Page 160 of The Nanny and the Hothead
He reached into his pocket and removed the ceramic orange heart, and his flesh and blood heart shuddered.
How the hell would he explain to Oscar what had happened?
And what would his son do without Charlotte?
He couldn’t let his mind go there. The only saving grace was that the kid was at camp, blissfully unaware thatagainanother person he’d loved would be gone.
Mitch closed his fist around the heart. He’d been plagued with a tornado of questions. But he kept coming back to one.
Why didn’t she tell him the truth about the workshop?
The queries whirled in his mind as a gut-wrenching pain churned in his belly. He opened his hand and stared at the orange ceramic heart. It was as if the object held everything he missed about the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. And God help him, couldn’t stop loving.
He gritted his teeth, raised his arm, pulled back, then hurled the heart into the creek. The second it broke the surface, he gasped, comprehending the stupidity of his actions. He kicked off his shoes and sprinted toward the rocky bank. Scaling the muddy incline, he scanned the shallow waters for a flash of bright orange. And thank Christ, he spotted it! He treaded into the cold water, sucking in a tight breath as an icy jolt shocked his system. But the shock was countered by a flood of relief as he plucked the bright orange object from the creek bottom. He pressed the heart to his chest—thinking of Oscar, thinking of Charlotte. Common sense would tell a person to get out of the frigid waters. But he stood there as the creek gurgled around his calves. “What the hell are you doing?” he whispered, drying off the heart with the corner of his shirt when a voice cut through the air.
“It’s a lot easier with a fishing pole,” a man called.
Startled, Mitch lost his footing on the slick rocks and fell onto his ass. The cool waters saturated his pants. In the melee, he dropped the ceramic heart into the water again, then scrambled to find it again before turning to get a better look at the person who’d snuck up on him.
“What are you doing? Throwing rocks at fish? Are you crazy?” the man pressed.
Mitch had to marinate on that one.Was he crazy?That was the question he’d been asking himself for the last seventy-two hours.
“Here, let me give you a hand.” The man traversed the creek bank, edging his way down. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and overalls, and something was oddly familiar about him.
Mitch shielded his eyes to get a better look. Holy shit! He recognized the guy. “Mr. Applebaum?” he blurted as the gentleman offered him his hand. It had been close to a decade since he’d seen the Colorado apple farmer who also produced the apple butter that he used in the Signature Louise sandwiches.
“Hello, Mitch!” the man exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I’m sorry I snuck up on you,” he continued, helping him to his feet.
The men ambled up the side of the creek, and Mitch checked the ceramic heart. It was still intact without a scratch on it—thank God! He dried it with the collar of his shirt, the only part of his clothing that wasn’t dripping wet.
“Why are you throwing orange hearts into the creek?” the farmer asked.
And that was the million-dollar question. What was he doing with his heart?
“I honestly don’t know what I’m doing,” he answered on a weary sigh, then met the old farmer’s hazel gaze. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Applebaum, but why are you here?”
He picked up a jar from the ground and held it up. “I stopped by to drop off some apple butter for Holly and Oscar.”
He looked away, not sure how to break the news. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Holly passed away a few months ago.”
The man pressed his hand to his chest as shock marred his expression. “Dead? She was so young. What happened?”
“She had a stroke. It happened suddenly.”
“And how’s her boy?” the farmer pressed.
Emotion thickened in Mitch’s throat. “He’s coping with it.”
Mr. Applebaum shook his head. “That’s a shame. You hear about young folks passing away, and it makes you want to live every day to the fullest. Can’t take anything for granted. She was a lovely lady. She certainly adored her son and always had a kind word for you.”
The man wasn’t wrong. Still, he was surprised to hear Holly had spoken of him. He’d barely been able to look at her when he’d come to visit Oscar, let alone make idle chitchat. It cut too deep.
“Did you see Holly often? Your farm is quite a ways from here, north of the city, if I remember correctly?” Mr. Applebaum would drop by the community center to donate fresh produce and apple butter from time to time. When he, Seth, and Holly had started Say Cheese, Louise, the man had gifted them with a case of apple butter. Guilt twinged in his chest. He’d been so wrapped up in his pain and anger, he hadn’t reached out to the man in years—a man who’d shown them genuine kindness.
“It was always a pleasure visiting with Holly and Oscar. My sister and her family live in Telluride. My wife and I come down a few times a year. We ran into Holly—must have been three years ago. She’d moved here with her boy, and we saw them in town. Oscar is a fan of the apple butter, so I always bring her a few jars whenever we’re here. I can’t believe she’s gone. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Mitch nodded. “No one expected it.”
