CHAPTER
Fourteen

Willow Bradford considered herself to be an accomplished hostess.

She was probably the least talkative Bradford sister, but luckily for her, you didn’t have to be extraordinarily talkative to host a good party. You simply had to be skilled at planning, at introducing people, and at keeping the food, drinks, and conversation flowing. Those things, she excelled at.

Willow stood on Bradfordwood’s back patio, assessing with satisfaction the scene that awaited Grandma’s party guests.

She and her sisters would have appreciated a rustic/chic party. That type of party would have suited the outdoor summertime setting perfectly, but it wouldn’t have suited Grandma. “Rustic” would have confounded the older woman. Margaret Elizabeth Burke appreciated formality.

So, after much thought, Willow had decided to derive her party inspiration from the pair of pearl earrings Grandma wore every day. She’d chosen an elegant white-on-ivory color scheme. Because the weather had been gracious enough to cooperate with her hopes—thank you, Lord—the party rental company had arranged round tables on the brick terrace behind Bradfordwood. She’d selected linens and plates in hues of white. Pearl napkin rings. White hydrangea centerpieces. Numerous votive candles in silvery holders. Every tablecloth, fork, glass, and hydrangea petal was in place.

She’d rented dozens of white lanterns of various heights and shapes and filled them with flickering LED lights. Some of the lanterns lined the edges of the patio. Some stood at the French doors that marked the boundary between the interior and exterior of the house. Many more lanterns hung from the branches of the trees bordering the terrace.

Thin strips of gauzy clouds striated the blue sky, and the air was just beginning to take on that gilded, late-afternoon quality. Beyond the terrace, the emerald swath of lawn swept like a carnival slide down the acres that separated the house from the Hood Canal.

She’d talked Grandma into a sit-down dinner that started at seven o’clock, despite the fact that Grandma typically ate no later than five fifty. The guests were invited to arrive anytime between six and seven—which meant that Grandma’s early-bird friends could be expected to appear at any moment. Willow checked the time. Five forty.

Willow made her way inside and spotted Nora in the living room near the fireplace, pinning a corsage to Grandma’s blue raw silk coat while Grandma grumbled.

Willow paused for a moment, struck by the picture Nora presented. The Enhancing of Nora was complete, and Willow had enjoyed it so much that she was almost sad that it was over. Watching Nora’s transformation had been sweeter than watching the best renovation show HGTV had to offer because it had been happening to Nora. Her Nora. Who deserved it. Who’d basically retreated to a cave of her own making after Harrison broke up with her.

They’d shopped for Nora’s dress together. A pale blue strapless bodice and wide skirt formed the dress’s base. On top of that rested a sheer, intricately embroidered overlay that added a scalloped neckline and three-quarter sleeves to the top half of the dress and additional detail to the bottom half. The vintage flair of it suited Nora, as did the golden high heels, complete with decorative bows over the toes that Willow had insisted upon. All of it, the whole package, absolutely worked. So much so, it was hard not to congratulate herself a little.

The doorbell rang. Taking a bracing breath, Willow hurried forward to answer it.

Guests arrived in a steady stream. The conversational volume rose. Drinks were poured. A respectable portion of the prosciutto-and-melon skewers, shrimp cocktail, and crispy veggie egg roll appetizers were eaten.

Britt kept an eye on the food. Nora helped people find the bathroom and their name on the list of assigned tables. Willow remained in the front part of the house, greeting guests as they arrived.

Thirty minutes before dinner was scheduled to begin, Willow made her way through the downstairs rooms and terrace to take a quick head count. She expected sixty and was only missing a few.

She rounded the corner from the living room into the central hall on her way back to the foyer. Her face lifted—

Her steps immediately cut off.

Terrible, terrible surprise clenched her heart.

Two men had just entered. They were both tall, athletic, and handsome. Both wore expensive, well-cut suits and ties.

But only one of them had broken her heart.

The old bitterness, misery, and fury came rushing back, causing her pulse to pound. What in the world was he doing here? This was her house. Her territory. Private property! She’d never wanted to see him again in her lifetime, and until this moment she’d felt confident in her ability to achieve that goal.

Shock paled his chiseled face. Clearly, he was as appalled to see her as she was to see him.

Corbin Stewart. Here. She wanted to shove him hard in the chest and tell him to leave. She was a famously composed person. Of all men, however, he was the one who had the power to break that composure like a brittle stick between his hands.

Only if you give him that power, Willow.

Every good model knew how to perform for the camera. She’d had years of practice at looking into lenses and communicating desire or boredom, amusement or questioning inquiry. With effort, she called on her experience, channeling both calm and indifference. She stood tall in the simply cut teal sheath dress she’d chosen for the evening and approached them, her high heels rapping against the hardwood floors.

The man standing beside Corbin must be John, Nora’s Navy SEAL. She’d been expecting John, and she’d known he was bringing a guest. Of all the people on earth, this was the friend John had chosen to bring?

She gave John a smile she did not feel in any corner of herself. “Hi, I’m Willow. Nora’s sister.”

“I’m John Lawson. This is my friend, Corbin Stewart. Do . . .” He looked back and forth between them. “Do you two already know each other?”

Clearly John had noticed the painful clang of recognition that had passed between her and Corbin. “We do,” Willow said.

“We dated once,” Corbin told John.

Corbin’s voice was agonizingly familiar to her. She lifted her chin a fraction and did her best to concentrate on John, though it was hard to ignore the huge, glowering presence of one of the NFL’s most successful former quarterbacks. “It didn’t end well,” she said.

John winced. “Nora asked me to bring a friend.”

“I didn’t know this was your family’s party,” Corbin stated, voice flat.

“This is your first time to come to the house?” John asked him.

“Yes.”

“When we dated,” Willow said stiffly to John, “I lived in LA, and he lived in Dallas. We didn’t date for very long, so there was never a reason for him to come to Washington to meet my family.”

Animosity filled the silence.

“Ah,” John said.

Corbin said nothing.

“How do you two know each other?” Willow asked John.

“We met a few years ago at a charity golf event. We were paired together on the course. Who else was in our foursome, Corbin? I can’t remember now.”

“A couple of rich businessmen.”

“That’s right,” John said, his tone relaxed. He was obviously trying to bring his buddy and himself back to less awkward ground. “Corbin came to Seattle about a month ago to have his shoulder operated on.”

Willow already knew this information. She hadn’t watched Corbin’s press conference back in March—she wasn’t a masochist—but she’d been unable to avoid learning that he’d announced his retirement. Both the career-ending shoulder injury he’d suffered in his final game and his subsequent retirement had made national news. He’d undergone his second surgery in Seattle because Dr. Wallace, America’s most renowned orthopedic surgeon, was based there.

“After the surgery, when he came to Shore Pine, he called me,” John said. “I live in Shore Pine, so we’ve been hanging out.”

With effort, Willow made herself meet Corbin’s eyes. The power of it resonated all the way down her body, as if she were a tuning fork. “Why did you come to Shore Pine after the surgery?”

“Dr. Wallace has a rehab center there.”

It disoriented her to look at Corbin again after four years. He was a complete stranger and simultaneously someone she knew intimately.

He still kept his hair shaved close to his scalp. It was the exact color, a brown caught between mahogany and auburn, that it had been when they were together. His dark eyes were the same, except that they’d once glowed with tenderness for her and were now frozen over with coldness. The muscles defining his six-foot-three frame were distributed so perfectly that when you saw him in pictures or on TV, you didn’t have an inkling of how large and solid he was in person.

When she’d known him, the driven, hardworking quarterback side of him had been balanced by an easygoing, charming, humorous demeanor off the field. Tonight, there was no humor in him at all.

“Had you heard about the rehab center in Shore Pine?” John asked her.

She glanced at him. “No, I hadn’t.”

“Dr. Wallace built it about a year and a half ago. It’s state of the art.”

“I see.” She wished Corbin had chosen a state-of-the-art rehab center in Dallas, where he lived.

A version of Bogart’s line from Casablanca slid through her mind. Of all the homes, in all the towns, in all the world, he walked into mine.

“Can I get you something to drink before dinner?” Willow motioned to the back of the house and the mingling guests.

“That’s not necessary,” Corbin said. “I can leave.”

“There’s no need. What happened between us is ancient history.” Willow did her best to say the last smoothly. What had happened between them might be ancient history, but it still bothered her. It was usually a low-level type of bother. However, being confronted with him made the pain big and fresh all over again. She gave him an expression that said, I can handle this fine. Can you?

“Okay,” Corbin said grimly.

She escorted them to the bar, then sailed outside. Each round table sat eight. At her table, she, her sisters, their cousin, the post office worker Evan, Zander, and John had place cards announcing their names in calligraphy. No card waited at Corbin’s place because they hadn’t known who John was bringing. Nora and Britt had been adamant about seating her next to John’s guest, so that was how she’d arranged things. Unknowingly, she’d positioned Corbin Stewart right next to her.

She refused to sit next to that man during dinner. Surreptitiously, she slid her cousin Rachel’s place card in front of the plate next to Corbin’s, then sat herself a safe distance away, next to Evan.

“Changing the seating plan?” Nora came to a stop beside Willow.

“Yes.” Willow’s heart continued to beat as fast as a rabbit’s. “John’s here.”

“Oh?” Nora’s face lit up.

“He brought Corbin Stewart as his guest.”

Nora’s eyes rounded. “What? No!”

Almost a month had passed since Nora had seen John. They’d gone to Blakeville in early June, and now the electronic calendar on her smartphone had glided into early July.

Not a day had gone by during that time that Nora hadn’t thought about him and missed him and wished, painfully, to see him. She’d been fairly certain during the past month that she’d never get that chance again. It had been agonizing to think that her parting glimpse of him, standing on his deck alongside Allie, was the last glimpse she’d ever get.

Then his out-of-the-blue text had ended the separation between them. The text after that, the one informing her that he and Allie had broken up, had turned Nora’s world from black and white into Technicolor.

Never could she remember anticipating something as keenly as she’d been looking forward to seeing John tonight. Not even when she’d counted down the days until Christmas as a child or when she and her sisters had packed for their long-planned trip to Bali or when she and Harrison had set a date for their wedding.

All day today she’d been swinging between hoping that John might be interested in dating her to firmly reminding herself that she shouldn’t place any unrealistic expectations on him. He’d never told her he felt romantically toward her. . . . But that could be because he’d had a girlfriend. Nothing in his recent text messages had indicated he felt romantically toward her, either. . . . But that could be because he wanted to see her first, let things progress slowly, then tell her himself.

Arrgh!

After spending a few minutes with Willow, doing her best to put out the unexpected fire that Corbin’s appearance had lit, Nora made her way toward the house. Self-consciously, she adjusted one of her sleeves.

She loved this dress with unreasonable fervor. Its lines were understated, yet the decoration at the neck and hem was so lavish that she’d never have chosen it for herself no matter how enchanting. What? So fancy? I’ll call too much attention to myself!

Willow had talked her into buying it, and once again, Willow had been right. This dress was all whimsy and beauty. It made her think of galloping horses and secret gardens and great loves.

She paused inside the French doors. Nervousness and anticipation coursed through her bloodstream as she scanned the den full of people for—

There.

John stood at the bar, his attention on Corbin as the two men talked.

He wasn’t made of fairy-tale stuff and her imagination; he was real and he was actually here. Flesh and blood John was standing inside her childhood home, bounded by people and surroundings she knew very, very well. Emotion—elation and wonder and worry and gratitude—clutched so hard within her, she almost wanted to cry.

Almost. She wouldn’t let herself because goodness, what would he think if he looked over and saw her crying?

He wore a sleek charcoal suit, a simple white shirt, and a pale gray tie. His cheeks were clean shaven. His hair gleamed with a trace of dampness. He projected his trademark dragon-slaying confidence.

Nora started toward him. When she was about halfway there, he turned and their gazes met.

She smiled, fireworks of joy detonating inside.

He walked toward her and when they were a few feet apart, opened his arms to her. She stepped immediately into his embrace.

It was a friendly hug, the kind of hug people often share when greeting one another after time apart. Only she’d never hugged John before. In a friendly manner or in any other manner. Sensations flooded her mind. His strong hold. His warmth. The smell of his soap. A feeling of destiny.

Longing suffused her and . . . oh no. The moisture she’d contained moments before pooled in her eyes.

“It’s really good to see you,” he said, his voice slightly gravelly.

“It’s really good to see you, too.”

Go away, tears! Oh, dear.

They stepped apart. Nora instantly bent and made a show of adjusting the strap on her shoe in order to give herself a moment to regain full control. She would not be caught crying during their reunion as if she were a child who’d been handed a long-lost stuffed animal. So here I am, John, correcting the fit of my shoe. No biggie. This is completely normal of me.

Her skirt swished into place as she rose.

He regarded her with an uneven smile, as if entertained by her, as if glad to see that she was still as quirky as ever.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“I do?”

“Yes.”

She knotted her hands at her waist. “Thank you. So do you.”

“I don’t wear a suit that often these days.”

“That’s an unpardonable shame.”

His brows lifted. “Did you just say unpardonable?”

“I did.” They held each other’s eye contact. Pleasure at being together again flowed between them.

He gestured in Corbin’s direction. “Did your sister tell you that I brought her ex-boyfriend?”

Nora nodded.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. Don’t worry about it.”

“We can leave—”

“No.” Gracious, no. “It’s all right. Willow is the most well-mannered person I know. She’ll be able to handle having Corbin here.”

John introduced Nora to Corbin, and the two of them exchanged small talk. Nora wasn’t a football fan. Who had time to watch football when there were so many fantastic books in the world yet unread? Nonetheless, Corbin’s face was familiar to her both because of his fame and because Willow had sent pictures of the two of them to the family, back when they’d been dating.

It had always been easy for Nora to dislike the men who’d broken up with Willow or Britt. Especially if they’d done so in a hurtful way. She’d been actively disliking Corbin for years on Willow’s behalf. Now that he’d shown up at Bradfordwood as John’s friend, though, she decided to suspend her disapproval until after the party.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Britt said, taking up a position behind the bar next to the overworked bartender Willow had hired. Britt’s dark hair hung free in loose waves. She wore an Indian-print maxi dress in jewel tones.

“This is my younger sister, Britt,” Nora said to John and Corbin.

“I was there with Nora the day of the emergency drill,” Britt told John. “I got soaked right along with her, thanks to your office sprinklers.”

John’s features registered recognition. “That’s right. You were the one who had the sense to leave when I opened the office door.”

She grinned. “That was me.”

“I’d like you to meet Corbin Stewart,” John said, indicating his friend.

Britt’s lips parted. She stared at Corbin. “No kidding.”

“No,” Corbin said wryly.

“This is who you brought to the party?” Britt asked John. “Corbin Stewart?”

“This is who I brought,” he confirmed.

Britt laughed. “Awesome. Every party needs at least one good villain.”

“Hey,” Corbin protested.

“Have you seen Willow?” Britt asked Corbin.

“Yeah. She . . . met us at the door.”

“And she let you stay?”

“Yes.”

“I underestimated her abilities as a hostess. I knew she was good. But to let you stay?” Britt whistled. “She’s better than I thought.”

Corbin narrowed his eyes and cut a disgruntled look in John’s direction. He was one of the greatest players in the history of the NFL. No doubt he was usually adored by everyone.

“What can I get you?” Britt asked. “Despite that Jesus himself turned water into wine, my grandmother believes that alcohol is unchristian. So we have virgin sangria, Arnold Palmers, and virgin peach daiquiri punch.”

“An Arnold Palmer, please,” Corbin said.

Britt went to work fixing Corbin’s drink and simultaneously peppering him with questions.

“Meet you at the table?” John murmured to Corbin.

“If I survive her inquisition,” Corbin murmured back.

John motioned for Nora to precede him outside.

———

This past month, John’s memory of Nora had been powerfully clear. So it surprised him that the real Nora was much prettier, even, than his memory of her.

When he’d seen her across the room just now, the sight of her had struck him like a crashing wave. He still felt dazed.

She led him outside toward one of the short, cement-topped brick walls that ran outward along both edges of the terrace, forming makeshift benches. They sat, and she angled her crossed knees toward him.

This was the first time John had ever seen her with her hair down. Her hair was darker, maybe, than it had been before and much softer looking. The old styles had been tight and hair-sprayed. Now the strands brushed against the tips of her shoulders, distracting him, making him want to run a finger along the upper line of her shoulder.

Long, dark lashes framed her brown eyes, and she must be wearing pale pink lip gloss, because every time it caught the light it sparkled.

What was the matter with him? Quit staring at her lips, John.

He’d come to this party for just one reason.

Her.

Being here with her made every minute of the past month worthwhile. The pull between the two of them hadn’t lessened. It was still there, mysterious and forceful, and it steadied him. For the first time in weeks, it was as if the earth had found its level beneath his feet. He wasn’t home alone with his depressing future. He was here, with Nora.

Problem was, she was gazing at him as if she believed him to be a hero, which filled him with a guilty sense of his own selfishness. She didn’t know the full truth. He needed to tell her about his vision.

“Catch me up on what’s been going on with you,” she said.

“I’d rather hear what’s been going on with you.”

“I asked you first.”

He told her about New York and Maine and some of the things they’d been working on at Lawson Training. She told him about her sisters and her parents in Africa and her efforts to prepare for the upcoming Summer Antique Fair.

“What about Sherry?” she asked. “Have you written to her yet?”

“I’ve written to her, but the letter’s still sitting on my kitchen counter. I don’t know why I haven’t mailed it yet. I guess I just haven’t felt ready.”

“I get that. Contacting her is a big step.”

“Would you be willing to look over the letter sometime and tell me if it sounds okay?”

“I’d love to.”

Beyond the patio, an awesome view of the Hood Canal spread out like a painting. He’d known that Nora had come from a wealthy family, because she’d told him that her father had given her the historical village as a graduation gift. Still, he hadn’t expected her to have grown up in the sort of mansion that the Vanderbilts could have owned.

“What happened between you and Allie?” she asked.

He tried to decide what to tell her.

“If I’m being too nosy, just say so,” she said.

“No, it’s all right. Allie and I have always gotten along really well, but things were never very”—he knit his brow—“serious between us. Lately, it became clear to me that we weren’t meant to stay together. I guess it’s as simple and complicated as that.”

“When did you break up?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Are you all right about it? The breakup?”

“Yes. It was the right decision.”

She studied him. “What about Allie? Is she all right about it?”

“Allie will be fine. She and I are still friends.”

“That’s good,” she said softly.

Just then the clinking sound made by a fork striking the side of a glass carried to them. John looked over and saw that Willow was the one who’d called for everyone’s attention. “Dinner is about to be served,” she announced. “We invite you to take your seats. Once everyone is in place, Pastor William has graciously agreed to offer a word of prayer. Enjoy your meal.”

The guests moved to the tables.

“Listen,” John said just as Nora had been about to rise. “I’d like to . . .”

She stilled, waiting.

“I’d like to talk with you later. . . .” About my diagnosis.

“We can talk now if you’d like.”

People were taking seats nearby. “Later’s fine.”

Grandma’s birthday dinner was, for Nora, like a dream. In part because of the twinkling lanterns. In part because of the exquisite table settings and delicious food. In part because of her fanciful dress. But most of all, and it really wasn’t even close, because of John.

He sat next to her, talking and laughing with both her and Britt, who was seated on his other side. Whenever he looked at Nora, which he did constantly, there was both a heat and a tenderness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It had her thinking crazy things. Did he like her like her?

She drank in the details of him. His hands. The cords of muscle running down his neck. The button on the outside of his suit sleeve’s cuff.

A princess didn’t technically need a prince to make her big night out at the ball complete. Even without a prince, that ball meant a break from a difficult past and the drudgery of everyday life. This party meant the same to Nora. That, alone, was something to celebrate.

Thing was, even if the presence of a man you cared about wasn’t integral, it had the ability to improve things incredibly. John made her buzz with happiness and sigh with longing and tingle with awareness. So, definitely yes. If a woman had a chance to be a princess at a ball, she should opt for the package that included a prince.

The only fly in the wine of Nora’s delightful night was the palpable hostility between Willow and Corbin.

Evan of the ferrets sat next to Willow. Corbin sat next to their cousin Rachel, who’d been peering at him like a toddler with separation anxiety. Corbin and Willow were seated directly across from one another, as far apart at they could possibly be at a round eight-top. Both of them were trying so hard to act as if they were having a great time and as if the other didn’t exist that they were proving the opposite to be true.

When the meal concluded, the sisters, Valentina, and Zander gathered at the cake table. In keeping with the ivory-on-white theme, Britt had coated her chocolate cake’s two circular tiers with white frosting as smooth as fresh snow. She’d dotted tiny edible candies that looked like pearls here and there and added one artful mound of hydrangea blossoms to the cake’s top.

Grandma tottered in their direction, and Nora saw that she’d donned her mink coat. Silently, Nora groaned.

Grandma had owned the mink for thirty-five years. Whenever she wore it, Nora feared she’d be doused in red paint by protestors. Also, it smelled dank and boasted massive shoulder pads. Willow, Nora, and Britt had nicknamed it Old Musty. Grandma didn’t care that they loathed it. She wore it relentlessly, even in mild weather.

“Thank you for coming this evening,” Grandma said in her lemony voice once the crowd had hushed. “I’m sure you all have many more important things to do tonight.”

Her guests responded in the negative with murmured “No, nos” and shaking heads.

Grandma sniffed. “When my granddaughters told me of their intention to plan a party on my behalf, I asked them not to bother. But they held firm, so I asked them to plan something modest. It says in the Bible, ‘Sell your possessions and give to the poor.’”

An interesting sentiment coming from a woman in a mink coat.

Britt leaned near Grandma and whispered, “It also says that if you give all your possessions to the poor, but do not have love, you gain nothing.”

Nora’s lips warbled as she struggled not to laugh.

Grandma looked down her nose at everyone. “As I’m sure you’ve all noticed, this party is very grand.”

Nora and Britt didn’t have the money to pay for this kind of party. But Willow did, and she’d been in charge.

“So,” Grandma continued, “I don’t know whether to sit my granddaughters down for a Bible lesson or thank them.”

“Thank us!” Nora and Willow answered in unison, both smiling.

“How about we sing ‘Happy Birthday’?” Britt asked the guests.

The happy birthday song rose into the night air.

Nora glanced at John. He gave her a grin as slow as honey. It was a private smile just for her, complete with a flash of white teeth, relaxed humor, and crinkly eyes.

Great Scott.

The song wound down. Britt went to work slicing cake, and Zander helped plate.

“Anything we can do?” Nora asked, Willow at her side.

“Would you mind grabbing another cake server?” Britt lifted Zander’s wrist to show them the utensil he held. It looked like a spatula, except angled to a point. “And more napkins, please. This pile looks too small to me.”

“We’re on it,” Nora said.

She and Willow made their way to the formal dining room and located the cake server in one of the china cabinet’s drawers. “Ah ha!” Nora lifted it free.

“I’d like to take that thing and stab it into Corbin’s chest,” Willow said. “Repeatedly.”

“Willow, I . . .” Nora’s attention caught on the driveway outside. A dark sedan idled there, headlights lit. A man exited the back seat, and another man—the driver?—came around to pop the trunk and hand the first man his suitcase.

The cake server fell from Nora’s hands and hit the floor with a clatter.

Willow startled. “Oh! You okay? What . . .”

Shock raced over Nora’s skin. She couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing. Right? Stunned, she moved toward Bradfordwood’s front door.

“Nora?” Willow’s voice seemed very far away.

Nora let herself onto the porch, then stepped down the first step.

She could hardly believe it. Her mighty imagination had not conjured him. She was seeing what she was seeing.

Duncan Bartholomew walked toward her wearing a European-looking knit scarf and a crooked smile.

Post from one of the co-moderators of the Devotees of Adolphus Brook Facebook Group:

I’ve been as busy as one of Santa’s elves, creating new memes of Adolphus for us to share. And, of course, for us to enjoy personally. I’ve uploaded them to our shared files. I’m partial to the photo of him in his study, wearing the muslin shirt with the ruffles at the neck and his spectacles. Those ink-stained fingers! I die! A thousand salutes to jolly old England for creating such a fine specimen of a man.

If you haven’t mailed your letters to Northamptonshire’s producers on Adolphus’s behalf, now’s the time. We want more screen time for our favorite character!

Here’s hoping your day is full of Northamptonshire skies and a certain Mr. Brook’s swoon-worthy smile!