The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(48)

“We all make them.” Steffi hoped she sounded more charitable than she felt toward Val. She peeled away another set of stickers. “It’s too bad about the timing, though. Ryan mentioned that the Weber cottage might come on the market. It’d be perfect for him and Emmy.”

“Wouldn’t it? But I doubt he’ll get his finances in order that quickly.” Molly’s nostrils flared. “Whatever transpired between him and Val when he picked up Emmy Monday put him in a horrid mood, too, which doesn’t bode well for a quick divorce settlement.”

Steffi hadn’t seen Ryan since Saturday when he’d dropped her off at the end of the night. Other than that terrible incident when she’d clocked his jaw, their night together had filled her with breezy hope, like the wind lifting a sail at broad reach and propelling a ship forward.

There’d been those seconds in the car when her hand had stalled on the door handle, that the air between them ignited like the old days—sweet and sexy and fraught with anticipation. She waited one breath—maybe two—but he didn’t lean in to kiss her good night, not even on the cheek. That behavior warned her that, despite her wishes, he might never let himself go there with her again. Not after the way she’d burned him.

“Did Emmy enjoy Block Island?” Steffi balled up the stickers and plastic and tossed the wads into the trash can.

“I’m not sure.” Molly held on to her right elbow, drumming the fingers of her right hand against her cheek. “She didn’t explode with stories, like I expected.”

“Really?” Steffi stilled. “That’s unusual.”

“Maybe she’ll open up to you when she gets home from school.”

“Me?” Steffi’s brows shot up. “Why would she tell me anything before she tells you?”

“You’re young and hip. I’m . . . well, Methuselah.” Molly laughed, having never cared much about her age.

Steffi chuckled. “Hardly!”

“To Emmy I am. We’re both old to her.” Molly waved her pointer finger. “You’re just less so.”

She patted Molly’s arm. “Well, I hope I’m half as cool as you when I’m your age.”

“I wish your mother could see you now,” Molly said out of nowhere. “She’d be proud.”

“Would she?” Steffi barely choked those words out. Her mother had been a gentle woman. A homemaker who valued her family, God, and baking, above all else. Steffi’s ambition and lame skill in the kitchen probably wouldn’t earn her mom’s praise. Neither would her reticence to give and receive love.

“Of course she would. What mother wouldn’t be tickled to raise such an independent young woman?”

“One that wanted lots of grandkids.” She braced for the itchy hives that the idea of motherhood usually produced. Strangely, none appeared.

“You’ve got time.”

Molly turned to go inside, but Steffi called out, “Molly, do you have any idea what Gretta wants for her mom’s house?”

Molly wrinkled her nose. “She mentioned four hundred grand.”

“For that ramshackle little bungalow?” The Quinn house would fetch more than that, but it had four bedrooms, two and a half baths, double the square footage, and was well maintained.

“It’s a waterfront lot. Maybe one of these rich outsiders would ante up to raze the building, clear the trees for a view of the sound, and start from scratch.”

“A teardown!” Her heart squeezed. “A McMansion would destroy the charm of this lane. That cottage should be preserved. God, I wish Ryan could buy it. I’d fix it for free rather than see it torn down.”

Molly’s gaze sharpened. “Could you buy it and flip it?”

“I want to, but Claire’s in charge of our finances. We don’t really have that kind of cash, and a big mortgage isn’t in the budget.”

Molly licked her thumb and rubbed at a smudge of glue still stuck to a window. “What if you found an investor?”

An investor? Steffi hadn’t considered taking on a new partner. Claire might not be interested, either. But that cottage . . . “I don’t know anyone with the money or interest.”

“Even after this project, I’ll have a decent amount of my inheritance left. Maybe I could kick in a little.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To buy Ryan time to get his situation in order . . .”

Steffi’s breath fell short, thanks to her quickening heartbeat. Remodeling that house for Ryan and Emmy would be almost as rewarding as if her old dreams had come true. “Would Gretta talk to me before she lists with a broker? Maybe I can convince her not to let her childhood home be torn down. If there aren’t broker fees and I hand her a list of necessary improvements, I could whittle the price down.”

“I’ll get you her number.” Molly turned away and then back again, clicking her fingernail against her front teeth. “Let’s not mention this to Ryan. He’d accuse me of coddling him.”

Keeping a secret from Ryan just when they were becoming friends gave her pause, but it wasn’t her secret to tell. Then again, this was more of a surprise than a secret. That kind of secret was okay to keep. “No problem.”



“Where are you going?” Emmy chased Steffi down the lane, hair ribbons flying in the wind as her headful of curls bounced with each step.