He heard the murmur of conversation, registered kids jumping up and down at the prospect of a doughnut, but his eyes were on only Wynn. Would it be so weird for them to resurrect their friendship after all these years?
The boisterous family blew out as quickly as they’d come in. Wynn took a second to wipe the fingerprints off the glass and sat down beside him again, the friendly but distant smile firmly back in place. The moment of sharing whatever it had been was over. Which suited him because, honestly, it was a little embarrassing that he hadn’t gotten over his adolescent crush sometime in the last ten years. No wonder the barn cats were his best companions.
He finished off the second doughnut, which he’d intended to save for this afternoon, and took a swig from his mug. “So are you going to be filling in for your family members often?”
Wynn laughed. “Mercy, I hope not. I don’t know what I’m going to do, though.”
Latham took a breath and then thought, what could it hurt, since he’d already taken the awkward quotient through the roof? “Would you be interested in staying with Pop in the afternoons for a couple of weeks? His current caregiver had a family emergency.”
She blinked, and heat rushed his face. “I know it’s way below your pay grade... I shouldn’t even ask.”
“I’d love to.”
He narrowed his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“I really would, Latham. Your home is beautiful, and Pop is great. I think I’d like spending time with him.”
“Me, too, but...”
“Really, it’s my pleasure. I do have one request, though.” There was a suspicious gleam in her eye that made him laugh as she leaned in.
“Name it.”
“In lieu of payment, can we work out a trade?”
Latham relaxed back into his chair. “I’m a little scared of that look in your eye. What did you have in mind?”
She grinned. “I’m moving into the cottage at Red Hill Farm, which needs some work. I propose that I get to enjoy conversations with Pop in the afternoon and you help me with the cottage when you have time.”
“You’ve got a deal.” How much could she want to do at the cottage? It was only eight hundred square feet, tops. Either way, it worked out. He really needed someone at his place in the afternoons, and if he helped her with the cottage, he would get to spend time with her.
Win-win.
“You know, I totally got the better end of the deal here. I get to spend afternoons with Pop, which I will love, and I get free labor on the reno. Win-win for me.” She laughed, and her eyes, for the first time since he’d seen her, were shining.
And he knew in that second that he would’ve done anything she asked, just to make her smile. “If your family doesn’t have plans for you, I could meet you out there after church tomorrow and look it over.”
“Bring Pop to family lunch at the farm and we can check it out after we eat.”
“I’m gonna end up holding a couple of kids while they smear peanut butter on me, aren’t I?”
“I see you’ve been to family lunch before.” She grinned. “I feel like we should shake on it. I’m pretty sure you’re going to regret this deal.”
He laughed and took one last swig of his coffee as he stood. “Not a chance. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
But he took her outstretched hand, his eyes on hers. He swallowed hard when her eyes widened at the contact. She pulled away, busying herself clearing the table, and he sighed.
He may regret this deal, but not for the reasons she thought. He’d spent a long time getting over her when she left Red Hill Springs. He just hoped he could keep the past in the past where it belonged.
Wynn stood outside the attic door in her mom’s house. She’d been walking past it for weeks now, staring at the doorknob, wanting to go in, but not wanting to, just as much.
She shook her head at herself as her hand lingered over the knob. Who was this woman who didn’t have the courage to walk through a door? What happened to the little girl who punched a kid at Vacation Bible School because he was being a bully? Where was the little girl who believed in justice, even if it meant she’d be in timeout for the rest of the afternoon?
That little girl would have the courage to open a door. It was just a door.
She turned the knob and shoved it open, blinking at the swirl of dust in the warm air. Her studio had been the place she’d gone to, as a teenager, when things got rough or rocky. Or sad or happy or confusing.
Her mom hadn’t changed much, if anything, in the tiny room tucked into the eaves of the old house. Wynn’s paints were still haphazardly strewn on the desk and her easel held a small unfinished watercolor. She picked up the sketchbook from the top of a teetering stack of identical books. When had she lost the wonder she’d always had at the world around her?
Probably around the same time she stopped looking at her job as an opportunity to make things better for someone else and started looking at it as a career. She’d lost her ability to dream, to think of others besides herself. Worse, she’d lost her confidence in herself and her faith that God had a plan and kept His promises.
Somewhere along the way, she’d imagined that her plan was better.
Well, she could see how that turned out.
She’d like to blame Preston. And while he definitely shared the blame, it wasn’t all his fault. She was the one who’d let go of her morals and her beliefs. She was the one who replaced her dreams with his—until he replaced her in his life with the newer, prettier, more idealistic model.
Wynn slid her hand down around the very small, almost imperceptible curve of her belly, and whispered, “I promise I’ll do better.”
She had to. She had barely six months to figure out how.
The room was dusty, the paper she had painted on dry and curling at the edges. The whole space looked used up and ready for the trash bin. Fitting. That’s exactly how she felt.
Sweeping the pile of dried-up paints into the trash can, she tried to imagine that she was sweeping out the parts of her that she didn’t want anymore, the parts that didn’t work for her and could never be salvaged. Maybe it all just needed to go.
She caught her breath on a sob.
The watercolor paints—those she could keep. They were dried up and cracking with disuse but...they could be revived with a little tending.
Maybe the vibrant parts of her, the passionate, giving part of her, could be revived with a little tending. She would start by carrying her sketchbook and pencil in her bag again. For a long time, that sketchbook had served as a place for her to record her impressions, ideas and dreams.
Yes, her soul needed tending. The favorite part of what made her who she was had been sadly neglected.
The worst part is that if anyone had asked her as a high school senior if she would ever let a man get in the way of her priorities, she would’ve been so offended.
A slight knock sounded at the doorway to the small studio. Wynn scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. When she turned, her mom was standing in the opening.
“Hey. I wondered when you would come in here.”
“It’s been too long. Mom, I don’t know