“I figured you might not have had a chance to eat, so thought I’d whip up some comfort food.”
“Did I ever tell you I love you, Joe?”
He frowned, spatula in hand, gazing up at the ceiling as if pondering a difficult question. “Hmm, once or twice? I dunno. Maybe you need to tell me again.”
I threw my arms around him and hugged him. When he would have normally pulled back, I held on, unwilling to let go. “I love you,” I whispered against his faded denim shirt, drinking in the comfort of his familiar body against mine.
Joe tipped my chin up and kissed me. “Love you more. Now, come, sit. Tell me what’s going on.”
He handed me a well-deserved glass of wine, and I sank down at the butcher block table while he put the pan under the broiler for a minute to finish the frittata.
The story of the night’s events poured out of me, and Joe let me talk without interruption. One of the reasons he’d been so good at his job as a negotiator for the electricians’ union was that he was a great listener.
Joe set a plate in front of me, and I dug in to the meal, murmuring in delight. Once I’d taken the edge off my hunger and sat back in the chair, exhausted, he smiled at me. A strange smile, as if drinking in every detail.
“What is it?”
“You’re so beautiful.”
“Me? This gray-haired old lady?” I laughed. “Have some more wine, Joe.”
“No, I mean it.”
I blinked against the prick of tears. God, what would I do without him? I tried to count my blessings every day, but sometimes it didn’t feel like enough. One of my favorite Winnie-the-Pooh quotes ran through my mind. If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.
Jasper laid his head on my knee as if sensing my mood, and I stroked his silky head. One of the cruel realities of being human is that we are aware of our mortality. We know how long we are expected to live, but dogs have no concept of days ticking by. They get up in the morning, ready to enjoy whatever today has to offer. I wished I could be more like Jasper, instead of worrying about things that I couldn’t control.
On the table was a grouping of the latest models off Joe’s production line of miniature dollhouse furniture. One of his best-selling items was a replica of an old steamer trunk, much like the one that had inspired me to open my store.
Customers loved the story of that trunk, as well as Joe’s exquisite handiwork, and I filled the finished chests with tiny strips of lace and ribbon. It was a popular giveaway to people who signed up for the mailing list as well as a door prize at open houses.
How would I know if my dear love was going down the same road as Ruth’s husband?
I decided that the miniatures would be my clue. As long as he could do this kind of intricate, challenging work, he must be okay.
Joe ducked his head to meet my gaze. “Earth to Daisy? What’s going on? I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.”
I pushed my worries away and smiled at him. “I’m just glad we have our health and each other.”
“Amen.” Joe clinked his glass against mine.
And in the quiet of the kitchen, gazing into the eyes of the man I loved, with our beloved dog dozing at our ankles, it was as good a prayer as any I’d ever heard.
Chapter Eleven
My morning routine used to be that I would stop by the diner, pick up some coffee, and go to the salvage yard to see Cyril before work. But Patsy wasn’t waitressing at the diner anymore. And Cyril was gone.