Chapter Eleven

Dylan

 

“Sorry. I keep saying the wrong things lately,” I said after Jen left the table.

If I hadn’t opened my big mouth, we’d still be having a nice meal.

“Son, I believe that was on me, if anyone,” Mrs. Wri—Janet replied. “Jennifer went through a lot in her previous marriage, as you know, but the cabin was her choice to buy and I think she stayed in it to prove…to reclaim the space from the bad things that happened. I think she’s having a hard time considering letting it go because she fought to make it a positive home since Lee’s death—”

“Can I be excused?” Shelley asked.

“You may.”

My sister-in-law-to-be high-tailed it out of the room.

Janet stacked their empty plates. “You know, I used to worry about Jenny holing herself up in her grief, but I’ve seen the changes the past year since she met you. If you decide to live in the cabin until you find something you both like, I don’t think it will be full of ghosts. You’re good for her, Dylan.”

“He is.” Jen stepped into sight.

“Feel better, honey?” her mother asked.

“I have to pee a lot lately.” Jen moved to her seat but didn’t reclaim the chair, standing behind it. “You’re kinda right, Mom. The cabin is my home, but so is Big Bear in general and Dylan owns property there, too. I don’t know how the living situation is going to shake out, but I hope you’ll give us the space to make that decision on our own.”

Janet met her gaze. “Of course.”

“Good. Is there dessert?”

“Ice cream in the freezer!” Shelley yelled. I chuckled. Just like a teenage girl to eavesdrop.

We moved into the kitchen. Weird to be in one with walls. “Did you ever think about going open concept, Mrs.—Janet?” Except for the appliances, I’d bet this was original.

She had retrieved an ice cream scoop and spoons, Shelley reached for bowls, and Jen plucked the carton out of the freezer, a routine they’d obviously done at least a thousand times.

“Not really. The kitchen is big enough to suit my needs, and it’s nice to close any mess away when people are over.” Set up on the small island, Janet dug into the frozen chocolate.

“It’s claustrophobic,” Shelley said.

“There’s a window.” Over the sink, facing the backyard.

“It’s old-fashioned.”

“You have no taste,” Jen said to her sister. “I’d never touch these walnut cabinets.”

Janet squeezed her arm. “Good girl. Scoops served, kids.”

Two in every bowl. Giving the ladies first choice, I picked up the last and followed them to the den. The few times we’d been here for dinner, this was always the routine—meal in the dining room then dessert in the casual room of the house. Here, the living room’s previous furniture had a home. The sofa’s cushions weren’t quite as firm anymore and maybe hid a couple stains. The stuffed chairs were no longer elegant and had washable slipcovers.

But the genuine wood paneling and shelving was beautiful.

A slider gave access to the patio.

The couch sat three comfortably. Janet took a chair. Shelley reached for the TV remote.

“Uh-uh,” her mother chided. “We have company.”

“Jen is ‘company’?”

“Eat and stop being contrary for five minutes,” Jen replied.

Janet set her bowl on the little table next to her chair and picked up a notepad. “Back to wedding planning. How intimate of a guest list do you have in mind? The color theme? How rustic is this barn? Do you want to serve a sit-down meal or just cake?”

My fiancée groaned.