“Space. You're twenty-six years old, on administrative leave, and you needed space.” A pause that communicated a greatdeal about what her mother thought of this framing. “Are you eating?”
“Yes.”
“Sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Have you met anyone?”
Morgan knew what she was asking. It was the same question she always asked on those rare occasions they spoke at all, because, as her mom often said, careers were not a substitute for a husband.
The guy in the coffee shop came to mind, but spilling coffee on someone didn’t count as a meet cute. “Not really.”
Her mother made a sound of disappointment. “Are you somewhere safe, at least?”
Morgan pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. The genuine concern in her mother’s voice was unusual—and a little unnerving.
“Yes.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“You're with your grandfather?”
“I’m with Frank, yes.”
She could have sworn she heard her mother sigh in relief.
“Just be careful, okay? Take as much time as you need.”
“I will.”
Morgan ended the call and exhaled. She loved her mother, she really did, but preferred to do so from a distance.
Three hours from Philly seemed just about right.
For a small town,Pine Ridge wasn’t bad, Morgan thought as she exited the bookstore, her mood lighter thanks to a bit of retail therapy.
It was scenic and quiet. The diner had genuinely good food and a corner booth with good light that had become her default when she needed to be around other people without interacting with them. The bookstore had a great selection. Even more surprising, the farmers market was a small but surprisingly decent substitute for the Reading Terminal Market in downtown Center City—without the barrage of Italian curses being bandied about.
The pace was slower and the people were generally friendlier, more inclined to look you in the eye and offer a nod or a hello.
The barista at the café was another matter. Granted, Morgan hadn't exactly been in a great mood the first time she’d gone in there, which was why she’d stopped in again a few days later, only to discover that no, it wasn’t her. Morgan found that mildly baffling, since she hadn’t said or done anything to warrant the rudeness.
Unless it was abouthim.
The answer slid into place with a satisfying click as Morgan remembered her initial assessment of the young woman.
Apparently, she was not only smitten but territorial too.
Morgan wondered if the guy knew he’d been so thoroughly claimed, then shook her head at the ridiculousness of it. Probably not. His body language had been friendly and open, but not in a way that suggested anything more than friendly conversation.
Their paths had almost crossed again—almost being the operative word. She'd seen him again, through the diner window. He'd been standing by one of the sugar maples in the square, looking back at her as if he was surprised to see her there. For one crazy moment, Morgan had thought he might be thinking of joining her. Then he’d pulled his phone from his pocket, something had crossed his face, and he'd walked away.
It was probably for the best.
Later that afternoon,Morgan wandered into the kitchen for a snack and spotted the newspaper Frank had left on the kitchen counter. Morgan picked it up, mildly curious about what constituted news around Pine Ridge. Meeting minutes, probably. Letters to the editor. An op-ed piece on the best recipe for potato pancakes.
She read the township supervisors meeting summary. A letter about the library hours. A piece about road resurfacing near the county line.