Only Love Read online

  “Maybe it doesn’t.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her cheeks flared red. Then she crossed the kitchen in three angry strides and slapped me hard across the face. “You’re a heartless fucking bastard. You never loved me. You’re not capable of love.”

  I flipped the switch and the scene went dark in my head. I pushed myself to run even faster. I concentrated on the rhythm of my feet hitting the road, the tightness of my muscles, the quickness of my breath.

  The truth was, losing Brie hadn’t really mattered to me. I’d felt nothing when she walked out the door, and I didn’t miss her once she was gone.

  That’s how I knew she was right about me.

  Five

  Stella

  I spent Monday morning rescheduling clients with individual sessions during the week and securing other therapists to run my group sessions. At noon, I grabbed a sandwich and cup of coffee from Starbucks and hit the road.

  Hadley Harbor was a small bayside town in Leelenau County. In the summertime, the population swelled with tourists and what Grams called “summer people,” but by fall, it was pretty much dead. The area was picturesque, dotted with farms and vineyards and evergreens, and the foliage was beautiful. The highway bordered the western edge of Grand Traverse Bay for a while, and the water glittered in the afternoon sun. As I approached Grams’s small town, I was inundated with childhood memories of visiting my grandparents during the summertime and begging my mom and dad to stop the car so we could get out and swim as soon as we saw the water.

  I pulled up to the curb in front of the house just after four o’clock, and nostalgia washed over me again. It seemed like only yesterday I was jumping out of the car and running up her front porch steps or zipping around the house to beat my sisters to the swing that used to hang from the branches of a birch tree in the yard.

  Today, I moved a little slower as I pulled my small suitcase up the front walk and took in the house’s familiar appearance. It actually looked pretty good—I’d been a little nervous driving up that Grams’s questionable mental state might mean the house and yard had been neglected. But other than some peeling paint and perhaps a slight tilt to the entire front porch (to be expected on a house nearing a hundred years old), her home looked as welcoming as always, and the front yard looked beautiful. The leaves had been raked, the grass recently cut, the rose bushes pruned.

  The front door was open and I knocked twice on the old wooden screen door before pushing it open. It creaked, and the familiar sound made me smile, as did the delicious smell of something savory in the oven. “Grams?”

  “Stella?” she called from the back of the house. “Is that you, dear?”

  “It’s me.” I let the door shut behind me and looked around the living room. Same flowered sofa and faded red easy chairs. Same cherry wood tables. Same parade of photos on the mantel and bookshelves. While everything had a slightly shabby look to it, I saw no layers of dust on the furniture or other signs Grams couldn’t keep house any longer. There were even fresh flowers in a vase on the coffee table.

  “Well, hello!” Grams came into the room with her arms open and I went into them. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  I embraced her small frame—I’d been taller than Grams since the sixth grade—and though she felt tiny, she didn’t necessarily feel frail. Her hug was as strong as ever. When she let me go, I took her hands and gave her a quick inspection. Her color was good, her eyes were clear, her smile was genuine. “You look good.”

  “Thank you, dear.” She looked me over too, from head to foot. “Did you bring anything other than blue jeans to wear?”

  I laughed. “Why? Are we going someplace fancy?”

  “No, no.” She laughed merrily and shrugged. “You know me, I’m old fashioned and I like to see a lady in ladies’ clothing.”

  I rolled my eyes and reminded myself she was ninety-two—from another generation entirely. Her beliefs about men and women were not the same as mine. “I have other clothing. Do you want me to change now?” I teased.

  “Well, maybe.” She sized me up. “You have such a cute figure. I’d just like to see you in something that … emphasizes that a bit more. Shows it off.”

  “I was kidding, Grams. And I’m not much of a show-off.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean anything tawdry,” she said quickly. “Good heavens, no. Just something a little more feminine. Something to draw attention to your physical assets.”

  I sighed heavily and held out my arms. “This is me, I’m afraid.”

  “Never mind.” She waved a hand in the air and smiled. “I’m just so happy you’re here. How long are you staying?”

  “Until Friday.”

  Her face fell. “That’s not very long.”

  “It’s five days.”

  “Can’t you stay for the weekend?”

  “I’m sorry, Grams. I really can’t. I have things to catch up on before work Monday, and I promised I’d help Emme with something for the wedding.”

  She sighed dramatically. “I suppose I should be grateful to have any of you here at all. Oh well. Why don’t you go upstairs and settle in? I put fresh sheets on the bed in the front bedroom and clean towels in the bathroom.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. I could have done it. You shouldn’t be up and down those stairs if your hips are bothering you.”

  “Oh, I’m all right. And a little exercise is good for me. My hips are feeling better already, now that you’re here.”

  Was it me, or did her grin look a little devious at that moment?

  “That’s good,” I said, picking up my suitcase by the handle. “But you should keep your appointment on Thursday. Just to make sure everything is okay. How about your eyes and ears?”

  “What about them?”

  “You mentioned your vision and hearing weren’t good when we spoke on Saturday. While I’m here, maybe you should schedule an appointment with your eye doctor as well?”

  “Maybe,” she murmured, already turning away from me and heading back to the kitchen. “I have to check my chicken now. You go on upstairs, and when you come back down, we’ll have five o’clocktails and you can tell me all about what’s new with you.”

  “Okay.” I watched her go, more than a little suspicious that her whole senility bit on the phone had been an act. But what could I do? I was here now, so I might as well enjoy my visit with her. Who knew how much longer she was going to be around?

  I took my suitcase upstairs and hung a few things in the closet, put my toiletries in the bathroom, plugged in my tablet to charge, then sat down on the bed and texted my sisters and mother. I’d called them on the way up to give them the scoop.

  Hey, arrived at Grams house and she seems fine. I’ll keep you posted.

  Then I scrolled through my messages and happened to see the last one I’d gotten from Walter. See you tonight, it read. When he’d typed those words, he’d known he was going there to dump me. In public. On my birthday.

  When I met Esther, I felt a powerful attraction I couldn’t ignore. She just … does something to me.

  Fucking Esther.

  I threw my phone aside and went over to the closet again.

  On the inside of the door was a full-length mirror, and I scrutinized my appearance. I had on dark jeans, a blue-and-white-striped blouse and black blazer from J.Crew, and loafers on my feet. My hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail. I wore minimal makeup.

  It was average, everyday me. Neat, clean, and professional.

  My style was a little bit preppy and understated, I supposed, but was it … boring? Unfeminine? Invisible? Grams had made it sound like I might blend into the furniture down there. Was I enough to do something to a man?

  I turned to the side and looked at my body in profile. I’d always hated my big chest, which didn’t seem to match the rest of my body. My ass was flat as a pancake. My sisters, Emme especially, were always after me to flaunt the one set of curves I’d been given, but I rarely wore anything that showed
them off. Why couldn’t you take some stuff from one part of your body and distribute it to another part?

  A moment later, I left the bedroom and headed downstairs, thinking a five o’clocktail sounded pretty damn good.

  Grams made us a couple martinis (the old-fashioned way, stirred in a tall glass pitcher and poured into two glasses) and assembled a plate of crackers and cheese. We brought them into the living room, where she’d put on a Sinatra record.

  It made me laugh. “You still use that record player?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? It still works. And I love my record collection. It took your grandfather and I years to build.” She sat down next to me on the couch and smiled. “He just adores Sinatra. But who doesn’t?”

  “Adored, Grams. Past tense. Gramps is gone now, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” She touched her cheek with her fingertips. “I’m such a silly potato. I lose track of the years sometimes. Sorry, dear.”

  “That’s okay. Hey, would you like to look through your old photo albums with me?” It was something we used to do together when I was young, and I’d always enjoyed it, but I also thought if she was getting confused about time, the photos might help her place people properly in the past.

  “I’d love to. Actually, dear, I just found a box of old photos I’d like to put into an album. Maybe you can help me sort them?”

  “Of course. Where is it?”

  She pointed toward her bookshelves. “Right there by the stereo. The white shoebox.”

  I brought it over to the couch and opened it up. There had to be hundreds of old pictures in there, some black and white, some in the faded colors of the sixties and seventies, some in the brighter hues of the years my sisters and I were here visiting. Some said the date at the bottom, but others didn’t. “Wow, Grams. Why don’t I get a pencil and mark lightly on the back of each one when you think it was taken? Then we can arrange them chronologically.”

  “Perfect, dear. I should have a pencil in the kitchen by my grocery list.”

  I ran to the kitchen to grab the pencil, and when I returned, we shuffled through the photos, sipping our drinks as Grams reminisced. Her mind seemed sharp as ever.

  “That’s Lil, your great-great aunt. She was quite the beauty of the family and lived so long she had four husbands. I think that’s a graduation picture.”

  I laughed, studying the doe-eyed teenager in a white dress with a high lace collar. “She was very pretty.”

  A few minutes later, we came across some photos of Grams and Gramps in their teens. There was one I’d never seen of her on his shoulders at the beach, both of them laughing.

  “Oh my gosh, look at you! So cute!”

  She giggled. “He was, wasn’t he? And I was so terrible at that age. He used to come pick me up from school in his dad’s Packard. I’d see him pull up through the glass on the door and I’d wait a good five minutes before sauntering out just to make sure everyone knew it was me getting picked up in that fancy car. He’d get so cross with me. Then I’d—”

  A knock on the front door interrupted her story. Grams’s face lit up. Then she said, “I wonder who that could be.”

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  Grams rose to her feet and went to the door. Whoever she saw through the screen made her smile. “Well, hello, Mr. Woods! How nice of you to stop by.”

  “I’m here to work on the porch, remember?” The voice was quiet and deep.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Grams thumped her temple with two fingers. “Good heavens, I forgot all about that. It’s so nice of you to remember.” She looked over at me. “Stella, dear, come over and meet Ryan Woods. He’s the nice boy next door who helps me out so much.”

  Oh, right. The neighbor boy. I set down the photos I was holding and walked over to the door.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, possibly a skinny teenager with acne and a shaggy haircut, but definitely not six-feet-four inches of solid muscle and a stubbled jaw. Boy? This was a man in every sense of the word. I could practically smell the testosterone coming off him. And he was gorgeous. Short dark hair, light brown eyes, and wide shoulders. His chest seemed massive. His hands huge.

  “Hello,” I managed, my heart knocking hard inside my chest. The words fuck fling reverberated through my brain.

  He nodded shortly but didn’t smile. “Hi.”

  “Stella’s here visiting me from Detroit. I think I told you about her, didn’t I?” Grams asked.

  “Yeah.” He glanced behind him, where I saw some tools on the porch. “Okay if I get started?”

  “Of course, dear. Do you need anything?”

  “No. I borrowed a few things from Cloverleigh.”

  “Wonderful.” She turned to me. “Mr. Woods works for the Sawyer family over at Cloverleigh.”

  “At the farm?” I asked, pleased that my voice sounded normal. His appearance had caught me off guard. “Or the inn?”

  “Mostly outdoor stuff.” He looked at me, and I thought he was going to go on, but he didn’t.

  “Stella runs marathons,” Grams said out of nowhere. “Did I tell you that?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Ryan looked at the tools again, and I could tell he just wanted to get to work.

  Grams was having none of it. “Ryan enjoys running too,” she told me. “I see him all the time hotfooting it down the road. And he’s so quick! It’s no wonder he’s so fit. Don’t you think he’s fit, Stella?”

  Oh, Jesus.

  It was totally obvious what Grams was doing, and I was embarrassed for the guy and for myself. “Uh, yes. But let’s let him work, Grams. Nice meeting you, Ryan.”

  He nodded, meeting my eyes one last time. My breath caught.

  Grams let the screen door close and we went back to our spots on the couch. We finished our drinks and looked at some more pictures, but I found myself distracted by the sound of the saw on the porch. Once or twice I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of his shape through the sheers. When Grams’s timer buzzed and she went into the kitchen to take the chicken out of the oven, I parted the curtains slightly and peered out.

  He was doing something on the floor out there, maybe putting in some new boards? I’m not too handy, so I wasn’t sure. But I liked watching his arms as he worked, prying up the old ones. His green Cloverleigh work shirt was tight around his biceps, and his forearms and wrists were thick. He had something tattooed on the inside of his left arm below the elbow, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

  I watched for several minutes. The way his muscles flexed as he hammered was mesmerizing. And his butt looked fantastic in his jeans. To get a better view, I got up on my knees and leaned closer to the window, pressing both my palms against the glass. Right as I did, he looked up and saw me.

  Embarrassed, I hopped off the couch, moving away from the window. Jesus, what a creeper I was! Could I blame the gin? I took my empty glass into the kitchen, where Grams was pouring iced tea into a glass.

  “Stella, darling, would you please take this out to Ryan on the porch?” She handed the glass to me with a smile. “It’s a warm evening and he’s working so hard.”

  I didn’t want to, since he’d just caught me staring at his ass through the window, but I nodded. “Okay.”

  On my way to the front door, I stopped in the living room and set down the glass so I could slip off my blazer. After rolling up the sleeves of my blouse and tightening my ponytail, I made my way onto the porch.

  He looked up when the door creaked open, then quickly dropped his eyes to his work again.

  Okay, then.

  “Repairing the porch?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you … a carpenter?”

  “Not really.”

  “Just good with a hammer?”

  His eyes flicked up briefly. “Something like that.”

  My cheeks grew warmer. “Ah, Grams asked me to bring you some iced tea. You must be thirsty.”

  “Thanks.” But he didn’t stop what he was doing to t
ake it from me.

  “I’ll just set it here,” I said, placing the glass on the porch railing. I wondered if he was offended that I’d been looking at him through the window or if he was just unfriendly. It seemed odd to me that a guy who was so sweet to a little old lady was so standoffish with someone his age.

  “Well, thanks for helping my grandmother out,” I said, feeling mildly disappointed. So much for a fuck fling with the handyman. “I know she appreciates it.”

  “No problem.”

  No eye contact, either.

  Annoyed, I went back into the house, thinking that this was exactly why letting your hormones take the wheel was a terrible idea.

  But I did take one more peek at his ass through the window before dinner.

  Maybe two.

  Grams and I were eating roasted chicken and vegetables at the dining room table when we heard a knock on the front door.

  “That must be Ryan. He’s probably done for the evening.” She touched her mouth with her napkin and rose to her feet. “I’m going to invite him to eat with us.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to object, but I really had no good reason why. I kept silent while Grams went to the front door, wishing Sinatra wasn’t singing so loudly so I could hear what was being said. Glancing at the empty chairs at the table, I wondered if he’d take her up on her invitation.

  A few minutes later, she returned to the dining room alone. I watched her sit down, then looked toward the front door. “He said no?”

  She sighed and picked up her fork. “Yes. He always refuses my invitations. Just like he refuses to let me pay him for the work he does here.”

  “You don’t pay him?” I asked in surprise.

  “Well, I try, of course. But he won’t take my money.”

  I glanced toward the front once more. “He seems a little aloof.”

  Grams tilted her head. “You think so? I think he’s just a bit … reticent. The strong, silent type.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He was a Marine, you know.”