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What a perfect Saturday afternoon in April—warm, but cool beneath the shade trees in the little rental’s yard. Birds sang in their branches, bouncing fresh-budded leaves as they flittered about. The world was coming to life again, healing from the death of winter. And Quinn was helping by planting pansies in the small flower beds split by the porch steps. Kneeling on her cushion, pulling weeds, and prepping the earth, she enjoyed the peace and waited for her plumber.
Monday nights came and went. Group was group with all the new friends she cared about—Nick, beautiful Nick, and Mrs. LaRue... Well, Mrs. LaRue would always be the same red-lipped lady she’d come to love. All this love being thrown about was nerve-racking. The more to love, the more to lose.
Once she had a section cleared, Quinn dug a hole and shook a purple pansy from its plastic starter tray. The smell of fresh-turned dirt awakened her senses, and the color brought out a desire to use the new pencil set and sketchbook she’d purchased from the local hobby store. She needed new brushes—she remembered which ones, but couldn’t bring herself to buy them. Although she couldn’t go back to her studio, sketching seemed to be good therapy. More doodles really, nothing serious.
With white and yellow pansies intermixed with her purple ones, she moved down a couple feet, scratched her nose with the back of her pink garden glove, and began clearing another section. The momentary flux of inspiration to create a thank you for Nick had ebbed away with Brendan’s things, and she’d tucked her watercolors away in a corner of her closet.
But these flowers would look great on a thick sheet of watercolor paper.
With more holes dug and more flowers planted, she moved down to the last section before she reached the steps. As Nick predicted, her house had sold within days, and the buyers even took most of the furniture. Their two precious boys, towheaded the both of them, loved the huge backyard and their walk-in closets that made perfect hideouts.
Their house’s purpose would be fulfilled. She wouldn’t dwell on the fact that it wouldn’t be her family fulfilling said purpose.
That was forever in her past.
She rocked back and sat on her heels, surveying her handiwork. The plants would grow, fill in the space, but even as they were, they brought new life to her new home. Little by little, the small rent house became hers—the flowers, red chairs for the front porch, new furniture mixed with the old, and the beloved family picture, slightly enlarged and in a new frame, on the living room wall.
It was all she had left of her life with Brendan, and with each passing day, it became more okay. Coming home to this house was easier. No memories, no shadows, nothing missing. Just a new place to begin again. A life alone. A safe life. One with more room to breathe.
Nick’s truck pulled into the driveway.
Prying her knees off the gardening cushion, she stood and curled her toes in the cool lawn. Her heart fluttered in a way it shouldn’t. In a way she didn’t want it to, but couldn’t stop, a way that sluiced along her veins. Her room to breathe slammed its door in her face.
Why was she always nervous when he came around? He only wanted to be friends and was holding up his end of the bargain. She could hold up hers. She would hold up hers. No reason she couldn’t control her heart flutters at the sight of a pretty face.
There. She’d admitted he was good looking.
Claire would gloat.
Quinn rolled her eyes and stepped onto the sidewalk. He smiled the famous Nick smile as he stepped out of the truck and went to the back for his tools and a sack from the builders’ supply. “Hey, the place is looking great.”
“Thanks for volunteering to fix the sink.”
“Not a problem. No reason your dad should hire it done when I can fix it.”
“I wouldn’t make it a habit.” She peeled her gloves off her sweaty hands. “He’ll have you fixing everything.”
When he met her at the foot of the steps, she took the sack. His tanned muscles bulged under the weight of his tool bag, his tight gray tee stretched over them. He leaned in close, forcing her gaze to twitch to his. “I don’t mind.”
Her insides danced as she nodded toward the door. “Come on in. I’ll get you a glass of tea.”
The ice in the glass rattled as she delivered it to the guest bathroom. He took a healthy drink, then crawled half under the sink with a towel cushioning his back. She sat cross-legged on the brown marbled tile, handing him tools and holding the light while he tinkered on the old pipes. They settled into familiar conversation, and soon the job was done.
He turned the sink on, checked underneath for leaks, then shut it off. “I should’ve been a plumber.”
“You don’t show enough crack.”
His head jerked in her direction. “You were looking?”
She sucked in a breath and frogged him on the arm. He feigned pain.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
Laughing, but hiding her eyes from his, she prodded him toward the bathroom door. He grabbed his tool bag and chuckled.
She had looked. Several times. And not just today. How could she not? He was pretty to look at.
She followed him back to his truck. Him stopping every few steps, and her running into him, shoving to keep him going, keeping her gaze on anything other than his backside. It was nice to have him to laugh with.
Tools hefted into the truck bed, he kicked a heel up onto the tire, a glimmer in his eye, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Let’s go for ice cream.”
“Again? If you’re not careful, you will develop a plumber’s crack.”
“Come on. You owe me. I just fixed your sink.”
“Wait. I’m paying for this? You’re the one who invited me.”
“Are you sure? We seem a bit iffy on that subject.”
She got up in his face with a finger on his chest, his knee by her hip. “I remember who invited who. But, yes, I’ll pay.”
“Then it’s a date.”
Her breath caught. The smiles faded from both their lips, but her heart continued to beam. She stepped back into her comfort zone. There was no way. No way on God’s green earth he’d just asked her out.
The sunlight emitting from the cracks on her heart’s surface wanted to be free. Could she fight it? Did she want to?
Nick deflated, his glimmer fading out. He dropped his foot down to the concrete. “And we were having such a great time. I didn’t mean to make things weird. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
She poked her hands into her back pockets in an effort not to reach out to him and sighed a laugh. “Things are always weird between us.” And she was having a hard time discerning what to do. “But maybe we should take a rain check.”
His eyes full of regret, he backed toward his door. “Cash it in, Quinn.”
She shrugged, not letting her smile dissipate. “Maybe I will.”
And maybe she would. But not tonight.
A glimmer of hope returned to his expression. He nodded with a half-hearted wink and opened his truck door. Her chest tightened as he climbed inside. She didn’t want him to go, but couldn’t get her numb arms to stop him from leaving.
Her heart broke a little. Could it still do that?
He drove away. She went back into the house, leaving her plants and garden tools where they lay.
She worried about him all evening, not being able to sit long but tired of pacing. Wanted to text, but didn’t know what to say. Silly girl. She should’ve laughed it off and gone to get ice cream. How many uncomfortable moments had they been through? Couldn’t she get through one more?
But that word.
Shortly after nine, her ever-faithful friend sent a text to apologize again and make sure she was all right. She should’ve known he would.
With a slight grin and the tension leaving her, she propped herself on the couch and replied with a winking emoji, a promise all was well, and she’d see him Monday night.
She glanced at her sketchbook and Prismacolors set on the coffee table, reached over, and pulled them to the couch. Lying on her stomach, she chose the lilac pencil and opened the book to a blank page.
On Monday, they’d spend time together like they always did. She prayed the evening wouldn’t be one big ball of awkward. Their chart didn’t have much more room for tick marks.
