Page 15 of Sweet Caroline
That’s the kind of guy I always expected would be right for me, anyway. A man who would effortlessly impress my parents, hold his own rubbing shoulders with politicos, and—hopefully—be easy on the eyes. The kind of man I’ve always been steered toward.
Have I ever even let myself entertain the idea of a man who didn’t fit that mold?
I turn the knob for the front burner and, in a few clicks, the flames jump to life.
“There she is!” Grandpa’s rough voice cuts into my thoughts. “Don’t suppose you’ve got enough in there for two cups of tea?”
“I do,” I say over my shoulder as I pull open a cupboard. “I’ll get another mug.”
“How was work?” he asks as he slowly makes his way toward his usual spot at the kitchen table. “Those stuffed shirts give you any grief?” He stashes his walker nearby and slowly lowers into his chair.
“They’re hardly stuffed shirts, Grandpa,” I say, sitting down beside him. “It’s an art gallery, not an insurance company.”
He gives me a shrewd look. At ninety-two, he’s as sharp and observant as ever, and I know he’s shared my frustrations with the direction at the gallery.
“Actually, I’ve been mulling over some new ideas for events. I was gonna brainstorm tonight—maybe draft a sort of proposal.” Ipause, remembering my plan to stay in my lane and keep my curatorial suggestions to myself. Maybe if I wow Julian with a few successful events, he’ll be open to more of my ideas. “Sunny’s in my corner, but I’m not sure Julian will consider looking at it.”
“Well, he’d be a fool not to!” Grandpa places a weathered hand on my arm. “It’s about time someone breathed a bit of life into that place, kiddo. They need it, and you’re the best person to do it.”
I smirk, both amused and flattered by the unwavering faith he’s always had in me.
When I was growing up, it was my grandparents who showed up to cheer me on at every school play, swim meet, and dance recital. My biggest fan and cheerleader, Grandpa never blinked at the hour-long drive into the city. And he’d always make sure he and Grandma stopped by a bakery on the way to buy me a cookie, saying I deserved a treat for trying my best.
“I am?” I ask. “How do you figure?”
Grandpa shrugs, his tone matter-of-fact when he says, “Well, you’ve done it here already, haven’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re an old charmer, you know that?”
He winks, only proving my point.
Grandpa’s been on the gallery’s board of directors since the place opened over two decades ago—well before Julian and Sunny took the reins a few years back—and he’d urged me to apply for the event planning job when I first moved to Lennox. After all, I had the perfect credentials: I’ve loved art and design my whole life, minored in art history in college, and was the de facto event planner for my father for years—never mind the business experience I got through Found Family. It really was an ideal match. After Grandpa put in an enthusiastic word with the Gareth Mason board, the job basically fell into my lap.
The kettle starts to whistle, and I stand to make the tea, glancing at the clock. “Sadie should be here soon.”
“Good! I’ve reached an impasse with my crossword puzzle.”
Grandpa’s health care aide comes to the house a few times a week to help him with physical therapy exercises and various other tasks he finds challenging on his own. She’s a puzzle wizard; the two of them have a friendly rivalry about which of them is better at crosswords. “Maybe she knows an eight-letter word that starts with S fordormant or immobile.”
I search my brain as I fill our mugs, steam winding around my wrist as the little pillowed tea bags bob upward. “Stagnant?”
Grandpa slaps the table so hard I almost drop the spoon in my hand.
I turn to him with wide eyes and find him inspecting the folded crossword puzzle he’s pulled from his walker basket.
“Stagnant!” He grins up at me, fishing out a stubby pencil from his sweater pocket. “Brilliant girl. You’re gonna give Sadie a run for her money.”
I finish making the tea and take our mugs over to the table.
“Thank you, darling,” he says.
Stagnant.I roll the word around in my head. Life in Seattle had been exactly that. After years of chasing my father’s approval, I’d felt burnt out and trapped. And my relationship with Fletcher—even before I’d discovered his cheating—wasn’t much better. We may have officially called it off last month, but we were just going through the motions long before that. We barely talked. Had forgettable sex.
That apathy was why I’d been so reluctant to set a wedding date. We were a practical match, but something always felt off. I’d never been sure what it was—or what I was hoping might change. It turned out, I couldn’t reason my way out of what was wrong between us. Fletcher had never really loved or respected me. I’d been his ticket to my father’s inner circle. Arm candy. Social currency.
My move to Lennox Valley had driven the wedge between usdeeper. Sure, we’d done the long-distance thing—he was always traveling for work, anyway, so it wasn’t a stretch—but the time apart had only made it clear: distance wasn’t a hardship. The cheating shouldn’t have been that surprising to me, in hindsight.
“I’m gonna take this to my room and work on my proposal,” I tell Grandpa, stooping to plant a kiss on his cheek.
