Chapter Eight
Summer was awake and up.
Tom rolled out of bed and took Bret’s advice. Guessing she was in her art room, he dressed for work and pulled the folder Penny Gutherie had given him from where he’d hidden it in his top dresser drawer. This project needed to be done right, and he shouldn’t and wouldn’t make decisions without her.
Trepidation rolled in his stomach, a nagging clutch signaling a disagreement was inbound. Why did he think that? He mulled the question over as he brushed his teeth, tied his shoes, and shoved his wallet in his pocket.
The answer wasn’t some deep-rooted secret. Simply, it touched on the whole reason she kept leaving. He did conflict for a living. He didn’t want it at home. Especially not after last night. Probably not a good marriage attitude to have, but there it was.
Summer’s art room door was closed which meant she wasn’t in there. She never painted with the door shut. He went down the stairs and stopped in the kitchen doorway.
Summer stood at the counter watching the coffee pot perk. She wore a pair of black leggings and a red Christmas t-shirt. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Bacon bites for breakfast?”
“Uh, no. How about we save them for dinner?” She gazed at him from where she stood, eyes going over his body and lingering on mouth, muscles, and uniform. Memories of the night shimmered in the air.
He liked that. A lot.
“I agree. Not breakfast fare.” She handed him a container of banana nut muffins from Sal’s. Those he could make work.
Dropping the remodel folder on the table, he poured coffee then pulled out a chair for both of them. “Come here, please. I have something I want to talk to you about.”
She moved to the chair, sipping her own coffee. “What’s this?”
Tom sat and took a big breath. “Your Christmas present. It turned out bigger than I expected, and I can’t do it without you because you should decide.”
Summer shifted in her seat, her face creased with confusion. “What is it exactly?”
“Penny Gutherie.”
“Um, Coach’s wife?”
“Yes, she does interior design.”
Surprised, Summer sat back in her chair. “And we’re talking about her because…?”
Tom cleared his throat. “I had her over to assess your grandmother’s sewing room. Custom cupboards, redesign your art space. That was what I was planning.”
Summer smiled, shaking her head. “Really?”
“Yeah.” At least she smiled at the idea.
“So what happened?”
“She gave me a whole remodel of the room including floors, new electrical, new windows, closet space and custom cupboards.” He slid the folder across the table.
“Whoa. Why?”
“After I got a good look at the room, I told her to. Those windows don’t let in enough light for your painting.
The custom cupboards are obvious. You’re a professional now, not a high school student making room amidst sewing.
And the entire house needs an electrical update to accommodate new lighting.
She touched the file, but didn’t open it. “I never considered changing anything.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re grandmother’s memory is strong in the space. I get it. But its time to adapt for you, for us. You’re grandfather is gone, honey.” He kept the words gentle, but Summer jerked and rose from her chair to pace.
“I know he’s gone, Tom.” Her desperate hiss pricked at his conscience.
He hated hurting her like this, but he stayed the course even though his gut was shredding.
“There’s plenty here to remind you of them without sacrificing workspace that could make your life easier.
It’s time, honey. You need an upgrade to paint full time here instead of constantly working around.
The plans are great. They’re expensive, though. We need to decide together.”
She stopped in the middle of the room and brushed a hand through her hair, holding it on the top of her head in a tight vise. “I never considered we could change things because I’m stuck in memories of both him and my grandmother, and you’re not.”
“Not true. I see your grandfather everywhere.”
“But this is us now, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is.” He pulled back his tone, stifling the desire to push until she agreed. She had to come around to this idea on her own.
“I don’t know how I feel about changes, but I have a goal.”
“Which is?”
She spoke slowly, thinking through her words.
“To be here with you going forward and, when I do have to travel, I take you with me. I want to work here, so I have to figure out something better. See, the thing is this was my grandfather’s house, and I guess I translated that to this place isn’t mine.
It’s an idea I can’t let go. Let me think about this, okay?
Her frown and sheen of tears nearly did him in.
“Okay.” He bit his lip, liking the idea of traveling with her, but sorry he’d opened a subject that brought so much turmoil for her.
He finished a muffin in four bites and went to the cupboard for his work coffee mug.
Pouring his coffee into the travel cup, he eyed Summer.
She’d slumped back in her chair. Setting his mug aside, he pulled a chair closer and sat, taking her hand.
“I didn’t mean to knock you flat with this.
” Boy was he glad he hadn’t done this on Christmas Eve.
“Would my grandfather mind if we made changes to what’s his?” Her hand firmly held his. He’d take the question as a win.
“No, he wouldn’t. He’d be glad you’re home. Further, he gave this house to us. It’s ours to deal with going forward. Hell, it was me figuring this stuff out for a year before he died.”
She swept a palm over his cheek. “And a darn fine job you did, too.”
The sadness in her expression jerked at emotions he’d been leaving alone.
Stay, go. Love, leave. Hold, release. He knew where he stood with her, with his family, with this town.
Summer didn’t. She might have him, but the rest was a broken landscape.
But he’d keep with stay, love, and hold because she kept coming home. To him.
“Go through the packet and see what’s there. Look at the studio with what she designed and see if it fits. If it doesn’t, we don’t do it.”
“But it’s your gift.”
“No, it was going to be a gift, now it’s not. It’s something we’ll do together or not at all.” He rose and kissed her, coaxing a response.
She slid a hand behind his neck and pulled him close. “I’ll think about it. You go find Santa.”
“Oh, snap. For a minute there, I forgot the old guy was missing.”
Summer smiled, and it eased the tightness in his chest. “No you didn’t. You’re a cop through and through.”
“Your cop.”
“Yes, you are.” She leaned closer, kissing him with memories of last night in her eyes.
Satisfied, he grabbed his keys and left her drinking coffee with the art studio remodel plans open in front of her.
&&&&&&&&&&
Olivia Applegate’s kitchen was a hub for cooking and baking most times of the year, but all the family and friends used the bright yellow kitchen for social times, a place to catch a breath, and for pouring out problems. Olivia specialized in dispensing advice, did a bit of matchmaking, and never let any difficulties move her off track.
Summer couldn’t pinpoint when she decided to use Olivia’s kitchen to draw in, but she liked the quiet and the chaos. At this moment, she needed the secrecy Olivia’s kitchen could give her for Tom’s Christmas present. She also needed to talk to a neutral party.
Olivia stood at the center island counter in faded jeans, a plain deep red sweatshirt with the collar of a white blouse peeking out from sleeves and collar. She had a mess of recipe cards spread out in front of her and two old wooden recipe boxes stacked to the side.
“What are you planning over there, Olivia?” Summer kept sketching, trying to deepen the contrast and stop herself from tossing this version of Tom’s police portrait in the trash.
She already had four at home in the garbage.
The problem was she’d gotten too used to big murals, bright and contrasting colors.
She’d forgotten how to work smaller and to use pencils and charcoals.
Christmas Eve was four days away, and she expected this particular piece to be finished and hidden already.
To herself, she admitted she was stalling, reluctant to spill her bottled-up emotions all over Olivia’s table. It was her usual tactic. Jonathan bribed her to confess. Tom guessed the problem, went around her, and searched for solutions. Why was she so difficult?
“I’m looking for old recipes. Something different to add to the celebration especially for the kids. I remember some things my mother used to make, but I can’t find the recipes.”
“What were they?”
“Oh, candy. Homemade. You can buy so much these days, but it’s so commercial. This was fudge and peanut clusters and divinity and hard candy.” She put her head back and closed her eyes, a melancholy expression on her face.
God, she wanted to paint the lines of Olivia’s face. Such character. “Sounds delicious, and the family will say the more treats the better.”
Olivia opened her eyes and smiled. “Well, the kids will probably whine for Hershey’s Kisses and Snickers bars but introducing them to how we used to do it might be fun.”
“I love the idea.”
Olivia grinned. “You have charcoal on your nose.” She moved from behind the counter and came to the table. “Can I see?”
Summer heaved a big sigh and turned the work for her to view.
Olivia gasped. “Oh, my word, it’s wonderful.”
“Is it? I’m having trouble. I may have taken too many pictures of him.”
“How many did you take?” She carefully kept her fingers off the drawing.
Summer grabbed her phone and opened the photos. “Oh, about fifty.”