Chapter 21
P atrick’s truck tires crunched over the gravel driveway as he pulled up to Kathleen’s home. He hadn’t called ahead—hadn’t wanted to give himself the chance to change his mind or give her an opportunity to tell him not to come.
The time he’d spent in Manhattan had felt like an eternity. Despite the progress they’d made with Wilson Enterprises, he knew he had to come back to Sapphire Bay, even if it was only for a couple of days.
Unfortunately, he’d missed the official opening of the arts and crafts center. Even though Kathleen had taken a video of Pastor John’s speech, and Jack had sent him photos, he’d still regretted not being there.
The familiar sight of Kathleen’s house filled him with a mixture of relief and nervous energy.
The foundation work was progressing well under his replacement contractor’s supervision, but Patrick could see other subtle changes.
There was a fresh coat of primer on the eastern wall, and new shutters had replaced the old ones.
Life had continued without him, just as he’d known it would.
He climbed the front steps, noting that someone had fixed the loose board he’d been meaning to repair before he’d been pulled away. The sound of music drifted from somewhere inside—classical piano, soft and melodic. Patrick knocked on the front door, then waited.
“Just a minute!” Kathleen’s voice called from what sounded like the back of the house.
When she opened the door, Patrick’s breath caught.
She wore paint-splattered jeans and an old button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
A streak of pale blue paint decorated her left cheek, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.
She looked younger somehow, more relaxed than he remembered, and absolutely beautiful.
“Patrick?” Her eyes widened with surprise, then something that might have been joy flashed across her face before she composed herself. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I should have called,” he said, suddenly feeling uncertain. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
Kathleen glanced down at her paint-covered clothing and laughed—that warm, genuine laugh he’d missed more than he’d realized. “Only my long-overdue attempt to paint the office. I’ve been putting it off for months, but since we found Florence’s room, I finally had the motivation to tackle it.”
She stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside. The familiar scent of her house, lavender and old wood and something uniquely Kathleen, washed over him.
“How long have you been back?” she asked as she led him toward the kitchen.
“About an hour. I drove straight from the airport.” Patrick followed her down the hallway.
As they passed the office, he saw drop cloths on the floor and paint supplies stacked neatly in the corner.
The walls were half-finished and complemented the house’s original woodwork beautifully. “The color looks perfect.”
“Thank you.” Kathleen was already in the kitchen, washing the paint from her hands.
“I probably look like I’ve been in a war zone, but I was determined to get at least one wall finished today.
I haven’t had a spare moment since you left.
Between the café and coordinating with Chloe and Percy about Florence’s documents, it’s been hectic.
And now with the Smithsonian wanting to create an exhibition. ..”
She trailed off, her back still to him as she dried her hands on a dish towel. Patrick could sense the careful control in her voice, the way she was keeping their conversation safely focused on mundane topics.
“Kathleen,” he said quietly. “I need to tell you something.”
She turned to face him, and he saw the wariness in her eyes. “About the board position?”
“I told them no.” The words came out more abruptly than he’d intended. “I’m not returning to Wilson Enterprises.”
Her expression shifted, surprise replacing caution. “But Noah?—”
“Noah understood. Better than I expected, actually.” Patrick leaned against the kitchen counter, suddenly needing the support. “We’ve developed a comprehensive defense strategy against Meridian Capital. The board now has everything they need to fight the takeover without me being there.”
Kathleen set down the dish towel and studied his face. “I thought you wanted to go back to Manhattan.”
“It was never my choice, but I needed to be there for Noah. His marriage is struggling,” Patrick said sadly.
“Cassie’s been patient about his long hours and constant travel, but having young children has changed their priorities.
She’s told him that if he doesn’t find a better work-life balance, she’s considering taking the kids and moving back to San Francisco. ”
Kathleen’s expression softened with understanding. “That must be terrifying for him.”
“It is. And I know exactly what he’s going through.” Patrick’s voice grew quieter. “I made similar mistakes when Noah and Jack were young. I was so focused on my company that I missed too many birthdays, school plays, and ordinary moments that you can never get back.”
He paused, watching Kathleen’s face. She was listening with the same focused attention she’d given him during their conversations about Florence Buckley, but he could see the questions in her eyes.
“Noah needs someone who understands the corporate world but isn’t trapped by it,” Patrick continued. “Someone who can help him see that there are other ways to measure success. I might be the only person who can have that conversation with him right now.”
Kathleen nodded slowly. “I hope he listens to you.”
“So do I.” Patrick met her eyes. “I want to be a special part of your life, Kathleen. If you’ll have me.”
His words hung between them like a bridge neither was quite ready to cross. Color rose in Kathleen’s cheeks, and Patrick watched her touch the locket at her throat—the one he’d given her weeks ago.
Kathleen took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before you left, about wanting to be in two places at once. I understand why you left. Family obligations are important.”
Patrick stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes.
“My time in Manhattan has shown me something I was afraid to admit. I don’t belong in that world anymore.
Every board meeting, every strategy session, every corporate dinner felt like playing a role in someone else’s life. ”
“But you’re good at it,” she said quietly. “Noah wouldn’t have asked you back if you weren’t.”
“Being good at something doesn’t mean it’s what you’re meant to do.” Patrick ran his thumb along the streak of paint on her cheek. “When I think about where I want to be and who I want to spend my time with—it all comes back to this house, this town, and you.”
Kathleen leaned into his touch for just a moment before stepping back.
He smiled at her. “A little birdy told me something while I was away.”
“What kind of birdy?” Kathleen’s eyes sparkled with mischief despite the serious conversation they’d been having.
“The kind that works at the bookstore and may have sent me a text. Your birthday is tomorrow.”
Kathleen blinked in surprise. “Isabel contacted you?”
“She did. So what are you doing to celebrate? Have you made any plans?”
“I don’t want a fuss,” Kathleen said, unconsciously echoing words he’d heard her say before. “It’s just another day.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Just another day? Kathleen Armstrong, you’re turning sixty-six. That deserves to be celebrated.”
“Does it?” She glanced at a wall of family photos and smiled. “I’ve had enough big celebrations to last a lifetime. These days, I prefer simpler things.”
“Such as?” Patrick asked.
Kathleen sighed. “Spending time with a man whose company I enjoy, especially when he makes me laugh and challenges me to think differently about the world.” She placed her hand against his chest. “Someone who looks handsome even when he’s covered in Manhattan stress and doesn’t realize it.”
Patrick studied Kathleen’s paint-streaked face for a long moment, taking in the hope and vulnerability in her eyes. “I was afraid I’d lost my chance,” he admitted quietly. “I know I said I’d come back, but I wondered if you’d given up waiting for me.”
“That wouldn’t have happened,” Kathleen said firmly.
A certainty that Patrick hadn’t felt since his wife died washed over him. The careful reserve he’d been maintaining since he arrived began to dissolve, replaced by something warmer and more open.
“In that case,” he said with a relieved smile, “I might know of a birthday celebration that wouldn’t be too much of a fuss. Something quiet and simple, with people who care about you.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Patrick grinned. “Well, for starters, I could help you paint the office.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “Though I should probably warn you—I’m much better at cooking than I am at painting.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” Patrick said, and he meant it in ways that went far beyond painting walls.
The way her expression had softened at the word ‘together’ told him she understood.
“And tomorrow, we could have lunch with your family and friends. I’ll call Natalie and see if she’s okay with me organizing a picnic by the lake. ”
“That sounds like the perfect way to celebrate my birthday,” Kathleen murmured.
Patrick pulled her closer and kissed her gently on the lips. With a grin, he asked, “Are you ready to get back to work?”
Kathleen smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”