for a kiss. After we ate, we’d sneak upstairs, where he’d make love to me half the night. Then we’d talk late into the evening hours about our day.

I gave myself a mental bitch-slap and straightened. Fairy tales were nothing but pithy shit. Lies. They weren’t real, and neither was the idea I could ever have something normal. Especially not with a guy as great as Matt. He may be Prince Charming, but I wasn’t Cinderella. I was one of those filler characters in the background no one noticed, taking up space.

It was stupid and dangerous to even entertain the notion of more with Matt, and I knew better. That way lay heartbreak. I had enough hurt in my life without putting more on myself. We’d obviously spent too much time together this week and it was screwing with my head. Daydreams and la-la land. I wanted to high five myself with a chair to the face.

Matt glanced up and grinned. “Hey. I was just about to come get you.” He glanced at the pan on the stove. “I Googled the recipe for chicken since it was too nasty outside to grill. I was just checking to make sure I did it right.”

Was it any wonder why I fell in love with him eons ago? “A little salmonella never hurt anyone.”

He threw his head back and laughed. A deep rumble that I felt in my chest from across the room. I could pull up any song on my iPod or search the world for indigenous sounds, but nothing would ever compare to his laugh. An eargasm.

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” His gaze skimmed over me. “Did you leave any paint on the walls, darlin’?”

I resisted a shiver at his endearment. He’d been using it for years, but his southern drawl and rough timbre always yanked a reaction from me way deep. I glanced at the paint splatter on my arms, figuring it was in my hair and on my face, too. “I might have.” I cleared my throat. “We just have your bedroom left and the house is done.” Well, and his furniture delivery tomorrow.

“Seriously?” He straightened, his smile slipping. “I barely helped with the second floor.”

Shrugging, I moved to the table and sat. “You’re feeding me. Good enough.”

Donning oven mitts—why that was sexy as sin, I’ll never know—he brought the pan to the table. “I wasn’t expecting it to take me so long. I’d planned to come up and help.” He stared at the dish like it had single handedly killed his puppy or something. “You’ve...”

I snapped my fingers and dipped my head so he was forced to look at me. “I’m what?”

He didn’t answer at first, just dished out the baked chicken over a bed of rice. He’d put broccoli in with the rice and sauce, and I resisted gagging. Broccoli was evil.

With a sigh, he sat across from me, running his hands through his hair. His direct gaze nailed me to my chair with genuine affection. “This move was really hard for me. You know that. You get me. I can’t thank you enough for...” He waved his hand, indicating the house. “Without me saying a thing, you understood what tripped my anxiety and took charge. This place would never feel like mine, I never would’ve felt centered, if you hadn’t helped.”

Matt was a laid back guy. Easy to smile. Quick with a hug or compliment. He didn’t stress about the little things and his intellect, combined with his understated confidence, was what made him stand out in a crowd. At least, for me. But he was also a creature of habit. So, for him to uproot his life and monkey wrench everything in his comfort zone was going to be an adjustment. I knew this because I knew him. It broke my heart to see him...unnerved.