Identity

“Mom’s soft, isn’t she? Softer than you and me?”

“Always has been. The glass is half-full for Audrey, and more, waiting to be filled up the rest of the way. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have spine.”

“I never saw it in her until I came to stay here.”

“She held me up when your grandfather died.” Olivia looked over toward the woodshop because she could, and always would, picture him there.

“She was my rock when the world fell out from under me. Took over the shop for weeks. I was going to sell the business.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I couldn’t see past the next minute, much less into tomorrow. The love of my life, gone in a minute, and how could that be? But she wouldn’t let me give up, kept holding me up until I found my feet again. She let you go,” Olivia said gently, “because you needed to go. And that took love and strength.”

Then Olivia sighed. “He fucked her up. Let’s just say it and move on. The Colonel fucked her up good and proper. But she found her feet again. So have you. We’re Nash women, after all.”

“We are, so I’m going to tell you, woman-to-woman, Nash-to-Nash, I’ve thought about leaving because of Rozwell. Because if they don’t catch him and he comes after me again, he’ll come here. You and Mom are here.”

Before Olivia could speak, Morgan held up a hand. “And I know what you’re going to say. The Nash women can handle it, and him.”

“That’s exactly right.” A finger poke into Morgan’s belly emphasized the point.

“And I believe that. I want to stay here, so many reasons why, but I couldn’t if I didn’t believe that.”

“Good.” Straightening, Olivia stretched her back. “Now I’m going to poke in and ask if one of those many reasons is Miles Jameson.”

“He’s definitely in there. It’s one day, or mostly one weekend, at a time, but he’s in there.”

“Is that enough for you? The one weekend at a time?”

“I didn’t expect to have that. That’s on me, too,” Morgan added as they moved around the garden. “I didn’t really make time for dating, much less relationships. I was so focused on the goals.”

“Not a thing wrong with focus or goals.”

“No, but if you can’t adjust? Being here’s shown me I don’t have to do it all myself, by myself. I can have a fulfilling career and a real life at the same time. I can work hard and still have time and room for family, and for being with someone who makes me happy.”

“Found your feet. You don’t have your mother’s—or what was your mother’s—fairy-tale view. You’re not looking for someone to sweep you off those feet. But that doesn’t mean you don’t love, and love hard.”

“I didn’t plan to be in love with him.” On a sigh of her own, Morgan pushed the brim of her hat back. “Like a lot, be attracted to, enjoy being with. I was with a guy in college.”

“I should hope so!”

With a laugh, Morgan rolled her eyes. “Gram. I’m saying that’s what it was, that list: like, attraction, enjoy. There were two others along the way who made that list. Then I stopped making time, making room. Then there was Miles.”

“And this time it’s different.”

“Yes, for me. For me,” she repeated. “The attraction? That was bang, right from the jump. I mean, look at this guy. The ‘like’ didn’t take long. For someone who claims he doesn’t much like people, he sure knows how to look out for them. The ‘enjoy being with’? Just wow.”

This time Olivia laughed.

“The love just snuck up on me, little moments by little moments.”

“Best kind there is.”

“Is it?”

“I was going to bang your grandfather like a hammer to a nail,” she remembered. And laughed at Morgan’s muffled snort. “But he snuck up on me. Love snuck up on me.”

When she looked over at the woodshop, she could all but see him standing in the doorway, grinning at her.

“Then one day he said, ‘Livvy Nash, nobody’s ever going to love who you are like I do. Let’s get married.’ I’m all set to say, ‘Are you crazy?’ But ‘Yeah, let’s do that’ came right out of my mouth. He had a plan, Steve did, and pulled me right along into it. And made me glad he did, every single day.”

Wasn’t it miraculous, Morgan thought, to have someone love who you are, and never stop?

“I like a plan. I must get that need for a plan from Pa. And this wasn’t the plan. Plus, Miles and I had a sort of agreement before we got started. So I’m okay with the one weekend at a time. It’s enough. He won’t crush my heart. He’s not cruel, he’s not cold. Whatever happens, I’ll handle it because I’ve had those moments. And this is home now, Après is my place.”

“I’m going to tell you something, then we’re going to go cut a couple armloads of those hydrangeas. After that, we’re going to put them all over the house, then sit ourselves down with a tall glass of lemonade.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“When you love someone, and love him hard, and you’re ready for him, you go after him. If he doesn’t love you back, and love you hard, if he’s not ready for you, that’s his loss. Love’s brave, Morgan. Love stands up.”

“That sounds true.”

“Because it is. It’s solid truth.”

“I’m just getting used to being in love with him, knowing I am. I guess I have to work on being ready.”

“When you are, you’ll know what to do. You’re no coward. Let’s go cut some flowers.”



* * *



They arranged those magic blue hydrangeas all over the house. But instead of lemonade, Morgan got out ingredients and bar tools.

“I need some help.”

“Mixing a drink? I’m not above a drink before three on a Sunday afternoon, but you’re the expert in mixing.”

“Not mixing, tasting, followed by judging, then choosing which of the three wins for our fall special. Just two sips, because I’ll use different liquors in the choices. Mixing liquors is a fine way to get Darlie’s stomach bug.”

“Been there, done that.”

“I thought I had it down to two, then I came up with another, so you’ll judge three.”

“Did you have Nell or Drea sample?”

“Too busy, all around. Plus, this way I can take Nell the one that wins.”

Rubbing her hands together, Olivia sat at the counter. “Let’s have it.”

“Okay, first up starts with a nice, dry Riesling, then pear brandy—pear’s the spa fall deal. The pear eau-de-vie—”

“Water of life? I’ve got that much French in me.”

“It’s pear brandy, and gives the Riesling a nice kick.”

“Who doesn’t like a nice kick?” Enjoying herself, Olivia rested her chin on her fist to watch. “It already looks pretty.”

“It’s going to look prettier. A little orange cura?ao for zest, some honey syrup for sweet, and five—not four, not six—dashes of bitters for that touch of licorice.”

“It sounds as pretty as it looks.”

“If we go with this, I’ll serve it in the classic Cary Grant champagne glass, with a thin slice of pear as garnish.”

When she’d finished, Morgan held out the glass. “One sip. Consider, let it sit. Then one more to judge. Oh, hey, here’s Mom. Perfect timing. Two judges.”