Chapter Fifteen – Meryl
Why had she said yes to this?
Meryl adjusted the wrapping around the framed gift in her lap as Spencer pulled up outside Thornberg Restaurant.
She knew why. Of course, she knew why. She wanted to see the part of his life that existed beyond Pine Cottage. Beyond half-finished rooms and salvaged brass and kisses that had left her far too aware of herself. And him.
“Nothing fancy,” Spencer had said. “Just dinner at the restaurant.”
But the moment they stepped inside, Meryl knew this was not just dinner.
The restaurant was closed to the public. A handwritten sign on the door read Private Event, and beyond the glass, she could see that the tables had been pushed together into one long arrangement, set with candles, flowers, and enough place settings to make her stomach drop.
“Spencer,” she said under her breath, tightening her hold on the wrapped frame. “You did not say this was a private family dinner.”
He glanced down at her, looking faintly apologetic but not especially sorry. “Would you have come if I had?”
Meryl opened her mouth, then closed it again.
That was answer enough.
“Right,” she muttered. “Well. Excellent. Too late now.”
Warmth met them as soon as they stepped inside. Not just the heat from the restaurant, but the warmth of voices and laughter.
Meryl felt oddly out of place, as if she had stepped into a foreign land. She’d grown up with just her mom as family, so this was almost alien to her.
Then a woman’s voice called out, “Spencer.”
“Mom.” Spencer’s expression showed Meryl just how much he loved his mom. And that helped, especially when Eleanor Thornberg came toward them with the kind of smile that made it impossible to mistake the sincerity of it.
“Happy birthday.” Spencer bent to hug her.
“Thank you, son. And you must be Meryl,” Eleanor said, turning to her with unmistakable pleasure. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Happy birthday. Thank you for inviting me,” Meryl said, offering her the gift before she could lose her nerve. “I made you something. I hope that’s all right.”
“You made me something?” Eleanor took the parcel with immediate interest. “That is more than all right.”
“It’s only small,” Meryl said, already regretting the phrase.
Eleanor unwrapped it carefully, and when she saw the framed illustration, her whole face changed. It was a botanical study of mountain wildflowers, done in soft watercolor and ink. Nothing grand. But it was personal. The first piece she had created at Pine Cottage.
“Oh,” Eleanor whispered. “This is lovely.”
She lifted it slightly, studying the details properly rather than glancing and thanking her out of politeness. “These are the flowers up near Hilda’s place, aren’t they?”
Meryl nodded. “Some of them. I thought you might recognize them. Spencer says you grow a lot of flowers.”
“I do.” Eleanor looked up at her, visibly touched. “It’s perfect. Thank you. This is going in my reading corner, where I can see it every day.”
The tight little knot of anxiety inside Meryl loosened.
“Come along,” Eleanor said, slipping her hand lightly through Meryl’s arm with the kind of ease that made refusal impossible. “You’ve got everyone waiting to meet you.”
Spencer stayed close enough behind that Meryl could feel him there without needing to check.
Introductions came in a small rush, but not so fast that she lost herself completely. Kirk and Isla were first, while Isla’s son Percy hovered nearby with the restless energy of a child trying very hard to behave and not quite succeeding.
Leo and Estelle were introduced next, with little Adara tucked close to Estelle’s side, before introducing Meryl to her plush dragon, Fizz. Matt came to say a quick hello before heading back to the kitchen, while Tessa sat talking with Caleb and Hannah near the far end of the table.
It was a lot. Not impossible. Just... a lot.
“And this,” Spencer said quietly beside her, “is my dad.”
Thaddeus Thornberg was broad-shouldered, with Spencer’s build and an older version of his eyes and the same warm smile.
“Spencer tells us you’re fixing up Hilda’s place,” he said.
“I’m trying,” Meryl answered.
“From what Spencer tells us, you’re doing a great job.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Spencer, then back to her. “Hilda would be happy you’re taking care of the place.”
Before she could think of what to say, she felt Spencer’s hand settle lightly at the small of her back. Not possessive. Just there. Enough to steady her.
“This might help,” said a voice beside her.
Meryl turned to find Isla holding out a glass of wine.
“That obvious I need help?” Meryl asked, taking it with gratitude.
“I know how overwhelming it can be,” Isla replied kindly.
“It is.” Meryl took a sip of wine.
“They’re a wonderful family,” Isla added, glancing around the room. “And they’d do anything for anyone.”
“They all seem nice.” Meryl winced. Nice didn’t really do the Thornbergs justice.
Thankfully, Percy appeared at Isla’s elbow with the pent-up urgency of a child who had clearly been waiting for a break in the adult conversation.
“Have you seen the courtyard?” he asked Meryl.
“No.”
His whole face lit up. “You have to. Come on.”
He reached for her hand with complete certainty that she would follow him, and something about that certainty made refusing feel almost ridiculous.
Isla’s mouth twitched. “You’ve been claimed. Best go.”
The courtyard was tucked behind the restaurant, filled with raised beds of herbs and flowers. There were tables beneath climbing roses, and the scent of jasmine filled the air.
Percy took his role as guide seriously.
“This is the herb bed,” he told her. “And over there are the tomatoes, but Leo grows the best tomatoes in his greenhouse. And that corner’s best because if you turn over the stones sometimes there are beetles.”
“I see,” Meryl said gravely. “A very important scientific area.”
“It is.”
Adara appeared a moment later, lingering in the doorway before coming to join them.
Percy made a point of saying hello to Fizz, and together they began showing Meryl every detail they considered worthy of notice: the rosemary, the thyme, the little worn path between the beds, a flower they both insisted looked better at night, and one particular patch of earth where Percy was convinced something prehistoric-looking had once lived.
Meryl found herself enjoying herself immensely as they recounted stories about life in Bear Creek.
“And Uncle Spencer carved a wooden door for my fairy house,” Adara said.
“He did?” Meryl asked.
“Do you like Uncle Spencer?” Adara asked suddenly.
Meryl blinked.
Percy looked interested now, too.
“I do,” she said, because there was no point trying to lie under that kind of direct scrutiny.
“Good,” Adara said with a small nod, as though Meryl had passed some necessary test.
As if he had been summoned, the door behind them opened, and Spencer stepped out carrying two glasses of wine. “Refill?”
“Yes, please,” Meryl said, finishing her first glass. “Thornberg wine is far too easy to drink.”
“And I see you are making friends?” he said. “How are you guys doing?”
“They’ve been giving me a very thorough tour,” Meryl said as Spencer handed her one of the glasses. Their fingers brushed, and the look he gave her was brief but enough to bring back, in one hot sweep, the memory of his mouth on hers in the kitchen.
“We’ve been showing Meryl the flowers and herbs and bugs,” Percy said, then turned as the door opened and Isla called the children back inside.
“Coming!” Percy called, and he reached for Adara’s hand as they both headed inside.
“They’re great kids,” Meryl said as she watched them go. “And it’s been a joy to look at the courtyard through their eyes.”
“I know what you mean,” Spencer said wistfully. “For so long, it’s what’s been missing from our family. Then my brothers met their ma… partners, and they came with kids. Seeing my mom with them...”
He stopped talking and looked away.
“You’re a tight-knit family,” she said, looking up at the stars and giving him a chance to compose himself.
“We are.” He nodded. “I suppose our family has been here for so long, and we all think about what we have learned from those who have come before us and want to pass on that knowledge.”
“Like carpentry,” she murmured.
The thought came quietly and caught her off guard. Children. Family. A future that stayed in one place long enough to put down roots. She had once imagined that for herself, too, before she trained herself not to.
“Yes.” He nodded. “But if it doesn’t happen, I’m going to have nieces and nephews to teach.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, after the smallest pause, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. The gesture was so natural that Meryl leaned into him without a thought.
They stood together, her head resting on his shoulder, in the lush courtyard. Just the two of them under the stars.
“There you are,” Eleanor called from the doorway. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Coming,” Spencer called.
Meryl chuckled. “You sounded like Percy.”
Back inside, the long table somehow felt less daunting than it had before. Meryl found herself seated between Spencer and Eleanor. No one seemed to be seated in any particular order; they all knew each other, and the conversation flowed light and easy.
Dinner evolved the way good family meals always did, with dishes passed, interruptions layered over one another, half-finished stories resumed three minutes later, and no one seeming to mind that conversation moved somewhat erratically.
By the time the first plates had been cleared, Meryl had stopped feeling as though she needed to get through the evening and started to simply enjoy it.
Eleanor asked about Pine Cottage while passing her another spoonful of vegetables.
“How is it, really?” she asked. “Not the polite answer.”
Meryl smiled despite herself. “A lot of it is still awful. But less awful than it was.”
“Less awful is a step forward.” Eleanor’s eyes went distant. “Hilda did love that house.”
“I didn’t realize how much,” Meryl admitted. “She wrote everything down. Plans, notes, little sketches. I found them in her journal.”
Eleanor nodded. “That sounds like Hilda. She was always making notes.”
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, but weightier than the conversation around them.
Then Eleanor said gently, “She used to say she wished you’d visited more.”
The words caught Meryl off guard. Guilt came sharp and quick.
“I should have,” she said. “I kept meaning to and then...”
Life, she could have said. Work. Distance. Habit. All the ways not going had once felt easier than going.
Eleanor did not let her dwell there for long.
“But you’re here now,” she said, with the same quiet certainty she had used when she admired the illustration. “And that’s what counts.”
Meryl looked at her.
There was no reproach. Just kindness. She could see why Spencer loved his mom so much. Eleanor was kind, supportive, and open in a way Meryl’s mom never had been.
The conversation moved on, as family conversation does, but the words stayed with her.
By the time the evening began to drift toward goodnights and empty plates and drained glasses, Meryl no longer felt as though she had simply accompanied Spencer to dinner.
She felt, in some quiet and deeply unsettling way, as though she had been let in.