The One You Almost Missed
Chapter 1
Lauren Simpson opened the oven door, and the aroma of roasting turkey intensified, filling her kitchen as a cloud of fragrant steam billowed toward her.
She took a quick step back and pulled her fogged-up glasses from her nose, blowing gently on the lenses and watching as the condensation disappeared.
Pumpkin, her miniature Cavapoo, braced herself at Lauren’s feet, her nose twitching as she scented the air.
Lauren replaced her glasses and reached for a potholder and a sheet of foil. “Okay, girl,” she said, smiling down at her. “I promise you’re going to get some Thanksgiving turkey, but it’s not ready yet. You need to get out of my way so I can tent this bird. I don’t want the breast any darker.”
As if understanding, Pumpkin pranced backward, clearing space.
Lauren adjusted the foil carefully, admiring the turkey. It looked ready for a magazine spread, golden and evenly browned. She finished her task and shut the oven door.
Pumpkin settled, swishing her tail along the travertine tile in the kitchen of the adobe bungalow Lauren was in a never-ending process of remodeling. Pumpkin emitted a short, hopeful woof to get her mistress’s attention.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re hungry right now?
” Lauren asked. “I have to admit, smelling this delicious-looking bird has given me quite an appetite, too.” She leaned against the quartz-topped island, its subtle veining echoing the creamy whites and warm taupes of the cabinets and backsplash.
As an interior designer, she favored soothing color palettes.
She looked down at the little dog who had been at her side since the month after her husband’s death. For four years, Pumpkin had been her reliable emotional support, cuddling with her nightly and soothing her tears.
When Kathy, her business partner and best friend, had suggested Lauren get a dog, Lauren had thought it was the last thing she needed.
She could barely manage to take care of herself, let alone be responsible for another living being.
But Kathy had persisted. She always did.
One slow afternoon at their interior design studio, Kathy persuaded Lauren to walk through the no-kill shelter on the next block.
Lauren had agreed to the outing simply to satisfy Kathy.
That was where Lauren saw her—a small puppy with a shaggy, cinnamon-colored wavy coat and jet-black eyes and nose. She looked like a real-life version of Lauren’s favorite childhood teddy bear. Lauren didn’t hesitate. The puppy stole her heart and returned to the office with them that very day.
Pumpkin had adopted Lauren, but she’d also formed a strong bond with Kathy.
Before long, Pumpkin was a “shop dog,” traveling with Lauren to K + L Interiors almost every day.
Calm and affectionate, she quickly became a favorite with the Los Angeles firm’s clientele, curling up on a custom-upholstered settee by the window or beneath a drafting table as if she belonged there.
Lauren checked her watch. “It’ll be at least two hours until we eat,” she said. “I’ll make myself a cup of white peach ginger tea and give you a treat.”
At the sound of the familiar word, Pumpkin leapt to her feet and raced to the end of the kitchen counter, tail wagging wildly as she gazed up at the treat jar.
The white ceramic canister patterned with black dog footprints and red hearts was one of the few playful touches in Lauren’s otherwise carefully edited home.
Lauren chuckled and tossed a treat. The agile little dog jumped and caught it midair.
She filled a ceramic mug with water and placed it in the microwave, pressing the Beverages button. As the glass plate spun, Lauren’s cell phone rang.
The caller ID read: Darren.
She answered on the first ring. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Thank you,” he replied. His voice was lower and quieter than usual. “That’s actually why I’m calling. I’ve got a terrible sore throat. My joints ache, and I think I have a fever.”
“Oh no, Darren. I’m so sorry. You were fine when we talked last night.”
He coughed. “I know. I woke up with it. I thought I’d feel better once I started moving around, but I’ve been getting worse as the day’s gone on.”
“How high is your fever?” Lauren asked.
“I don’t own a thermometer,” he said. “But my forehead’s hot, and I feel clammy.”
“That sounds like a fever,” Lauren replied. “I’m really sorry.”
“Well … I don’t want you to get sick,” Darren continued. “I hate to do this at the last minute, but I think I’d better stay home.”
Lauren’s gaze drifted from the oven—where a thirteen-pound turkey roasted—to the potatoes simmering on the stove, and then to the kitchen counter, where the ingredients for her grandmother’s sweet potato casserole waited to be assembled.
“Lauren—”
“No. Of course not,” she said quickly. “If you feel that bad, you should be home in bed.”
“I was really looking forward to our cozy Thanksgiving for two,” Darren said. “I hope you haven’t gone to a lot of trouble.”
“Of course not,” Lauren replied. “Don’t worry about it.”
Her eyes swept to the living room of her tiny but stylish home, where she had set a table in front of the beehive fireplace. Even in the pale light of the cloudy afternoon, her china, silver, and crystal gleamed against the starched linen tablecloth.
The table itself was a recent purchase: a round walnut pedestal with graceful lines and just enough patina to feel storied. She’d paired it with upholstered chairs in a soft herringbone fabric, knowing that comfort mattered as much as beauty.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Deciding she was finally ready to move on with her life, she had taken everything out of storage.
She’d washed, polished, and ironed until five hours later she’d created the beautiful tableau now sitting unused.
The room was waiting for company that wasn’t coming.
“You can’t control when you’re going to be sick,” she said softly. “I understand.”
Darren coughed again. “Okay. I’d better go.”
“Feel better,” Lauren said.
The call disconnected before she could say anything else.
Lauren stood there for a long moment, the only sound the quiet hum of the microwave. Pumpkin padded over and leaned against her leg, warm and solid.
Outside, the sky had deepened to a soft November gray. Inside, the firewood was stacked neatly by the hearth. The candles on the mantel remained unlit.
Lauren sank into an upholstered chair by the fireplace. Pumpkin curled at her feet. The microwave beeped but Lauren ignored it. She rested her head against the back of the chair and allowed disappointment to wash over her.