Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(74)

“Argumentative?”

Nick smiled. “Determined. And smart. Like you, she’s able to listen and argue at the same time. She heard every word we said, and she’s going to give it some serious thought. Ultimately, though, it’s her decision.”

“You’re the man who likes to fix things.”

“That’s right. But we can’t make her do this.”

“And pushing her is likely to backfire.” Elizabeth sighed. “You’re probably thinking we shouldn’t mention it again?”

“Not unless she brings it up.”

“And we don’t tell her about the appointment you made.”

“No,” he said. “We don’t. Not yet.”

She admired the reasonableness of his approach. When she shook her head, it was with resignation, not protest. But her movement was forceful enough to dislodge a strand of auburn hair from where it belonged, behind her ear, into her eyes.

As she reached up to tuck it away, another hand moved to touch it—touch her—too.

Her hand was quicker. Impatient. She watched his hand, as if in slow motion, drop away.

By the time she looked up, it was too late to tell what expression had accompanied his gesture.

It was just as well, she told herself after they’d said good-night. Gram’s eyes were seeing too little, and hers were seeing too much.

Nick was a sensual man. He undoubtedly touched women, casually, all the time. And he was polite. Chivalrous. He’d brush a lock of hair from a woman’s eyes as reflexively as he’d open a door for her.

She might have misinterpreted his expression as longing. And completely misunderstood his touch….

Eight

The sanding of teal-colored paint, to create a pastel canvas for the cream that would cover it, was hard work, hot work, even in the morning.

Elizabeth appeared, at 9:00 a.m., with a glass of lemonade.

“Thanks,” Nick said.

“You’re welcome. Gram probably has a cooler somewhere. We could fill it with ice and a few pitchers of lemonade, and you could—”

“I prefer this.” You. Nick raised the glass in a silent toast and met her eyes over its frosted rim. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Good. What have you and Clara been doing since breakfast?”

“I’ve been scanning. She’s been puttering.”

“And?”

“The scanning’s going to work. It’ll take time, but I have time, and the result will be worth it. That’s the good news.”

“Clara hasn’t mentioned her eyesight.”

“No.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not really. But I’ve been watching her. And you’re right. The impairment’s significant. And that’s from the perspective of someone on the outside looking in. I keep thinking what it must be like for her, peering through prisms that both block her view and scatter light.”

“She’s thinking about it, too.”

Elizabeth nodded, and frowned. “I lay awake last night worrying. What if she decides not to do anything? She could get in an accident, Nick. Even in broad daylight on a familiar route. The idea of her being hurt is terrifying enough. And if she injured someone else…She’d never forgive herself.”

“We’re not going to let that happen, Elizabeth. No matter what she decides.” There was nothing idle in Nick’s reassurance. It was a quiet promise. A solemn vow. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

After a moment, he smiled. “I could use another one of these in forty-five minutes or so.”

“You’ll have it,” Elizabeth said as she took the empty glass. “More lemonade coming up.”

“Not just lemonade,” he said. “Lemonade and conversation.” Lemonade, he thought, and you.

By midafternoon, forty-five minutes or so had become forty-five minutes on the dot from when the last lemonade-and-conversation rendezvous ended.

And, for both of them, forty-five minutes had never felt so long.

By late afternoon, when the sun blazed its hottest, they’d moved to the shade of a nearby apple tree.

And talked.

And talked.

She wanted to know all about him. He said there was really nothing of interest to tell.

She responded in kind about herself. He proved her wrong, greeting her replies to his questions—question after question—as if he’d spent his life waiting to hear them.

She told him, because he wanted to know, about her girlhood summers in Sarah’s Orchard.

“My happiest memories are here,” she said as she gazed at the orchard. “I wonder if I’ve ever realized that before.”

“What made you happy?”

“Everything. Being with Gram and Granddad, of course. And spending time with the trees.”

“With them?”

“Until I was big enough to be in them. I remember Gram’s horror the first time she saw me scrambling up. Little did I know that I’d inherited my tree-climbing ability from her.”

“You didn’t fall?”

“Never! Nor,” she added, “did any of these trees ever so much as creak in protest. I was a sturdy girl. Heavy.”