She meandered around the driveway, calling out his name before spotting him in the Morgans’ front yard. As a kid, she’d probably spent as much time in the Morgan home as she had her own. Ever since Joe died, she hadn’t crossed the invisible line that now existed between the two.
It seemed difficult to reconcile Mr. Morgan with the man who had once been so helpful to her mom after her dad left them—helping put up Christmas trees and string lights on the house, mowing the lawn until Hunter was old enough to take over. He’d always liked Colby when she’d been Joe’s buddy. Now he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
As if crossing hot coals, she dashed across their driveway to grab Stitch, who sat there staring at her with a bored expression on his furry face. She hoisted him up and tickled him under his chin. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking, old boy.”
That question reminded her of when she and Mark had been cat sitting while Mark had been manic. He’d spent two full days “talking” to Stitch, then relaying the cat’s thoughts to Colby. He also hadn’t been able to stop petting the poor animal, having been fascinated by the soft texture of his fur. She’d worried the cat would be bald by the time her mom returned.
Sighing, she forced the memory aside and started to cross back over the driveway, but Mr. Morgan pulled in. She froze, having only spoken to him twice since Joe died. Neither time had been particularly pleasant.
He rolled down the window, expression grim. No wonder he could effectively terrify criminals. “Tell your mom I won’t be responsible for that furball’s fate if she doesn’t keep him out of my yard.”
The window rolled back up before she could say a single word, and then Mr. Morgan pulled into his garage. Stung by the abrupt “greeting,” Colby took Stitch home and then got in her car, thankful she hadn’t peed her pants from fright. Clearly Alec’s return hadn’t diminished his dad’s grief.
Alec leaned against the gazebo railing and stared across the lake at the distant tip of Mount Hood. Lake Sandy, like most of the greater Portland area, was lushly populated with enormous lodgepole pines and other trees, swaddling the town in various shades of green.
The eco-friendly neighborhood, its retail outlets adorned with stuffed flower containers, surrounded the gorgeous lake. A paddleboarder took advantage of the break in the weather, idly crossing the lake’s dark, glassy surface. Hypnotic ripples fanned out in his wake. Peacefulness: a status Alec rarely sustained. Maybe someday.
For now, he’d simply enjoy the view.
Mougins, France, an ancient town fifteen miles from Cannes and populated with pine, olive, and cypress trees, had been a picturesque place to live for several years—at least, for those rare free hours he escaped the kitchen—but it had never awakened his senses like home.
Home. The word—the concept—didn’t quite fit. Not yet. Too many ghosts whispering in his ear: his brother, his father, his conscience.
“Alec.” Colby’s voice called from behind.
He glanced at his watch. Forty-five minutes on the nose. He smiled before turning around to watch her stroll down the lawn. She wore a pencil skirt that skimmed her knees. Its silk-blend fabric—painted with navy-blue and gray watercolors—contained a splash of red to match her short-sleeve button-down shirt. Classic, like her. A sun ray broke through the clouds, glinting off the gold and red streaks in her light-brown hair, and she joined him in the shade of the gazebo.
“This is gorgeous.” He gestured toward the lake, although she was just as pretty. His finely trained nose detected a new citrus scent in the air. Maybe her shampoo or perfume? He kept himself from being too obvious about catching another whiff.
“Hard to beat, right?” She stood beside him and glanced toward Mount Hood, unaware of the way every muscle in his body tightened from being so close. “The weather around here makes planning outdoor events iffy, but I hope some people will take advantage of the grounds.”
Working with the Cabots had been a gamble. His mother tolerated the idea. His father hated it. But Hunter had been a true friend to Alec, in good times and bad. Colby had been . . . Colby. There, but not there. Friendly, but beyond his reach.
Now she would be within reach. Every day, right there in front of him. It would be a fantasy come true if not for Mark’s note. That damn note he’d never shared with anyone.
“Getting the inside scoop on this property might be one of the best things to come from my old job,” she rambled on, blessedly oblivious to the conflict in his head and heart.
“I thought you enjoyed that work.” He leaned forward, redirecting his thoughts.
“I did at first. But lawyering is basically solving other people’s problems. No one comes to us when they’re happy. It can be draining.” She shrugged with a soft smile. “I needed a change. Here I’ll be working with people who are planning a wedding or celebrating another milestone. People who are already happy.”
Not for the first time, he noted a difference in her. Her former spunky attitude had been subdued. Did it lie dormant, or was it as dead as Joe and Mark?
“Just beware. Customers can be draining, too. Particular, demanding.” He leaned closer and murmured, “They don’t call some Bridezillas for nothing.”
She chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Her laughter seemed to brighten the sky. Of course, she usually had that effect on him.
“How’s Leslie?” Alec still remembered when Mrs. Cabot had insisted he call her by her first name. She’d always been a funny woman, so different from his more traditional mother.
“The same.” Colby grimaced. “Always looking for something new to fill the void. A cat, a garden, a dog, a poet . . .”
“A poet?” Alec could only imagine what that meant.
“Don’t ask.” She shook her head and grinned. “But I almost feel sorry for a stranger named Richard.”
Alec faced her. “Hunter used to call your mom the ‘black hole of neediness.’”
“One he had no interest in trying to fill.” She smirked.
“Unlike you.” He’d spent years watching Colby leap through hoops and over fences trying to keep her mother happy. To keep everyone happy, actually, including him. She’d sat with him, chatting away in the kitchen. He knew those visits had mostly been about sampling his food, but he suspected she’d also thought he’d needed company. Colby had never liked seeing anyone be lonely.
She glanced up, chagrined. “We both know Hunter was always smarter than me.”
“Not really. Just more focused, and less compassionate.” For a second he allowed himself to pretend that the warmth he saw in her eyes was more than a melancholy memory of faded friendship. “I always thought your mom was fun.”
“To think I thought you were smart, too.” She playfully punched his arm, like the old days.
He laughed. The foreign feeling caught in his chest, and for the first time in forever, a thread of real hope weaved through him. “You know, you’re a lot like your mom, or you used to be, anyway.”