AN HOUR HAD passed when Grant joined her at the kitchen table.
“What’re you working on there?” he wanted to know.
“My to-do list for the next few days.”
“Thought you finished that yesterday.”
“I’m a horrible person. I only said that so my folks would go to bed last night and wouldn’t feel obligated to get up at the crack of dawn to help me.”
Grant laughed. She loved the vibrant, masculine sound of it and wished he’d laugh more often, the way he had before…
“You’re not a horrible person. I was relieved when they went upstairs, too.”
She drew a little heart in the margin of her notepad, colored it in and added ruffles to its edges, searching her mind for something she’d forgotten to add to the list.
“If you’re finished now, can we talk?”
Rena tensed and put down her pen. “Sure.”
“Did Rosie seem…different earlier? When she was asking all those questions about the life expectancy of fireflies, I mean.”
“Yes, now that you mention it, she did seem preoccupied by it. I thought at the time that maybe she was identifying with them, trapped in a jar. Maybe that’s how she felt after Barbara took her…trapped in that woman’s house, trapped in a life she didn’t want.”
One brow rose on his forehead. “Whew. That’s deep. That never occurred to me, but y’know, that might explain things.”
“Like her bedtime prayer? I nearly cried.”
Rena replayed the scene in her mind: Rosie, eyes shut tight, tiny hands folded against her chest, asking God to bless her grandparents and parents, “…and the fireflies, too, because they’re very pretty and when they light up, they make people happy.” She’d paused long enough to make Rena and Grant think her next word would be Amen. Instead, Rosie had added one last line: “I’m sorry I caught them. Dad says they don’t live very long, so making them spend any time in the jar wasn’t very nice. I promise never ever to do it, ever again.”
“She’s some kid, all right,” Grant said.
“I don’t deserve her.” Instantly, Rena regretted the words. She considered self-pity one of the most useless human emotions and hated that she’d surrendered to it. How often had she gone down that road? Wondering how life could have been if Rosie hadn't been taken. She and Grant would never have separated. And who knows? They might have another child by now if…
“That’s nonsense. You’re a good mother. One dumb mistake doesn’t change that.”
He hadn’t always felt this way, and she had the mental scars to prove it.
But Rena had to admit, from the moment she’d pulled into the driveway that first evening, he’d been doing his best to make her feel welcome. The fact that she didn’t was on her.
Grant stifled a yawn. “Don’t know about you, but the idea of hitting the hay sounds mighty inviting.”
She was tired, too, and climbing into bed did sound good.
Standing, Rena turned on the light above the stove. “Just in case Rosie wants a drink of water or something.”
“I saw you do that on her first night here, and thought it was a good idea then, too.”
“Do you think she tiptoes down here alone at night?”
Grant gave her a half smile. “Nah. One thing that hasn't changed…she still sleeps like a rock.”
Side by side, they entered the hall and climbed the stairs.
“Watch the third step from the top,” Grant said. “It squeaks loud enough to wake the dead.”
Funny, but in the weeks since she’d come home, Rena hadn’t noticed that.
“If you put your weight near the railing, it doesn’t make a sound.”
Spoken like a man who’d spent a lot of time alone in this house, she thought. Although why he'd found it necessary to maintain quiet, she couldn't say.
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She stood at the sink nearest the master bathroom door to brush her teeth.
“Cute,” he said, using his toothbrush as a pointer. “I don’t remember seeing those PJs before.”
Rena had almost forgotten about the ruffle-hemmed shorts and matching sleeveless top, and thought it best not to mention that she’d bought them the day before he called to tell her they'd found Rosie.
He met her eyes in the mirror. “I’ve always liked you in that color.”
“That’s the main reason half my clothes are coral.”
He stopped brushing. “Really?”
Did he know how adorable he looked, mouth all foamy and hair askew?
“Really.”
Rena didn’t know what to make of his slanting grin, but she recognized the gleam in those blue eyes.
“Do you think Mom and Dad were comfortable on that mattress?”
“I’ve never slept on it. But it cost a small fortune, so they should have been.” Again, Grant met her eyes in the mirror. “You don’t like it?”
She’d slept in the guest room for months before leaving for Fenwick Island. “It’s fine. Good, actually. It’s just that with Dad’s back issues and Mom’s bad knees…”
Their knuckles grazed when they hung their toothbrushes in the ceramic holder.
“Your hands are cold as ice.”
And his were warm, so warm she yearned to have them wrapped around hers.
“Guess it’s true what they say…cold hands, warm heart.”
Now really. How did he expect her to react to that? Was it a prelude to an invitation to stay in the master bedroom? Good grief, I hope not! She wasn’t ready for that step. And considering all they’d gone through—together and apart—she didn’t think Grant was, either.
Grant padded into the bedroom and she heard the rustle of covers, the telltale squeal when he climbed into bed.
“You did a great job today.”
Rena leaned into the vanity and, eyes closed, said, “Yeah, the salads were pretty good if I do say so, myself. And you cooked the burgers and dogs to perfection.”
“I’m not talking about the food. You were great with the family. With Rosie, too. Especially with Rosie.”
She stepped into the doorway. “Yeah, well, you were the one who offered up all the scientific data about lightning bugs.”
Moonlight slanted through the blinds, providing just enough light for her to see his slow, easy smile.
“I had no idea adult fireflies didn’t need food.”
He rolled onto his back. Fingers linked behind his head, he closed his eyes. She’d always loved his profile, strong and manly and wholly handsome. It seemed unfair that nature had graced him with long, lush eyelashes when it took three strokes of a mascara wand for her to get the same effect.
With no warning, he tossed the covers aside and got out of bed, crossed the room toward the bathroom. As he stood near her, Grant swallowed, and the adorable dimple appeared in his cheek. Once upon a time, she’d teased him by pressing her finger to it…right before kissing the spot. Rena resisted the urge to do it now.
He took a half step forward. “G’night, Rena,” he sighed into her ear.
And then he kissed her. Not the kind of slow, searching, passionate kiss he’d treated her to before the kidnapping, but a sweet, chaste peck that left her wanting more. So much more.
For an instant, Rena thought he might kiss her again. But he turned and quickly made his way back to the bed. “Don’t stay up too late. You put in a long, hard day.”
Had he considered asking her to stay here, in what had been their room, instead of returning to the guest room? And if he had, what stopped him?
His steady breaths told her he’d fallen asleep. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered. Almost as an afterthought, Rena added, “I love you, Grant.”
“Love you, too,” he murmured.
Talking in his sleep? Or had he meant it?
Hands trembling, she turned out the bathroom light.
Well, a gal can dream…