haven’t eaten yet, and my morning appointment has cancelled today. Doctor’s appointment. You hungry?”
“I guess.”
“Great.” He reached beneath the cupboard and plunked an appliance on the countertop.
“What on earth is that?”
“A griddle. I’m making French toast. I told you it’s my specialty.”
Her mouth began to water. “Real French toast? Like dipped in egg batter and drowned in maple syrup?”
“Of course. And bacon to go with it.”
Sweet mother—bacon, too? She’d be as big as a house after ten days of eating this way—first Anna’s fine cooking and now Blake’s. “I love bacon.”
“Then you’re in charge of that.” He grabbed a pound from the fridge and got her a frying pan. “Cook it all. I’ll use what’s left for BLTs later.”
They worked around the kitchen easily, Hope turning the bacon and putting the crisp pieces to drain on paper towel while Blake mixed up milk and eggs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him add vanilla and cinnamon. The first slice of French bread soon sizzled on the griddle, and as it cooked Blake got real maple syrup out of the fridge, along with butter and orange juice. When the slices were done he put them in the oven to stay warm and repeated the process.
When all the bread was gone and the bacon was cooked, they sat down at the kitchen table to eat. The earth was frozen and white outside the windows, but inside Hope was warm and relaxed. There really was something about this place. The dominance of natural wood in the design and the rustic decor was growing on her, and her new favorite thing was the stone hearth and the flue for the fireplace.
It was about as far removed from her modern apartment in Sydney as you could get, but there was something here that her apartment would never have. She looked around and realized it was permanence—rock and logs and land. This place was built to last. The people here stayed here. The reality of that was foreign to Hope, but the dream wasn’t. It was what she’d searched for her whole childhood and never found.
She’d given up believing in it, but Blake lived it every day. She wondered if he appreciated it.
And yet...his parents weren’t here. They’d gone off to warmer climes and sunnier days. There was no wife, no babies bouncing on his knee. Maybe Hope was only seeing what she wanted to see. She certainly had a habit of doing that. How many times over the years had she painted castles in the air only to have them tumble back to earth again?
How many times had she put her trust in people only to have them let her down?
He turned on the radio and a local station played country music interspersed with Christmas carols. Hope poured syrup on her toast and took the first delicious bite. When was the last time she’d had French toast? Probably the last time she’d had breakfast at the pancake house in Beckett’s Run. She’d always put maple syrup on the first piece, and then load the second with icing sugar and whipped cream and fruit for “dessert.”
Good memories. She took a hasty sip of juice to hide an unexpected burst of emotion. So many of her memories were tied up in anger and disappointment that it was a revelation to have such a simple, positive one pop up out of the blue.
“What are you smiling at?” Blake asked, helping himself to bacon off the plate.
She cut another piece of toast, savouring the rich vanilla and cinnamon flavor. “I was just remembering going to the pancake house in the town where Gram lives. She’d take us there when we were kids and we’d eat until we were nearly sick. This brought back memories, that’s all.”
“You spent a lot of time with your grandmother?”
She nodded as she finished chewing and swallowed. “We moved around a lot as kids, but we spent holidays and summers at Gram’s. That’s the real home I remember.”
“What about your mom and dad?”
She shrugged, determined not to let things get dark and depressing. It was what it was, and nothing would change it now. “They were on again, off again a lot. My mom’s a free spirit type, and my dad’s more...traditional,” she finished. “For lack of a better word. He always wanted her to settle down and face reality. She wanted him to lighten up. There was a lot of friction. They went their own ways a lot.”
“But...?”
Explaining her family dynamic had always been a challenge. “But they usually tried again. It was pretty confusing. Hard on my younger sisters, mostly, I think. Faith was shy and didn’t say much, and Grace tended to act out for attention.”
“And you?”
She put down her fork and picked up her coffee, half hiding behind the cup and curls of steam. “Oh, me,” she said easily. Perhaps too easily to be believable. “I tried to help where I could.”
Which was the grandest understatement of the century. She’d tried to provide the stability that the three girls had been missing. And, as much as she’d understood her mom’s need to spread her wings, she’d wished in the deepest corners of her heart that her dad would come and sweep them all home and tell Lydia that this was enough nonsense.
She’d wanted them to be a regular family. Desperately.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he observed softly.
She cleared her throat and busied herself cutting into her breakfast. “Never mind,” she said briskly. “Look, Blake. I’ve seen the kids that you work with all week. I could boo-hoo about my past all I want, but the truth is, I’ve never had to deal with what those kids and parents are dealing with. I just need to get over myself, and that’s that.”
His wide hand closed over hers and the fork stilled. “That is easier said than done, and I know it.”
She stared at his fingers, at the way they completely dwarfed her hand, how strong they felt wrapped around her skin, and before she could think about what a bad idea it was she turned her wrist so that her hand rolled and their fingers clasped together.
Not just a gesture of comfort now, but a real, honest-to-goodness physical link between them, and Hope felt it clear to her toes.
His thumb rubbed against her wrist, warm and reassuring, and she made no effort to pull away. Just another few moments. It felt so good to feel like a part of something, even if it was as simple as holding hands at a breakfast table. She’d been alone a long time. By choice, but alone just the same.
“You got over yourself,” she reminded him. “You didn’t let your accident stop you.”
His fingers tightened on hers. “Didn’t I? There were a lot of years between the injury and starting this place. I felt plenty sorry for myself. Plenty guilty.”
“Guilty?” Hope looked up into his face. “What on earth did you have to feel guilty about?”
His eyes were the saddest she’d seen them as he said, “My brother was in the car, too. He didn’t make it.”
