She took food to Belle, who didn’t stir when she entered the bedroom, and she left the plate on her sister’s nightstand. She fed Gondola and got Judy in the tub. She towel-dried the girl’s hair, wondering how different tonight had been than she’d anticipated this morning, and she left Judy to color and read for an hour.
“I’ll be back to tuck you in,” she promised, and then Caroline sighed a ginormous sigh as she went into the kitchen only she had once maintained alone. Now, evidence of the two extra people living here sat everywhere, and Caroline pushed against the need to clean up.
She succeeded, and instead, grabbed the crunchy Biscoff jar from the cupboard, grabbed a spoon, and moved to stand in front of the front window. Her neighborshad been nothing short of amazing, each of them bringing her something treasured over the months.
A jar of grape juice, made from the Concord grapes lovingly grown all spring and summer. A pineapple upside down cake—an entire cake—leftover from someone’s wedding. A loaf of honey sourdough bread, delivered in a brown bag with heat seeping through it.
Porch lights had started to come on as darkness lingered only minutes away. “My favorite time of day,” Caroline said to herself. She loved dusk and twilight as it led another day into rest.
She liked to think through her day and what she’d done, what she could be grateful for, and what she could do better with the following day. She loved that God gave her multiple chances at some things, and she never ended a day without kneeling down and thanking Him for His great blessings.
So lost in her thoughts of that day—and how bored she’d been without a date to look forward to and only animated movies to occupy her time—was she that she didn’t notice anyone pulling into her driveway.
She did, however, see the man as he crossed in front of her line of sight. With startling recognition, she said, “Dawson?”
The doorbell rang before she could move to open the door and tell him not to touch it. He moved like a ninja, that cowboy.
She’d barely slid the spoon out of her mouth fromher last bite of Biscoff when Belle said, “Caroline?” She flicked her eyes toward the door. “Who’s here?”
Caroline spun toward her, then back to the door, her boring evening and quiet contemplation suddenly anything but those things. “It’s just….” She nodded to the plate of food in her sister’s hand. “Go eat your dinner. I’ll just…take care of this.”
With that, she side-stepped over to the door and opened it, Biscoff and all.
Chapter Nine
Dawson had the distinct thought that he should’ve brought flowers to show up unannounced at Caroline’s house. His heartbeat bounced like a tightly coiled spring that had finally been released.
The door opened, and anticipation drove through him. Anticipation of seeing Caroline. Smiling with her. Chatting for a few minutes. He’d worn a jacket as the evenings could be cool in the winter, and he was willing to simply sit on the front steps and talk with her for as long as she could.
His fantasies dried right up when he caught sight of the fiery irritation in Caroline’s eyes. And if he’d missed that, he did not mistake the way she flew from the house, barely opening the door wide enough to squeeze out, as she hissed, “What are you doing here?”
Dawson backed up a step, all of his defenses liftingright back into position. He’d had walls in place when it came to Caroline, and he should’ve known better than to think a single breakfast and some filed paperwork would change things so drastically between them.
“I had to come to town for groceries,” he said. “Thought I’d stop by and say hi for a few minutes.” He glanced to what she held in her hands. Cookie butter.
His smile grew as he raised his eyes back to hers. He caught her looking at her post-dinner treat too, and she quickly concealed it behind her back. That only made Dawson chuckle—and Caroline to go, “Shh.”
She glanced behind her to the closed door and then gestured—with a spoon, mind you—for him to go down the steps and get off the porch.
He did, because he wasn’t sure what she’d do next with that spoon. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said as she followed him. “Not that way.”
Irritation fired through Dawson. “I’ll just go.”
“No, we can sit over here.” She spoke a bit softer, and Dawson turned back to her. She gestured for him to go back down the sidewalk and onto the lawn. “You’re standing right in front of the window.”
He looked up to it, didn’t see anything alarming, and heaved a sigh that he let out in a slow, hissing stream as he moved back toward her. “It’s not warm out here, darlin’.”
Caroline didn’t go back into the house to getanything, and she did wear a pretty pink sweater with a fox on the front. Perhaps she’d be warm enough, and Dawson started fantasizing about loaning her his jacket in one great show of chivalry.
Yeah, and then you’ll be cold, he thought. But it might be worth it too.
She led him over to a bench, and when she turned back to him, she didn’t try to hide the Biscoff. He nodded to the jar. “Crunchy or creamy?”
“Crunchy,” she said, lifting her chin as if she had to defend her choice of cookie butters.
“I like it on graham crackers,” he said. “My niece turned me onto it. It’s her favorite snack.” He groaned as he settled onto one end of the bench and waited for Caroline to do the same on the other side.