In This Moment

Chapter Thirteen

At her kitchen table, Rebecca sat with her knees to her chest, cradling coffee in her hands. Scarlett and Dorothy were still asleep, as it was barely dawn, but Rebecca couldn’t fight slumber any longer. She’d done it half the night.

A pinkish yellow glow floated from the open window, bringing the scents of freshly cut grass and spring blooms. She stared idly at the rays and dust motes, fighting dregs of tightness in her neck and shoulders. One of the worst things to set off her fibromyalgia was lack of sleep.

After they’d gotten home from Backwater, her besties thought it a good idea to bag up Gammy’s clothes for donation. They were currently on the kitchen floor, staring at her. All of her grandmother’s cosmetics and toiletries were tossed in the trash, and certain knickknacks that weren’t Rebecca’s style were put into boxes. That’s as far as they’d gotten, besides discussing redecorating suggestions.

It had to be done. She knew that. It had been her idea. Yet, she couldn’t rid herself of the guilt clawing at her belly or swallow the lump in her throat. Gammy was gone. She wasn’t coming back. People in need could use the clothing donation, and it did no good sitting here. Repainting or shifting things around would make the house more Rebecca’s and less Gammy’s. Which she sorely needed in order to remain here. The contradiction kept eating at her, though.

Footsteps padded from the hallway, so she took a sip of coffee to collect herself.

“She’d want you to move on.” Dorothy stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, and wearing an oversized tee she’d slept in. Messy auburn hair was piled on her head in disarray. Her solemn expression indicated she knew where Rebecca’s thoughts had been directed. “I know it’s hard, but she left you the house for a reason.”

Rebecca choked on a sob, covering her face with her hand. Her chest cavity cracked open, and insipid darkness poured from the gaping hole. Months of remorse and gutting anguish pressed against her skull. The grief was so profound it strangled her. Paralyzing.

Dorothy took the mug from her shaking hands and wrapped Rebecca in a hug from beside the chair. Enveloped her, not as a barrier, but as a crutch, like she’d done countless times in their lives. “Let it out. It’s going to be okay.”

Sometimes, it just didn’t seem like anything would be okay ever again. Chest tight, throat raw, she clutched Dorothy’s arms, body shaking with a torrent of tears.

After long minutes, she stroked Rebecca’s back. “We can wait if it’s too soon. There’s no rush.”

“No.” Rebecca sniffed and straightened, wiping her wet cheeks while blowing out a watery breath. “I can’t hold onto her things as if she’ll come back.” They’d kept many mementos, and the house was a reminder of Gammy’s life. It would be enough. Rebecca couldn’t keep existing in stoic idleness, waiting for something to happen. It was getting to the point where she loathed coming home. “The changes will help to make the place mine, while respecting Gammy.”

A gentle smile, and Dorothy claimed the other chair.

Scarlett shuffled into the room, dressed in jeans and a white tee, sleek brown strands in a high ponytail. Rebecca swore she got out of bed looking like a Photoshopped version of a proper belle. Scarlett one-armed her in a hug and went straight for the coffeepot.

Mug in hand, she leaned her butt against the counter. “Second thoughts?”

Sighing, Rebecca shook her head. “Irrational guilt.”

“Just so long as you know it’s irrational.” Scarlett sipped from her mug. “Your grandmother’s death wasn’t your fault and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with making a few changes to the house.”

Nodding, Rebecca reached for her forgotten coffee. “I know. You’re right.” But feelings were feelings, and they weren’t always grounded in reality. “I think I’ll feel better once we get going or it’s done.”

“Okay.” Scarlett shoved off the counter. “I’ll head to the hardware store to get paint before the guys show up.” She glanced at her watch. “Aden said they’d be here in an hour.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca’s eyes watered again, the tears hot and cumbersome. “Both of you.” She didn’t have an inkling of how she would’ve navigated life, love, and loss without them. The unbearable loneliness was overwhelming as of late. If not for them, she’d have no one.

“No need for that.” Scarlett waved her hand. “Now, are you certain you’re good with me picking color schemes?”

Rebecca huffed a laugh. “Oh yeah. Go on with your bad self. I trust you.” Her bestie had an eye for decorating and making something from nothing. Rebecca would rather put such things in Scarlett’s capable hands. “Do you need my credit card?”

“Nope.” She set her cup in the sink. “Alrighty. See y’all in a bit.”

Once Scarlett was gone, Dorothy sighed. “We should probably get dressed and start taking pictures off the wall.”

“Adulting is dumb. Why did we ever want to be grown-ups?”

“Hell if I know, but we’re stuck with it now.”

Ninety minutes later, Graham was painting Rebecca’s old bedroom a lilac color, Forest was painting Gammy’s old bedroom light blue, and Aden was painting the living room buttercream yellow. The whole house’s interior had been ivory in tone before. Dorothy and Rebecca were doing the kitchen in a light gray, which she’d been a little concerned about until they’d gotten a good amount on the walls. It went well with the scarred blue cabinets and matched shades in the Formica.

Scarlett had promptly changed the shower curtain from a plain green pattern to one that had branches with leaves. Somehow, it changed the look of the whole room. Then, she’d taken off again for more “essentials.” What those essentials were, Rebecca had no clue.

By lunch, every room had two coats, and Rebecca ordered pizza, amazed at how fast they’d gotten stuff done. Had she attempted the feat herself, she’d barely be through one room, and she’d most likely have hated the colors she’d picked. They sat out on the back deck, all but Scarlett, who hadn’t returned, and ate straight from the box.

Rebecca watched the guys laughing, splatters of mismatched paint on their arms, and sighed. She’d spent so much time alone in Boston, in her shoebox apartment, that she’d forgotten how well her inner circle got along. Graham, being new to the group, had been accepted by the others and fit in as if he’d been here all along. It warmed her heart. After all he’d been through, he deserved comfort and camaraderie.

Such a handsome devil. Midnight strands. Emerald eyes. Strong jaw dusted with whiskers. Lean, corded body. His grin could level a city to ash. More than physical appearances, though, he was kind. Understanding in a way that most guys weren’t capable and with a bit of old-fashioned consideration she’d thought was long dead. Intelligent, too. Funny. If she weren’t careful, she’d wind up falling a bit too hard for her neighbor and boss.

Chewing the last bite of her pizza, she wondered if that would be such a bad thing. He seemed interested in her. She was definitely interested in return. There was chemistry. They worked well alongside each other. He fit in with her friends. Gammy had obviously liked him if she’d made him pie and had let him cut her grass.

Yet, and she couldn’t put her finger on what, but something kept nudging her to take heed. Not for the first time, she questioned what would happen if he were to be offered a position at a large syndicate again. If things blew over and the dust settled on his scandal, would a big city newspaper want him on staff? Moreover, would he accept the position? Just up and leave, Vallantine disappearing in his rearview?

Graham caught her staring at him, their gazes locking, and she shook her head to hide the embarrassment.

She thanked the group profusely for today again, but they brushed aside her appreciation. That’s what friends were for, she smiled. She’d missed it. Missed them. Having one another’s back and helping each other up when they’d been knocked down. Family, not by blood, but chosen instead. Gammy would say her ‘cup has runneth over.’

The back door slammed on its hinges, and Scarlett stood on the deck, blowing a strand of hair off her face. “I need some help.”

Aden grunted and leaned back in his seat, legs lazily stretched in front of him. “Darlin’, ain’t none of us equipped to handle the kinda help you require.”

Forest laughed, but Graham passed her the last slice of pizza. “Whatcha need?”

They followed her inside and to the living room, where shopping bags were piled on the floor.

Rebecca winced. Though grateful, she wondered how she was going to pay for this. The cost of the paint alone would stretch her savings to the brink. Her first paycheck from the Gazette had dropped in her account yesterday, but she had bills. Knowing Scarlett, she wouldn’t let her pay for any of it, and that didn’t sit right with Rebecca.

While she was lost in thought, Scarlett had directed the guys to move the China cabinet to a different wall. It had held mostly figurines that they’d packed away last night, but they’d kept the wine glasses and decanter set. Once in place, Scarlett gave Dorothy a bag containing liquor bottles and told her to put them in the cabinet.

Rebecca nodded. In honesty, the piece had been pretty useless once they’d removed the knickknacks. Turning it into a makeshift bar cabinet was a clever idea.

Scarlett had them rearrange all the furniture, in fact. Gammy’s gold and white plaid couches and yellow wingback chairs were shifted around, and though the pieces were the same, the fresh paint color and moving of objects made the whole room seem like a new one.

“Wow.” Rebecca set her hands on her hips. “You weren’t kidding. This looks great.”

Still Gammy’s house, still most of her things, including solace, yet Scarlett had managed to turn it into a space Rebecca could call her own.

“Thank you.” Scarlett disappeared into the other room and returned with paintings that had once been in the hallway. She set them along the wall in the living room where she wanted Aden to hang them.

“Yes, ma’am.” Aden sarcastically saluted.

They followed her into Gammy’s old bedroom, which they were turning into Rebecca’s. A change she wasn’t sure she was okay with, but she’d try it out.

Once again, Scarlett directed the guys to rearrange, and once again, the paint and shifting of furniture created a completely unique space. Not to mention, she’d bought a new bedspread and matching curtains. Gammy’s had been a quilted pattern in various colors with white drapes. Now, there was a blue paisley comforter and navy curtains.

Rebecca had been so worried that she wouldn’t be able to sleep in the room, but she should’ve trusted her bestie. Gammy’s bed was queen-sized, whereas Rebecca’s had been a full, and Gammy’s bedroom was bigger than Rebecca’s. Scarlett had turned it into an entirely new room.

Lump in her throat, Rebecca hugged her.

“I told you before. I got you.”

She really did, and Rebecca fought tears. “Thanks. I’ll write you a check before you leave.”

“No need.” Scarlett shrugged. “The curtains and bedspreads have been sitting around the plantation for ages. I bought ‘em for the guest rooms, but ultimately never could make them work with the color palette. The liquor and cocktail mixes are my treat.”

What a relief. “Thank you.”

They rearranged Rebecca’s old bedroom, and while they were doing that, Dorothy moved Rebecca’s clothes to the new room.

Throughout the course of the afternoon, Scarlett had reused the original pictures and frames, but had put them in alternate locations. All the comforts Rebecca had loved were still around, but in a way that she could appreciate them now instead of bringing her sorrow. She especially loved the family photos lining the hallway.

“Oh.” Scarlett glanced at Aden. “There are two chairs in the backseat of my car. Can you grab them please?”

Aden went out the front door, but Rebecca frowned. “Chairs for what?”

“The kitchen table. You only have two. The thrift store had a couple that look similar to yours, so I bought ‘em.”

Rebecca hadn’t thought of that. It had always just been her and Gammy, but extra seats would come in handy for guests.

“Thank you.” Overwhelmed, she stood by the front entry hall late in the afternoon, hand on her forehead. “I mean it, you guys. This is amazing. It’s like a totally different house.”

Graham watched her, his expression solemn. “Yet, still your grandmother’s.”

Exactly. As if he’d climbed in her head to spit out words, he understood exactly how she felt.

She offered to order dinner as a thank-you, but they all declined and left her to her fresh digs. All except Graham, who insisted on cooking her supper. At her house. She suspected it was to put fresh memories in the kitchen. Or maybe he knew she wasn’t quite ready to be alone yet. Regardless, she was grateful.

“Let me run home and shower. I’ll bring stuff back with me to cook.”

She had every intention of showering herself while he was gone, but she wound up going through one of her boxes from Boston instead and setting out some of her own knickknacks. Then, kitchen items, in case he needed something Gammy didn’t already have in the house. By the time Graham and Twain strolled back in, she’d sorted through her third and final box.

He grinned from the doorway to her old bedroom. “I brought the doofus. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, it is.” Twain bathed her face in kisses. “Who’s a good boy?”

“One of these days, I’m going to get you to call me a good boy.” Graham sighed and headed down the hall. “Dinner in thirty minutes.”

From the floor, she petted the dog and stared at the empty doorway. A wary sense of glee filled her chest and warmed her face. Somehow, her dreadful morning with all the guilt had shifted. It had been forever since she could recall being content or hopeful. Gammy’s house was a home again, now with elements to make it Rebecca’s, all because of her friends and a pretty great guy next door. Who was cooking her dinner. In her kitchen. Between Boston and moving back home to an empty house, she’d been erringly lonesome. For a really long time, actually. But the house had life again.

Shewas seemingly living her life again.

Confused, she looked at the dog. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

A silly comment, but the truth. She was officially unpacked from her move home. The house had been revamped to suit her style. She’d secured a job at the Gazette and helped to get it in a better state to thrive. The library was on its way to begin renovations, so they could hopefully reopen in six to ten months from now. And she’d started a new yet promising relationship with Graham.

Could it be she was finally, blessedly getting her life on track? Heck, she hadn’t been in a place where she could admit such a thing since she’d left Vallantine for college. Ten years ago. A sad, pathetic realization.

Whatever. She wasn’t going to let the past dull her mood.

Rising, she went into the kitchen, where her legs about gave out on her.

Graham, his back to her, stood at the stove stirring something in a pot. Corded sinew in his arms. Wide shoulders. His hair was damp from his shower, the ends curling. He’d changed into a pair of dark gray sweats and a white tee. Bare feet. That alone could undo her. Lord, bare feet were sexy. Not accounting for an attractive man in her kitchen. Cooking. For her.

Be still her heart.

As if sensing her, he glanced over his shoulder. His grin was just a cheap shot. “Thought you were showering.”

She’d rather watch him. “Working up to it. What are you cooking?” It smelled amazing. She walked closer to peer over his shoulder.

She retracted her last thought. He smelled amazing.

“Gumbo. I had the base roux made already in my fridge. I’m just adding the rest to the pot.” Turning, he wrapped an arm around her waist and swiped a finger down her nose. “You’ve got paint all over you.”

“Eh, I tried to keep it on the walls.”

His low chuckle vibrated her ribs. “Adorable.” He smacked a quick kiss to her lips and returned to the pot. “This’ll be done soon. Go shower.”

Sigh. She’d rather watch him, but fine.

Making her way back down the hall, she went into her old room out of habit, then backtracked to her new one. It took her a few tries before she figured out where Dorothy had put her items in the dresser.

Shower complete, leaving her hair to air dry, she returned to the kitchen. He had bowls of gumbo on the table waiting, with cut French bread piled on a plate.

“I could get used to you cooking for me.”

He laughed, turning from the stove, and froze. Slowly, his gaze drifted down the length of her and up again. “Damn.”

“What?” She glanced down at herself. She’d put on a pair of hip-hugger pink boxers and a white tee with a cupcake on it. Unsure what he’d cursed for, she sent him a questioning glare.

“You look good enough to eat, that’s what.”

“Oh.” Well, geez. Blow her over with a feather. His low, coarse, guttural admission seemed too sincere to be a random comment.

Setting the oven mitts aside, he strode to her. Languidly. Seductively. Hunter seeking prey. Pausing in front of her, there wasn’t any oxygen between them as he looked down at her.

“Hi,” she lamely said, unclear what his intentions were, but very certain she’d do whatever he asked. Her heart thumped erratically behind her ribs.

“You are an incredibly attractive woman, Rebecca.”

Aw. “Thank you.” Her voice had come out closer to a choked whisper, but she put the blame on him.

“You’re welcome.” He bumped his chin toward the table. “We should eat before I get other ideas instead.”

Call it curiosity or a flat out rise in gumption, but she challenged his statement. “What kind of ideas?”

He inhaled. Hard. His eyes heated as they narrowed to slits. “Ideas not acceptable to mention in polite company.”

“I don’t see any company.” Lord, what had gotten into her? Before today, she couldn’t flirt if her life depended on the task for survival.

As if siding with him, Twain barked.

Throwing her head back, she laughed. “You win.”

They sat, and she dug into his gumbo.

She’d seen the hearty soup or stew made countless ways. Correctly and incorrectly. However, as a northerner, Graham seemed to nail all the right ingredients for proper southern gumbo, and color her surprised. Onions, bell peppers, celery, okra, shrimp, sausage, and chicken. Oh, and the flavor? Amazing. The perfect blend of spices. Gammy had made hers with cayenne and black pepper, dry mustard, paprika, sage, cumin, bay leaves, thyme, and parsley. Rebecca had watched her multiple times. Graham’s version was very close, though she was used to it over rice instead of with a side of bread.

“This is delicious.” Wide-eyed, she looked at him. “Seriously delicious.”

One corner of his mouth curved. “You sound shocked.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I am. I’ve had gumbo in Boston or surrounding areas more times than I have fingers and toes to count. It was never good.”

Nodding, smile faint, he reached for a slice of bread. “My folks vacationed in New Orleans one year when I was a kid. Dad tried gumbo for the first time, and demanded to learn how to make it.” He laughed. “They went to five different restaurants, where he wormed his way into the kitchen for a brief cooking lesson. This is his recipe.”

“That’s hilarious.” And dedicated. “I like him already.” She took a few more spoonfuls. “Please tell him I’m impressed, and he can move south to cook for us anytime.”

Up went his brows. “No props for the chef. I see how it is.” Humor in his eyes, he winked. “I have all his recipes. Say the word, and I’ll cook for you.”

“The word.”

He laughed. Rough, coarse, and from the gut, causing her insides to heat, and not from the stew.

After a beat, he sighed. “I’d kill for your grandmother’s peach pie recipe. She never did tell me her secret.”

Full, she nudged her bowl aside. “Not many know her secret. It’s written down around here somewhere, but I know it by heart. I’ll teach you sometime.”

He pointed at her with his spoon. “I will hold you to that.” Rising, he set their bowls in the sink. “My parents are coming down for a visit next week.”

“Are they? I’ll bet you’re excited to see them.” He’d been uprooted from everything he’d known when he’d accepted the job in Vallantine. If it were her, and it had been not so long ago, she’d miss the people and places from home.

“I am.” He set the large pot on a cooling rack and filled the sink with soapy water. “I know a few tourist spots here, but maybe you could help me show them around?”

“I’d be glad to. Don’t you dare do the dishes. You cooked. I’ll clean.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned off the water and eyed the pot. “This will need to cool before we can put it in the fridge.”

“Okay.” A tingle shot through her. There was something sexy about hearing him ma’am her like a southern boy. “Want to watch a movie? Or do you need to get home?”

“Nowhere I gotta be.” He straightened as if remembering a detail. “You have a flatscreen on the floor of your old bedroom. Would you like me to connect it in your new bedroom for you? You’ve got a TV in the living room already.”

That’s right. She’d forgotten. “I brought it back from Boston with me. Haven’t gotten around to setting it up yet. You don’t mind?”

“Nope.” He offered a sly grin. “Show me your bedroom, Rebecca.”