“I’m not worried about you. I’m trying to figure out what’s next for you. For us.” She waved a hand. “Never mind. Let’s talk about something else.”
“All right. If that’s what you want.” He glanced back at her house with its “gingerbread” Gothic Revival details. “The place is looking good. Going to paint it shades of pink? It’s what you used to say when we walked past this place as kids. That you’d paint it shades of pink if you lived there.”
“I’m actually thinking about a neutral color. Did the boys tell you they want to build a tree house out back? I can help but I’m not that great with hammers and nails. Mom’s better but she’s got her hands full.”
“Their dad’s a carpenter,” Brandon said quietly. “I can help my sons build a tree house, Maggie.”
“They’d like that. They look up to you. I…” Maggie sighed, her shoulders sagging as all the fight went out of her. “When did it become so awkward between us? We used to be able to talk about anything. Not that you were ever a big talker but I never felt I couldn’t speak my mind, that you couldn’t speak yours. We were best friends.”
He touched her cheek, her hair. “You’re tired. You’re taking on a lot.”
“I love what I’m doing. I love being back here. I wasn’t sure I would but everything’s turning out better than I anticipated. Don’t worry, I still have my dreams.”
“A gingerbread house in Knights Bridge village.”
“Life could be worse, you know.”
He smiled. “You could be living in a tent.”
“I remember some good nights with you in tents.”
He winked. “Damn straight.”
After he left and the boys were in bed, Maggie sat at her kitchen table with a stack of cookbooks. The kitchen was in good shape, with a relatively new gas stove and a decent refrigerator, but it still needed work. Buying the house hadn’t felt as impulsive as it probably was. She’d been drawn to it since childhood, and she’d thought it’d be a great place for the boys. But it really was a fixer-upper, and here she was, the estranged wife of a carpenter who was related to all the other carpenters in town.
She pictured laughing with Brandon as they painted the kitchen together, but it wasn’t going to happen. She was on her own. He would always be the father of their two young sons, but that was it.
“It can’t be. It just can’t be.” Before she could burst into tears, she called Olivia as a distraction, as well as to check in on her friend. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“I’m not sure there is a bad time in San Diego. It’s a stunningly beautiful day out here.” Olivia sighed, obviously content. “What’re you up to?”
From the tone of her friend’s voice, Maggie suspected Olivia knew that things were a bit complicated back home. “I think we should try making our own essential oils for our soaps. They’re so expensive to buy. You have some great herbs at your place. We’d have to dry them, and we’d need to buy equipment for distilling…” She realized she was ready to burst into tears. “What do you think?”
“It’s something I’ve been considering for a while,” Olivia said. “Will you have time?”
“I’ll make the time. Except for harvesting the herbs, we have flexibility. We can save up everything and make the soap during our down times. It should be quiet after foliage season, before the holidays. It’ll be fun.”
“Maggie? You sound upset. What’s going on?”
Maggie immediately felt guilty for making the call when she was in such a down mood. “Nothing I can’t figure out. Tell me about California.”
“If you tell me about Phoebe and Noah.”
“Wait, what do you know about Phoebe and Noah?”
“Not much except that something is going on between them. Phoebe’s being tight-lipped, probably because Noah and Dylan are such close friends.”
“Maybe she’s afraid of mucking things up between you two.”
“Not possible to muck things up between Dylan and me. So, what’s going on? What am I missing?”
Maggie smiled through her tears and told her friend what she knew, which she realized wasn’t everything, and what she surmised, which probably wasn’t everything, either.
Fifteen
Coronado was as beautiful as ever, the offshore night breeze prompting Loretta to grab a sweater out of her car as she and Olivia walked down to the historic Hotel del Coronado. Dylan had told them to go on ahead of him. He’d meet them shortly.
“He’s worried about Noah,” Olivia said, hugging her own sweater to her.
Loretta shrugged. “So far, Noah’s managed just fine on his own in your little town.”
“It’s not just that.” Olivia glanced out at the water, the lights of the sprawling hotel reflecting eerily in the white caps of the incoming tide. “Dylan believes that none of this—” she waved a hand back toward Dylan’s expensive house “—would have been possible if Noah hadn’t knocked on his window when Dylan was sleeping in his car.”