Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(102)

And her dreams book.

She pulled off her gloves so as not to dirty the pages and pulled the thick book out, her breath light in her chest.

She ran her fingers over the cover, letting them bump over the little cut-out flowers and stars done in construction paper and glitter glue.

She eased the book open.

Using pictures from catalogs, samples of fabric, even candy wrappers, she’d recorded her vision for every room in the old farmhouse. Each space was carefully decorated—just as she’d seen done on a TV show once—with thin-lined diagrams of walls, windows and furnishings she’d then accented with glitter pens and colored pencils. Slowly, one by one, she turned the pages, the vignettes she’d dreamed up so many years ago coming to life like mini movie sets.

Her fingers slid over the page. There was the front door, a fresh, welcoming periwinkle blue. She’d glued on a tiny gold sequin for the knob and drawn little violets at the stoop. There was the dining room with its sky blue walls and white trim. Her younger self had added a bird motif in the light fixture and a delicate, pastoral mural on the wall. And then the kitchen.

Liz sucked in a breath… and began to cry.

Dear Lord, she seemed to be doing an awful lot of that lately.

Soft green cabinets, cherry-red knobs, and there, on the counter, she’d even crafted a tiny Cookie Rooster from poster-board and pasted him onto the page.

A little tan cookie with brown magic marker dots sat on the counter beside it.

Without even knowing it, a decade later, she’d recreated everything almost exactly as she’d first imagined it.

Tears slid down her face as she leafed through the rest of the book, realizing she’d done the same thing to other houses, reimagining and reinventing individual rooms and entire facades. She remembered hoarding paint samples from the local home center and begging for fabric swatches from the quilting ladies at church so she could give each room just the right touch.

When had she forgotten how much she loved to do this?

More to the point, when had her life veered so far away from where she’d dreamed she was headed?

She let out a sigh. She knew when. She’d stopped believing in dreams three days after her first kiss. The day she’d asked Carter to the prom. From that day onward, she always had a plan. She was always prepared.

Because, it hurt too much when dreams didn’t come true.

Liz carried the scrapbook back to the house, set it on the kitchen table, started a pot of coffee—even though she didn’t have cream—and went to shower.





CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

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WHEN SHE CAME back down, Trish was there.

“Does no one knock anymore?”

“I might ask you the same thing.” Trish pulled a carton of half and half, God bless her, from her diaper bag. “So what are you doing here? I thought you were back in Chicago for good.”

“I came to clean up the mess from the fire. Why are you here?”

“It’s quiet.” Trish rocked Clara in her bucket seat with her foot as she added cream to the coffee Liz had made. “And clean.”

“It’s not quiet at home?” Liz knew not to ask about the clean part.

“Not like this.” Trish closed her eyes on a sigh. “I’ve been coming every morning after I drop the twins at preschool just to breathe. It’s very peaceful. Just between you and me, I hope Mom and Dad don’t sell too soon.” Trish eyed Liz over the rim of her mug. “I saw the book.”

Liz didn’t need to ask what Trish was talking about, because it was still sitting smack in the middle of the table revealing all her secrets. She poured a mug and sat down. “I found it in the shed.”

“I remember you used to spend hours on that thing. It made me jealous how good you were at it. It’s like nothing you do can turn out ugly.”

Liz added cream to her mug and watched it swirl in the black coffee. “Oh, I can do ugly. You’ve seen the side yard, haven’t you? It makes me sick knowing it cost Mom and Dad the sale. Nothing to be jealous of there.”

“Oh, pish. That buyer was looking for an excuse to pull out. They knew full well about the shed when they signed that contract, but then a week later they say they weren’t informed about the ‘negative impact the fire and explosives had on the landscaping?’ Seriously? Like a few branches and burnt patches in the lawn aren’t going to grow back? I hear they’ve already signed a contract on another property off of Miller Brook.”

Liz swirled her coffee pensively. They drank in silence. The baby snored.

Liz fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers in front of her. “Can I ask you something? And, this may sound stupid given the fact that you were knocked up and nineteen when you married Russ, but when did you know he was ‘the one?’ I mean, when did you know you hadn’t completely screwed up your life by getting involved with him in the first place?”

Trish raised one brow. “What makes you sure I don’t still have my doubts?”

“I’m serious.”

Trish took a swig of coffee, shrugged. “Seriously? I don’t know. There was never an ‘a-ha’ moment. When I found out I was pregnant, everybody on God’s green earth was talking at me. First I had Russ insisting he’d marry me, then Mom and Dad were offering to take me and the baby in—though Lord knows how that would have turned out. With John screwing up, they had nothing left to give, you know?” She trailed off, an amused tilt to her lips.