Stuart leaned forward, his voice gentling. “I love you like a daughter. Over the past seven years, I’ve seen you grow and become this amazing woman. But what do you want from your life? If it’s to have a career in the food service industry, I can make that happen. Going full-time would give you benefits and a 401(k). A real career. But if that’s not what you want . . .” He sighed. “You’re twenty-five, Claire. And maybe it’s none of my business, but I know your parents, and I know they worry that if you don’t make a move out of Deep Haven soon, you never will.”
Leave Deep Haven? Her throat tightened as if a hand curled around it.
“I understood it took a few years to get that college nest egg saved, but certainly you have something now. And there are always loans, and—”
“I’ll think about it,” Claire said. Oh, she didn’t want to cry in front of Stuart. Not with his kind eyes looking at her like a father’s would.
With expectation. Hope.
She got up. “When do I have to let you know?”
“The sooner the better. But certainly before the Fourth of July holiday. I need to hire someone and get them trained before then.”
Perfect. Two weeks to figure out if she wanted to serve pizza the rest of her life.
If you don’t make a move out of Deep Haven soon, you never will.
Like she hadn’t thought of that every day of her life for the past seven years.
She nodded, put her hand on the door handle just as her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She grimaced, glancing over her shoulder. “Sorry. I forgot to turn it off.”
“No problem, Claire,” Stuart said.
She pulled the phone out of her pocket as she opened the door. Read the caller ID.
Deep Haven Hospital. Her breath hitched even as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Claire Gibson?”
“Yes.” She glanced back at Stuart, who was frowning.
“I’m calling from the Deep Haven ER. Your grandfather has been in an accident. It’s not life-threatening, but you should come.”
Like a song, the man had embedded in Ivy’s brain, and no amount of rereading the last paragraph would dislodge the look Darek Christiansen had given her when she caught him staring at her yesterday in the library.
Staring at her. Like . . . Well, she didn’t exactly know how to interpret his expression. It had been as if he were looking at her for the first time. And then the sheer panic on his face when she smiled at him.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. At him. Or herself for her own crazy, warm, maybe even painful emotions when she saw him take his son onto his lap and open a book.
It almost made her wish she could rewind her date with Darek and start again.
Such a small, simple gesture. How she would have loved to have a parent read to her. Silly. Stupid. Ivy closed her novel and set it on the coffee table, hating how losses snuck up on her, blindsided her. She wasn’t a weak little girl needing a father, a mother, needing a hug.
And she’d simply been reacting to the sweetness of seeing Darek’s giant frame propped on a tiny children’s chair, listening to the Muffin Man, then bent over reading to his son.
He might be the town grouch, but to his son, Darek was terrific. Kind. Gentle.
So what had happened between him and his wife that she wasn’t in the picture?
Ivy got up and walked outside, sitting on her front steps. The sun had set, the stars sprinkled across the inky surface of the water. She could smell the lake in the air, the heat loosening its grip on the day. She glanced at the Victorian bookstore, expecting lights in the upstairs apartment, but apparently her neighbor was working late. She’d met Claire yesterday. A pretty girl, maybe just a couple years younger than Ivy, with dark-brown eyes and hair and a kind smile. She wore a Pierre’s Pizza shirt and a black visor, maybe on her way to work.
“How long are you in town for?” she’d asked after Ivy introduced herself.
Forever, Ivy had wanted to say, barely holding the word back. “I just started as the assistant county attorney.”
Claire nodded with a smile that seemed to hint at humor on her face. “I’ll see you round,” she said as she hopped on her red bike and pedaled off.
Ivy hoped so. She could use a friend besides her favorite bestselling authors.
She drew her knees up to her chest, a slight wind soft on her skin. What if she saw Darek again?
What if he smiled back?
Oh, boy. Now she felt desperate.
But . . . what if she gave him a second chance? What if he showed up at her house with an apology and an invitation to a second date?
He’d roll up to her driveway and smile—she knew he had it in him—and she’d come off the steps, walk down to the drive to hear him say, I’m sorry I was such a grouch. How about another try?