Page 59 of Merry Mended Hearts

On a whim, I angled around the bed, the floor’s cold seeping into my socks, and parted the curtains over the window so I could peer out. The night was full of flurries. The wind whipped the branches of trees I could see, and seeped into the glass like it always did.

I’d intended on updating the windows out here for a while now, but lately, most of my attention had gone to the inn itself, to readying everything for the holiday season and helping Junie once her mom left.

Shuddering, with the pants in hand, I clicked off the flashlight and left it in its place before heading back through the door. Heat blasted my chilled skin. Grace stood in front of the fireplace, placing a sock next to the other on the floor in front of the hearth.

Which meant her toes were bare. Sure enough, they stuck out from the baggy bottoms of the flannel pants she currently held with one hand at her waist.

She looked adorable in my too-big clothes. I swept that thought away, but not quite as quickly as I probably should have. The memory of touching her mouth seared through all over again.

I pushed that away, too.

Not happening,I told the thought. Nothing like that could ever happen.

Why not?another thought replied.

I pictured Amy standing in front of that fireplace, warming her hands just like Grace did. I’d never brought my late wife here, though, so I wasn’t sure where the image came from.

“Here,” I said, needing to stop allowing my thoughts so much space. “Try these.”

Grace’s smile was beautiful. Sweet and almost shy.

“Thanks,” she said, taking them from me and disappearing back through the door.

She returned moments later, tucking her hair behind her ears. The sight of that twisted my insides, too.

Was there anything she did that didn’t capture every spec of my interest?

I needed something to do. Somewhere else to put my attention. My stomach growled, and Grace hugged a hand around her middle at almost the same moment.

“You hungry?” I asked, treading toward the kitchen and stopping to pick up the towel from off of the rug. A circular black scorch mark blared through the reddish-brown fibers.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked, following me over.

“My whole life,” I said, pulling out some of the fish I had stocked to eat over the holiday.

Grace stayed close, watching me. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I got it,” I said, pulling the frying pan off of its hook above the stove.

Then I pulled out the parmesan and thyme, and thinking again, ducked into the fridge for the butter. Meanwhile, I also readied some water to boil on the other unit.

Grace propped herself up on the cupboard beside the stove, and having her sit there made the need for conversation that much more prevalent. She was too close. It made me feel as though I were like that towel I’d used to put out the fire she’d caused.

I was fraying at the seams anytime she was around.

“I grew up here,” I said, keeping my attention on the fish as I laid it out into the pan and slathered the butter and seasonings on it. “So did my dad and his.”

“And Junie?” Grace added, bracing her hands on either side of her legs beside her.

I liked how casual she was. She acted like she was comfortable with me. Better still, she was easy to talk to.

“She grew up at the inn,” I said. “We’re not just cousins; we’ve been friends our whole lives.”

In fact, if Junie knew I was snowed in here with Grace, she was going to read all kinds of meaning into that.

Grace considered for a moment. The fish on the stove began to sizzle, filling my small kitchen with the scents of the spices I’d sprinkled on it.

“This is the little cottage in the painting back at the inn, isn’t it?” she asked. “Mm, that smells amazing.”

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