Backing away, he said, “I don’t want to interrupt whatever you were doing. I’ll work on Amy’s bedroom window first.” He picked up his toolbox and went to the smaller of the two bedrooms, unable to shake the image of him running his fingers through Sara’s hair.
Ten minutes later, Jase had finished with the windows in the two bedrooms. He noticed Sara sitting at the kitchen table, several sheaves of paper in front of her. But he didn’t ask what they were. They were none of his business.
“I’m going to have to take the screen door off its hinges and plane the bottom section. The wood just warped. I could have an aluminum door put on if you’d rather have that.”
“I like the wooden one. I like the old-fashioned look of it. That’s what’s so welcoming about this cottage, the fact that it’s not a cookie-cutter image of all others.”
“I suppose you like the ivy, too? Dad’s been wanting the gardener to tear it all down for a while. They always have an argument about it.”
“I like the ivy, too.” She began mounding the papers and inserting them into an accordion file.
When his gaze fell on it, she explained, “This file of documents and receipts was in my car so it survived the fire. I was going to make copies. It’s ironic I was having trouble with my garage door opener so my car was parked in front of the house. Otherwise, that might have gone up in flames, too.”
“I guess that’s what optimists call a silver lining.” He went to the screen door and began loosening the hinges.
“I was just about to make lunch. Along with the clothes and furniture the volunteers brought, they stocked my refrigerator and freezer. Do you like stir-fry? You’re welcome to stay, unless you and your dad eat Sunday dinner together.”
Jase hesitated before answering and Sara took that the wrong way. Her face flushed a little. “It’s okay if you’d rather not.”
Glancing at Amy, seeing she was lost in what she was doing and not paying any attention to them, he said, “Most of the folks in Fawn Grove who have lived here all of their lives know my history with Raintree Winery.”
“Your history?” Plainly, Sara didn’t understand.
He didn’t confide in many people. He didn’t relive what he’d rather forget. That was true for childhood as well as some of his photojournalistic experiences. But Sara was living here and she might as well know the truth. It might make her feel better about Ethan’s attitude.
“As I mentioned, Ethan Cramer’s not my biological father. I was twelve and in the foster care system when he adopted me.”
Sara was looking up at him now, her golden-brown eyes compassionate, her attitude completely attentive.
Her understanding gaze and silent concentration on him urged him to go on. “My father and I have never been that...close. Maybe I was too old when I came to live here. Maybe he was too set in his ways. We’ve never really talked about it. But we also never had a normal father-son bond.”
“Is that the reason when you came back here two years ago that you didn’t know if you could find a life here?”
“That was a big part of it. The vineyard itself I’d always been drawn to. I started working with the grapes soon after I arrived. My father would show me what to do and I’d do it. Pruning and tying the vines weren’t just chores, because the whole process fascinated me. I learned quickly and easily about the varieties of grapes, the soil, the process of wine-making. My father and I found common ground with what he did here. But other than that— I don’t know if I was completely closed off or if he was. Maybe taking on a twelve-year-old was more than he bargained for. But anyway, since I’ve been back, except for the vineyard, we’ve had separate lives.”
“That’s a shame,” Sara said. “You’re living here together. You should be able to retrace some steps and find understanding.”
“Maybe that’s what neither of us wants.”
“But you should.”
“Sara,” he said with a warning note in his voice.
“Jase, I have no family, except for Amy. Do you think for a minute I’d ever let anything come between us?”
“You’re a good mom, Sara. Of course you believe that. But I wasn’t an innocent kid with no baggage when I arrived here.” He saw the questions in her eyes, but he wasn’t going to answer them.
“No matter what baggage you had, every child just wants to be loved. Heck, every adult just wants to be loved.”
When she said the words, she looked a bit embarrassed. Was she looking for love again? “You’d get married again?”