Make a Wish (Spark House #3)(82)
We hardly have the vehicle in park before the front door opens, and Karen steps out onto the front porch, an apron tied around her waist. Peyton clambers out of the car and bounces up the steps, throwing her arms around Karen.
Gavin waits for me and places a hand on the small of my back, patting it once, possibly to reassure me that everything is fine. Gavin hugs Karen, and I stand back, uncertain what the protocol is. Eventually Karen turns to me and gives me what I’m guessing is her version of a warm smile. “Harley, it’s so nice to see you again.” At least it seems like she’s trying.
“You as well. Your house is beautiful.”
“We’ve lived here since we got married, almost forty years this year.”
“Oh wow. That’s amazing. My parents would have been married for nearly forty years too, if they were still here.” I cringe internally. Nothing kills a conversation quite like bringing up your dead parents. “It’s definitely something to celebrate.”
“It is.” She nods her agreement. “Why don’t we bring in all of Peyton’s things. Dinner is almost ready.”
Gavin glances at me and then Karen. “Oh, you don’t have to feed Harley and me.”
“Nonsense. There’s plenty for everyone, and the table is set for six.”
“I made a dinner reservation for Harley and me for eight tonight,” he explains.
“Oh, I didn’t realize. That’s unfortunate. I wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble if I’d known.” She drops her gaze and smooths her hands over her apron.
“We can stay for dinner,” I assure her.
“I wouldn’t want to interfere with your weekend plans.” Karen smiles, but it’s stiff.
“Not at all. We can cancel the dinner reservations. We have tomorrow night anyway.” I don’t want to start this weekend on the wrong foot, and it’s obvious that Karen has gone to a lot of trouble to make dinner for us. There must have been a communication failure if Gavin didn’t explain that we had dinner reservations tonight.
“Are you sure you don’t mind canceling?” Karen looks between me and Gavin.
“Stay for dinner! Please, Harley.” Peyton grabs hold of my arm and bounces twice excitedly.
“Of course I’m sure. We’ll get you settled in, and have dinner before we leave,” I tell Peyton.
Gavin mutters an apology that I wave off as we carry several loads of stuff into Karen’s house. It’s clear that Karen is making an effort, and I want to acknowledge that, even if it means canceling our dinner reservation.
Karen and Kyle’s house is exactly what I expect from Karen. Not a thing out of place, pristine, organized, and clutter-free. The house is a little dated—everything looks like it was purchased in the previous decade—but it’s all been well-maintained.
I don’t have much of an opportunity to check out Peyton’s room since all I manage to do is drop an armload of stuff in the space that’s been carefully decorated for a little girl who is a big fan of fairies and princesses. But as I walk down the hall, I glance at the framed photos lining the wall. I follow Gavin down the stairs and notice that he keeps his gaze trained ahead of him, as though he purposely avoids looking at the pictures.
It’s a family history laid out in photo form. Some are of grandparents and great-grandparents. Yellowed and faded black-and-white photos in pretty, decorative frames show smiling younger men and women in wedding attire. They slowly change to color photos, Karen and Kyle, young and in love at their own wedding. Their entire lives ahead of them. Blissfully unaware of the tragedy that would strike their family when they were gifted their first grandchild.
I soak in as much as I can as we make our way back downstairs, Peyton leading the way. We bring the last of her things inside, and then we’re ushered into the dining room for roast beef dinner.
We make small talk, the conversation not easy like it is with Gavin’s parents, but it’s not nearly as tense as it was the last time Karen and I were in the same room together. After dinner I help clear the plates and bring them into the kitchen. Gavin doesn’t leave me alone with Karen for a second, and I’m unsure if that’s intentional.
When she offers tea or coffee, Gavin declines, saying we should probably get going. We give Peyton hugs and kisses and tell her we’ll see her on Sunday. It’s after seven thirty by the time we pull out of the driveway.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Gavin says as soon as we’re on the road again.
“You don’t need to be sorry. It was probably just a miscommunication.”
“I swear I told her we had dinner reservations, but maybe I didn’t.”
“It’s fine. We have dinner tomorrow night.” I give his hand a squeeze. “Besides, I doubt I’m going to want to leave our room once we’re in it. We can order something later if we need a midnight snack to get us through until morning.”
He brings my hand to his lips and plants a kiss on my knuckles. “That sounds perfect.”
Twenty minutes later we pull up to an estate that’s been converted into a bed-and-breakfast. Gavin’s rented us the one-bedroom cottage at the back of the property. It’s stunning and private, surrounded with lovely gardens and a covered porch with a swing. It’s the perfect setting for a romantic weekend.