She’d wanted to say yes. Yes to having dinner with Ryder, to joining him and Gabby for chicken and brussels sprouts when he had extended the invitation. Her tummy appreciated anyone with culinary skills. But she’d declined his offer, knowing Cara wouldn’t have accepted, and had eaten a couple of frozen waffles instead before spending the rest of the evening cleaning and dusting.
Chanel wasn’t much of a cook, which was why she was now heading toward the town square at six o’clock the next morning to purchase muffins. Though she had fallen asleep after midnight the night before after speaking with Cara, Chanel was an early riser. She didn’t like sleeping long. Sleeping meant dreaming. Dreaming about Warren’s death.
It was early November, and that meant Mrs. Collins would have pumpkin-spice muffins. Her mouth watered and her stomach growled in anticipation when she pictured the decadent display inside the huge glass.
Today, the temperature had dropped a few degrees, which was great for fall weather, so she had donned a mauve Guess tracksuit with a pair of New Balances before driving a quarter mile to Collins’ Grocer & Bakery. Cara’s cupboards and refrigerator were empty. Like her sister, Chanel ate a lot of fruits and veggies, but she also had a sweet tooth. There wasn’t a doughnut, Ho Ho or MoonPie safe from meeting her lips. Fortunately, they hadn’t found their way to her hips since she ran or cycled so she could eat what she wanted.
Chanel drove past the cornfields and chicken farms until she reached a fork in the road. The left would lead to the town’s sole strip mall, movie theater and grocery store. She swerved right, going past three large houses before turning down the gravel path of the circular entrance and pulling into the parking lot next to a burgundy pickup truck.
The other vehicle in the lot was a lime-green 1966 Chevy Impala, which belonged to Mrs. Collins. The shop owner had driven that same car when Chanel and Cara came to visit in their youth. She used to give them joyrides, speeding on the back roads, with Cara and Chanel laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs.
Chanel checked her purse to make sure she had enough cash to pay for her goods and then exited her car, careful to avoid stepping in a huge puddle. It had rained for close to an hour the night before, but it should be sunny for most of the day.
Opening the door to the store, she smiled at the clamoring ring of the bell and the sound of Christmas music—yes, Christmas music. Chanel sniffed, welcoming the aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin spice. She licked her lips, thinking about the warm glaze drizzling down the sides of the muffin, and grabbed a small black shopping cart. One of the rickety wheels cling-clanged, but Chanel didn’t swap out. If memory served, every single cart had something wrong—or, as Mrs. Collins said, something unique. Mrs. Collins hated throwing anything out, as was evident by all the sixties, seventies and eighties paraphernalia sprinkled throughout the store. Portraits, license plates and other knickknacks had been glued or nailed to the wooden ceiling, which the older woman said gave her store character.
She ducked past the beaded curtain placed above the first aisle and spotted the store owner unpacking a box of pumpkin cans. She waved at Mrs. Collins, who beckoned her over.
“How’s it going?” the older woman asked. She was dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a colorful shirt along with her ever-present store apron. “That was some nasty business with Jeremiah Greene.”
Cara had told her all about the man who had killed three high school students and who had escaped on her sister’s watch. It had been a long time since Chanel had heard her sister cry for hours. She had vowed to find him, which was why Cara had pretended to quit her job at the station and gone undercover, sending Chanel here to secretly take her place.
Picking up some cans and placing them on the shelf, Chanel assumed her sister’s demeanor. Mrs. Collins knew everyone, so it was important that she convince the other woman that she was her sister.
Lowering her head, she pictured Cara’s heartbroken face to guide her taut emotions. “You don’t know how that haunts me. That I failed.” Chanel’s voice hitched. She felt her sister’s pain like it was her own. Blinking back tears, she continued to stack the cans and compose herself. Her sister would be emotional, but she wouldn’t fall apart. She had too much strength for that.
Mrs. Collins placed a wrinkled, brown, spotted hand on Chanel’s arm. “Oh, dearie. Nobody blames you. You stopped to help someone else in need. Wasn’t no need for you to up and quit like that.”
Chanel faced the other woman, whose eyes reflected warmth and compassion. “I couldn’t continue working. I can’t look those family members in their eyes,” she whispered.
Mrs. Collins nodded. “I understand. Stop punishing yourself.” She tilted her head. “You’re too young to just sit home. What you plan on doing with yourself?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet.”
The front door chimed, which distracted Mrs. Collins long enough for Chanel to escape and finish her shopping.
Going to the back of the store, she picked up a quart of milk to have with her muffins. Next, she went to the fresh-goods section and snagged a bag of peaches and then a carton of strawberries that were on sale and featured on a checkered tablecloth. Eyeing the bananas on another table, Chanel fought to turn the cart, but the wheel got stuck on the tablecloth. Bending over, she yanked on the material wedged in the wheel until she heard a deep voice. One she already recognized.
“Need some help?” Ryder asked, parking his cart across from hers.
“Yes, please,” she said before clamping her tongue between her teeth. Her messy bun had already begun coming loose because of her efforts.
He crouched close and grabbed the edge of the cloth while she lifted the wheel. Chanel caught a whiff of sandalwood, nutmeg and mandarin—a pleasing woodsy smell. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black polo and a pair of black slacks. The dark color was a nice contrast against skin the color of sand.
It took a couple of trials, but they managed to free her cart. Chanel stood and grabbed the handle. “Thank you. I don’t know how I managed to do that,” she said, putting space between them. She turned to continue her shopping.
“I’m glad I was able to help,” he said, stepping beside her. The aisle was more suited for one person, so their carts bumped. His had eggs, cheese, milk, green peppers, turkey bacon and other items that made her think of omelets, how much she loved them and how jealous she was because she wasn’t going to be having any.
Chanel stopped walking and picked up a can of beans, hoping he would be on his way. Otherwise, she would be tempted to chitchat. If there was a longer way to say something, Chanel would use it. Her sister was the one with few words. Chanel loved words.
Apparently, Ryder did also. “What brings you here?” he asked, in a tone way too chipper for the hour.
“Where’s Gabby?” she asked instead of answering his question.
“She’s in the bakery section, bending Mrs. Collins’s ear.” He chuckled. “Gabby spotted the apple fritters and made a beeline for them.”
Chanel bit back a smile. Gabby had good taste. She would need to add fritters to her list. Hunching her shoulders, she said, “Well, I’d better get going. I’ve got a lot to do.” She pushed off.
“Sure. See you around, neighbor.” Ryder gave a small wave, his brows furrowed.
She swallowed her guilt over seeing the confusion in Ryder’s eyes, like he was wondering what he had done to ruin their rapport from the previous day. She couldn’t tell him that he had done nothing wrong and that talking to him felt very right. She wasn’t ready to wonder why.
Chanel headed to the bathroom to hide out until Ryder and Gabby departed. Once they were gone, she’d grab her baked goods and take a different route home to ensure she would get back after them. Chanel exhaled. Avoiding the man next door would not be easy.
Ryder finished his shopping and thanked Mrs. Collins for entertaining Gabby while he gathered the rest of his items. The older woman was a huge help. Before Gabby, Ryder had never engaged in small talk, but the first time he had ventured inside with her had ended with apples all over the store. Since then, Mrs. Collins kept Gabby occupied, giving him a chance to move through the aisles without incident.
That morning, Ryder had awakened in the mood for omelets and breakfast potatoes, so once he had gotten himself and Gabby dressed, he rushed over to the grocer’s. Ryder liked to make Gabby a large breakfast every day and pack her lunch from home. When she first came to live with him, Gabby had climbed onto the cupboard to get a bowl to make herself some cereal. That had melted his heart. It was obvious his daughter was used to tending to her own needs. He wasn’t surprised because, like Brittany, he could get caught up in his research and forget to eat until he was done.
However, since Gabby’s arrival, he had changed his behavior patterns. Taking care of her gave him an internal sense of joy and satisfaction, filling a need he’d had no idea existed. Family.
Just as they got close to the vehicle, Gabby twisted out of his grip and jumped into a huge puddle.
“Why did you do that?” he scolded. “Now your shoes are filled with mud.”
Gabby shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Stay here,” he directed, holding her shoulders until she stood still.
Ryder swallowed his annoyance and moved his eyes away from that cute little face. She was being a kid, and kids jumped into puddles. What he should have done was warn her not to do so. One day he would get the hang of this parenting thing.
He blew out a huge plume of air, opened his truck and dropped his groceries on the passenger seat. Then he hoisted Gabby into his arms.
“Wheee,” she said, swaying her body.
Ryder was about to put her in her car seat when he noticed her small hand gripped a huge chocolate chip cookie, which he had agreed she could have with her lunch at school. Some of the chocolate chips had melted along her palms and fingers. Ryder had learned to keep the wipes handy because they cleaned everything—spills, chocolate, markers. Wipes and Ziploc bags were his two must-haves.
He went around his truck to get baby wipes out of the glove box and wiped Gabby’s hands, shoes and leggings.
As he cleaned, he thought about his wishy-washy neighbor. When he’d seen Cara struggling with the cart, he’d been eager to assist and continue their conversation. A loner by nature, Ryder wasn’t sure why his tongue had loosened around her yesterday or why his heart rate seemed to quicken in her presence. That had never happened before, but he liked her sense of humor. Especially since he hadn’t known Cara even possessed one.
However, today, she had been...standoffish.
He grabbed a Ziploc bag and dropped Gabby’s cookie inside before placing it on the front passenger seat.
“I want my cookie,” Gabby whined.
“You can have it with lunch,” he reminded her.
Ryder found himself dragging out the task of settling Gabby into her car seat, looking behind him to see if Chanel would come out of the store. After a few minutes, he glanced at his watch and knew he couldn’t lag or Gabby would have to eat breakfast at school. Ryder backed out of the lane, keeping his eye trained on the front door, but Cara remained inside.
“Daddy, I don’t want green peppers in my om-ah-let,” Gabby said, her loud voice echoing in the small space.
“Okay, I won’t put any in your omelet,” he said, correcting her pronunciation before peering into the rearview mirror to glance at his child. She was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt with a doughnut on her chest and leggings that featured tiny replicas of the doughnut. Ryder had purchased the outfit from Amazon, and he had another package due from Walmart soon. Gabby had grown about three inches and needed a new wardrobe and shoes for her rabbit-like feet.
A few minutes later, he turned down the gravel path to his driveway. This time, Ryder made sure to warn his daughter to avoid the muddy puddles. While she changed into another outfit, he worked on the omelets and breakfast potatoes. Though Ryder liked historic homes, he appreciated modern luxuries, so he had gutted the interior of the kitchen and installed stainless steel appliances and marble countertops in the open space, knowing he would spend a lot of time there.
Growing up in foster homes, Ryder had dreamed of sitting around a breakfast table with people who cared about him, who didn’t see him as a detriment to their income or a nuisance. The kitchen was the heart of the home. That’s why he had a round white table and chairs in the center along with a nook with sofa cushions. His heart had warmed the first time Gabby had curled into the corner with a book on her lap, reading while he cooked.
Gabby returned, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a ballerina on her chest. When she sat at the table, Ryder said grace, served Gabby a small portion of food and added a dollop of ketchup to her plate before placing a disposable white plastic bib around her neck. There would be no more outfit changes.
Once they had blessed their meal, they dug in. After the first bite, Ryder nodded with satisfaction. Gabby smacked her lips. Everything was just right.
A few minutes later, Gabby placed the last potato in her mouth and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Can we give some to Wolf?”
Wolf.
Ryder paused before scrunching his nose. He didn’t remember seeing Wolf when he’d entered. He cocked his head. His mind had been centered on getting breakfast ready and Gabby re-dressed for school.
Oh, no. If Wolf wasn’t here, it meant he had escaped through the doggy door in the kitchen. Ryder must have forgotten to close it before leaving. Again.
Ryder’s chair scraped across the wooden floor as he bounded to his feet, then slipped into his boots. He yanked open the door and scanned Cara’s yard. Seeing the bus pull up, he yelled out to Gabby to grab her lunch bag and her backpack. Then he scooped her under his arm and dashed down the driveway before the bus could pull off. Mr. Atkins had a ten-second-wait rule. She giggled, probably enjoying how her body flopped like a puppet the entire way.
After shaking his head, Ryder kissed her cheeks. “Have a good day.”
“See you later,” she said before making her way up the steps.
Ryder always felt a pang watching her get onto the bus. He looked to Mr. Atkins for commiseration, but the older man pursed his lips and closed the door.
Remembering Wolf, Ryder slapped his forehead and ran into Cara’s yard. By this time, the sun was out, drying up the damp earth. Though the grass was high, Ryder could see Wolf’s white fur covered in mud. His paws were busy digging holes in Cara’s vegetable garden.
“Wolf! Stop!” he called out.
The dog just kept digging. Ryder drew close, noticing the carrots tossed around the yard. Some were chewed. Some were smashed. None seemed salvageable. “Get home,” he commanded.
Ryder lunged, but Wolf took off, running back onto Ryder’s property. He heard a door slam behind him and turned to face Cara with dread. To his surprise, she was laughing—she was pointing her finger, doubled over and laughing at him.
He looked down and gasped. He had stepped in a huge pile of poop. Wolf’s parting gift. As Ryder lifted his leg, the scent hit his nostrils, and he gagged. “Ugh. Wolf knows better than to do this.”
She snorted. A very unladylike snort. “I know I should be mad, but this is hilarious. You should have gotten a cat, and your dog needs training.” She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of him. Then another.
“The only pet store in town closed, so I have to train him myself. I’ve watched several YouTube videos, but they aren’t much help.” Hearing another snap, he pointed. “Delete those pics. I wouldn’t have stepped in poo if your grass wasn’t so high.”
“You wouldn’t have stepped in it if your dog was in his own yard,” she shot back.
Ryder made a move toward her just as she took another photograph. He knew his face was beet red, but he hated how she was having fun at his mortification.
“No way.” Shaking her head, she started backing up. Slipping her phone into her back pocket, she said, “Don’t move.” Her laughter escalated like musical keys on a scale until tears rolled down her cheeks. “This is the best thing I’ve seen all morning.” She dashed to the side of the house.
A few seconds later, he heard the unmistakable sound of the hose. Before Ryder could protest, Cara turned the water on him full force, washing away the grime from his legs and boots. He clamped his jaw shut, fully intending to toss his outfit in the garbage. This humiliation wouldn’t be easy to erase from his mind anytime soon. His only minor consolation was that she was also getting wet in the process.
“Turn it off now, please,” he yelled once his boots were clean. “I’m glad the sun is out or I would be worried about catching a cold.”
She complied and returned the hose to its base.
“I’m sorry about all this.” He swept his hand across the yard. “I’ll repair your vegetable garden.”
“You don’t have to. I can do it,” she said, waving a hand.
“I insist. I can help you or hire a handyman.” He gave Cara his cell number and watched her long fingers put his contact information into her phone. “Text me so I know it’s you. I don’t answer the phone unless I know who’s calling or texting. Too many spam callers.”
“Yes, I can’t stand the random robocalls. People have nothing better to do with their time.” She placed a hand on her hip. “If you want, I could train your dog. I worked at a pet store in my teens, and that was one of my responsibilities.”
All Ryder could do was nod. “This has been a most...humbling experience.” Without making eye contact, he turned toward his house with the peanut-sized pride he had left.
He heard a chuckle behind him.
“I think the word you’re looking for is unforgettable,” she said.