people keep telling me. But what kind of guy goes after a woman whose husband has been dead less than a year?”
Kaleb settled his sandwich on top of the flattened bag. “Did you know Roger lost his wife to cancer, too?”
“I knew he was married.” But beyond that...
“For thirty-five years.” Kaleb wiped his hands. “Everyone around here worried about him after Camille died. My mom said he looked like a dead man walking. Until he met your mother.”
Grace tossed the fry she’d been holding back into the bag. “Sometimes life really stinks.”
“Yep. The buffet line of life is notorious for throwing stuff on our plates that we don’t necessarily like.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean they’re not good for us, though. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?”
Staring at her handsome boss, who seemed to have the world at his feet, she puffed out a disbelieving laugh. “What could you possibly know about it?”
He narrowed his gaze on her, as though contemplating his response. “Far more than you might think.” He rounded the counter then, his expression intense, and lifted the left leg of his cargo pants.
“What are you—” At the sight of his prosthetic leg, her words and her heart skidded to a halt. “Oh, my.” She continued to look at the metal-and-hard-plastic contraption that went all the way above his knee. “I—I never would have guessed.”
She looked at him now. “What—”
“IED. Cost me four of my buddies and my leg.” He let the pant leg drop. “So don’t go acting like you’re the only one who’s been handed a raw deal. Because, sweetheart, I do know a little something about it.”
Grace would love nothing more than to go back to her campsite and lick her wounds. Next time, she needed to think twice before inviting someone else to her pity party.
In one swift, stealthy strike, her boss had put an end to her sulking. And yes, despite her strong desire to turn tail and run, Kaleb was still her boss. Despite their disagreements, she felt as though she could make a difference at Mountain View Tours.
Of course, that also meant she’d still be working with Roger, so she supposed she should put aside her preconceived notions and, at least, give the guy a chance.
Now here she stood in Mama and Roger’s cottage-style kitchen, feeling like a bit of a jerk. She hadn’t realized he’d lost his wife of thirty-five years. Probably because she never took the time to listen to anything her mother—or anyone else—had to say about him.
“What can I do to help, Mama?” She pushed up the long sleeves of her purple T-shirt and headed toward the farmhouse sink under the window to wash her hands.
“Why don’t you set the table while I finish with this salad.” Her mother rested the knife on the marble-topped island and wiped her hands on a dish towel before opening one of the white cupboards behind her.
“Silverware?”
“First drawer on the right.” Mama pointed with her elbow while pulling out a stack of plates. She set them on the counter. “We’ll eat in the dining room tonight.”
“Okay.” Eating utensils clasped in one hand, Grace reached for plain white plates with her other. “I think you gave me one too many.”
“No, I didn’t. The fourth one is for Kaleb. Roger thought it would be nice to invite him for dinner, too.”
Grace simply stood there, uncertain what to make of her mother’s sudden announcement. After all the head-butting she and Kaleb had done today.
“Oh, and place mats and napkins are in the drawer in the hutch.” Mama picked up her knife and continued slicing tomatoes. “Let’s go with the turquoise ones. Add a little color.”
Good thing Grace’s workday had ended on a positive note. Otherwise, seeing Kaleb tonight could prove to be even more awkward.
She moved into the dining room and set the plates and silverware on the table before searching for the linens. Not that it would be difficult. Mama always kept them in the right-hand drawer.
Turning toward the wall at the far end of the room, she vaguely recognized the tall piece of furniture whose glass case held Mama’s collection of pastel-colored Depression glass. The style of the piece was similar to the one Grace remembered growing up, except instead of the honey oak finish, this one was white.
She pulled the crystal knob to open the drawer on the right and gasped. It was the same piece. While the outside of the hutch had been painted, the inside of the drawer still bore hers and Lucy’s names. Names they’d written in permanent marker along the inside of the drawer. A move that had earned them both a stern scolding and a lengthy time-out.
Stepping back, she stared at the furniture piece, a bittersweet feeling leaching into her heart. She remembered the look of pure delight on her mother’s face the Christmas Daddy presented it to her. “You need a special place to display your collection,” he’d told her.
Grace thought it was the most beautiful, if not ginormous, thing she’d ever seen. Yet as she stared at it now, the hutch looked prettier than ever. Like a better version of itself.
A noise in the kitchen interrupted her reverie and stole her attention.
“Smells delicious.” Roger closed the door behind him, wiping his booted feet on the rug before making his way into the room. His arm snaked around her mother’s waist as he set a plastic grocery sack on the counter. He said something, though the words were too soft for Grace to hear. Whatever it was, though, made her mother giggle and had a blush creeping into her cheeks.
“Love words” were what she and Lucy used to call it when Daddy would whisper sweet nothings into Mama’s ear. Sometimes she would blush, sometimes not, but either way, Grace and Lucy knew it was an intimate conversation, meant only for Mama and Daddy.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Grace grabbed the place mats and napkins and returned her focus to the table.
“Hello, Grace.” Roger stood just on the other side of the doorway between the two rooms. “Glad you could make it.” Hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, he seemed to look everywhere but at her.
Just like she did when she was uncomfortable.
Could it be that Roger was as nervous about tonight as she was?
“Thank you for having me.” Hands shaking, she finished laying out the silverware, realizing she’d forgotten to grab another set. “You have a lovely home.”
“Yeah.” He moved closer, just enough to admire the dining room and adjoining living room. Both had that same cottage feel, lots of white furniture against dark hardwood floors and pale blue-gray walls. “Your mother’s quite the decorator.”
He’d let her mother redecorate? But this was his house.
“She
