The Comfort of Favorite Things (A Hope Springs Novel) (25 page)

“Did you just say you loved me?” he asked, his voice gruff and raw and torn from his throat.

“Oh, Dakota.” She sobbed out his name, and then she just sobbed because she was beyond being able to deny the truth any longer. “I’ve loved you since I was fourteen years old. I’ve spent my whole life loving you. I’ve looked for you in every man I ever shared as much as a cup of coffee with. And the man I finally settled for, thinking close enough would be good enough—”

He cut her off, hooking an arm around her neck and grabbing her to him, not to kiss, but to hold against his body while the truth ravaged him. He shook as he cried, and he did so silently, purging himself of years of pent-up emotion. Emotion he’d had no one to share with, no one to understand. It broke her heart, seeing him this way, yet
this
had been inevitable from the beginning.

How in the world had he survived so long on his own? Because she knew, without a doubt, if he left again, this time he wouldn’t.

Though Lena had invited Ellie to her place more than once before she’d finally agreed to come, Ellie still wasn’t comfortable being here. Her discomfort had nothing to do with Lena and everything to do with being somewhere unfamiliar and out of her comfort zone.

For months now, nearly a year, she’d lived in one shelter or another, until coming to stay with Thea. She hoped it would be the last change of address she made until she was out on her own, though more and more she wondered if that would ever happen. If she could get past the fear of Bobby hunting her down and inflicting more than just the lit end of her cigarette to leave scars . . .

Since she’d ridden to Bread and Bean with Becca this morning, she’d come here with Lena in her car, the cutest little Mini Cooper ever, and she’d spent half the trip looking in the passenger side mirror. She had no reason to think they were being followed—that
she
was being followed—but the possibility was never far from her mind when she was away from the shop or the house.

Even on the days she rode her bike to town, she was a wreck by the time she arrived. She tried so hard to be brave, but all she could think about was Bobby chasing her down, catching her, holding her, burning her, telling her she didn’t deserve anything good.

Shuddering at the memory, she followed Lena out of the elevator and down the hall to the door, her hands shoved in the pockets of her skirt while she waited for Lena to open it so she could get inside. There wasn’t anyone else in the hallway, but someone could have seen her—

“Here we are,” Lena said, walking in. Ellie took a deep breath and followed, giving Lena enough room to close the door before stopping. She looked to one side, then to the other.

The loft was huge. The second floor of the warehouse had been divided into two living spaces, and Lena had one whole side of the building to herself. It was extravagant. The idea of so much space for one person. Then again, it was smaller than the house she’d lived in with Bobby.

“This is your place?” she asked, still standing just inside the door and twisting her hands at her waist. Why was she so nervous? Why was she always thinking the worst? Nothing was going to go wrong. This was Lena. She was safe.

“Only for the last couple of months,” Lena said, dropping her cross-body bag onto the seat of the closest chair. A chair that wasn’t broken in, or stained. A chair with fabric that wasn’t torn. “I’m subletting from Callum. He bought a house for him and his kid, but his lease wasn’t up here, so I took it on.”

Ellie crossed the room to the wall with the long row of casement windows. “Are you going to stay? When it is up?”

“I haven’t decided,” Lena said, but her shrug wasn’t exactly convincing. “I hate the idea of moving again, though eventually I’ll have to.”

“But this is so close to Bliss,” Ellie said, peering across the tops of what buildings she could see.

“I’m not planning to work at Bliss forever.”

Of course she wasn’t, Ellie mused, smiling as she turned. “Right. The animal shelter.”

Lena took a deep breath, and nodded with a weak smile. A strangely nervous smile. “If you ever want to stay here, you can. Like you said”—Lena shrugged—“it’s close to work. No one has to know where you’ve gone.”

“I’d have to tell Thea,” Ellie said. She was certain Lena had been referring to Bobby.

But Lena was shaking her head. “I don’t see why. As long as you show up for work, what does it matter?”

Confused, Ellie frowned. “I owe her so much.”

“More than you owe yourself?”

“That’s not fair,” Ellie said, feeling defensive as she crossed her arms. “If not for Thea, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“You don’t know that. You’re resilient, El. I can see it.”

“I’m glad one of us can.” Ellie dropped her gaze to the hardwood floor. “All I can see are the years I spent being weak.”

“How were you weak?” Lena asked, and Ellie sensed her frustration. “You didn’t have family. You didn’t have friends. Doing what you had to do to survive does not make you weak.”

Oh, but Ellie wanted to believe that. “I could’ve tried another shelter. I could’ve lived on the street. I could’ve—”

“Stop. Just stop. Now. Please.”

“I’m sorry.” She had to get it out. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I mean, I’m not sorry that I wanted to do it. Or that I gave in to that want. I’m just too impulsive sometimes and I don’t stop and think about what I’m doing—”

“Ellie—”

“Not thinking has gotten me into so much trouble.” She pressed trembling fingers to her forehead. “You’d think I’d learn, but no. Stupid, stupid—”

“Ellie—”

“I’m going to go,” she said, holding out both hands like stop signs, which made her want to laugh. She could’ve used them back when she’d opened her mouth and said yes to coming here. “You don’t need me here fucking up your life—”

This time she wasn’t stopped by the words coming out of Lena’s mouth. There were no words. Just her lips pressing to Ellie’s, her hands on either side of Ellie’s face holding her head still. The kiss was soft and sweet, and would have been chaste if not for the flutter rising from Ellie’s stomach to her chest and into her throat.

Once there, it beat with tiny, persistent, and oh-so-hungry wings. “I didn’t know—” she tried to say, but Lena cut her off with a gentle, “Shh,” and an even gentler pressure as she tilted her head, her breath warm on Ellie’s skin, and comforting. Ellie reached up and held on to Lena’s wrists.

It was welcome in ways Ellie had wondered for so long if she would ever know again. Except she’d never known this at all, not even once, not ever. Lena cared, and Ellie had been too wrapped up in her past to see it. But she could feel it, and she wanted to weep with the wonder of losing herself, with forgetting, even though she knew she never would.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Lena whispered against the corner of her mouth. “I love the color.”

“That’s because you’ve never been a redheaded stepchild,” Ellie said, her laugh tickling as Lena found her mouth again, kissed her solidly, holding her head as if to make sure she got it.

But not so securely that Ellie couldn’t cut and run if she wanted. Lena wanted to make sure she knew where they stood. That it was her choice to be here. To have something this good if it was what she wanted.

She totally did.

“C’mon,” Lena said, suddenly letting her go. “My turn to make you
my
favorite comfort food.”

Ellie pushed her glasses back into place. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

“Sure I do. It makes for a great first date, lot of prep time for conversation, then a totally fab meal.”

“Is that what this is?” Another flutter. “A date?”

Lena nodded, her eyes sparkling, her earlier nervousness crushed by their kiss. At least that’s what Ellie hoped. “It can be. If you want it to. Or it can be two friends hanging out and having fun.”

“What do you want it to be?”

“I’m pretty sure I heard the word
date
come out of my mo
uth. Also, I just kissed you.”

“Are you sure? Because I haven’t been on a date in years, and even then it didn’t feel as right as this, and I would love more than anything in the world for this to be one. A date.”

“Then it is. Though a working date because I’ve got to start the chicken and could use some help with chopping the mushrooms, onions, carrots, and celery for the pot pie.”

“Goodness.” Ellie clasped her hands against her chest where her heart was singing at the top of her lungs. “Homemade chicken pot pie. This may just be the best date ever.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I
’m trying to imagine the last time a full meal, a
real
meal, was cooked in this room,” Indiana said. Dakota glanced over to where she hovered between the cottage’s small table and the kitchen. He’d banned her from the room where he was using every available surface to cook.

Tennessee was doing his hovering from the table itself with a beer. He was close to being too big for the bistro chairs, even if they were a welded wrought iron. He sat with his legs spread for balance, the cushion crushed beneath him, his forearms on the table’s glass top.

It was almost as if one small move would cause his precarious perch to collapse and he’d go tumbling. He wouldn’t, of course. He’d sat in the same chair while they’d scarfed down pizza or wings nights after working late, and he’d eaten with Indiana when she’d lived here.

Still, Dakota wasn’t going to miss that table at all. Assuming he wouldn’t be living here much longer and using it. Not that he really ever used it. Most of the time he ate on the couch in front of the TV, leaning over the coffee table. Unless he was using the table as an ottoman and his T-shirt to catch his crumbs. He probably wouldn’t be able to get away with that in his new place.

“I hardly ever cooked,” Indiana was saying in lieu of blowing off nervous steam. “I used the microwave a lot. I had a panini press.” She came closer. “What exactly are you making anyway? Because it smells amazing. And I have absolutely no patience and want to know
now
.”

Dakota smiled to himself but kept his gaze on the pot in front of him while he whisked the remaining ketchup and brown sugar glaze. Satisfied, he opened the oven and drizzled it over the meatloaf that was as perfectly brown as it was ever going to get. As were the potatoes. “It smells amazing because it is amazing. Or it always was when Granny Keller made it.”

Indiana brought up both hands to cover her mouth and lowered herself slowly into the chair across from Tennessee’s. “You made Granny Keller’s meatloaf and Aunt Ruthie’s potatoes. My favorite comfort foods in the world. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had either?”

“If Kaylie saw all the cream and cheese in those potatoes, she’d kill me,” Tennessee said, his stomach rumbling.

Indiana turned to him and huffed. “Please. There’s just as much in most of Two Owls’ casseroles. Not to mention the sugar and butter in all those brownies.”

“She doesn’t feed
me
the casseroles
or
the brownies,” Tennessee said as he finished his beer. “Which is why I’m going to do my best to eat myself into an early grave tonight.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission?” Indiana asked with a laugh.

“You betcha.”

And there was the opening Dakota had been looking for. He reached for three plates, put three forks and two serving spoons on top, and held them out to his anxious sister. “Take these. And grab those hand towels for hot mats. Food’s done.”

The smells of beef and onions, garlic and tomatoes, wafted through the small house as Dakota pulled the pans from the oven. The table creaked under the weight of the casserole dishes, and the juggling of plates, bottles, and glasses, and knees bumping its legs.

Though the reason for the meal had him wondering how much of an appetite he would manage, Dakota’s plate was soon full. Tennessee mounded his with at least two helpings each of the meat and potatoes. Indiana had enough of both that Dakota figured she’d need a to-go box.

But that was good. That was fine.

He wanted his siblings comfortable because what he had to say to them wasn’t going to be. He frowned as he lifted his fork and licked the glaze from the tines, then he set it down and spread his hands over his thighs. He flexed his fingers, stared at the remains of the ink on both of his middle fingers.

“I need to talk to you both about something,” he said, looking up to see Indiana’s face pale as she lowered her fork to her plate. Tennessee just dropped his, then sat back and shook his head.

Arms crossed, he said, “You’re leaving. That’s what this is about. Get the whole family together one final time. Big good-bye. The last supper before you hit the road.
Adios, amigo
.”

Dakota didn’t react. He’d expected his brother to be angry and bitter, his sister to be confused and hurt. Those emotions and others had simmered beneath the surface for a year now because the three of them hadn’t really talked. They’d exchanged words while walking on eggshells. That was no way to live. No way to stay close.

“But it’s not the whole family, is it?” He sliced the side of his fork into his meatloaf, looking from his sister to his brother while he chewed. “I think that’s pretty much why we’re all in this pickle now.”

“What pickle?” Indiana asked, wiping her napkin over her mouth, then twisting it in her lap, her fingers tight, her legs crossed. “Is Tennessee right? Are we here so you can tell us good-bye?”

He’d get to that in a minute. “Do y’all ever wonder how things would’ve turned out for us if our parents had been around? Or think about how often they weren’t there? How they’re still not? I know Tennessee does.” He gave his brother a nod. “We talked about it the other day. They’ve got a year old granddaughter they haven’t bothered to come back to the states to meet.”

Indiana frowned, and instead of answering his question, asked her own. “So you’re not leaving?”

“You with the one-track mind,” Dakota said, stabbing his fork into his potatoes and taking a bite.

She growled beneath her breath. “Answer me, dammit, before my fork accidentally flies across the table and stabs you in the eye.”

Dakota glanced at Tennessee. “Your influence, no doubt.”

“I don’t recall ever stabbing anyone with a fork. Now a knife is a whole other . . . ball . . . game. Crap.” He cut himself off, shook his head. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“It’s okay. I did what I did and I’ve never been sorry about it. But I
am
sorry that I didn’t know any other way to deal with what Robby had done. Or later, after everything, how to deal with what I’d done to both of you.” He frowned down at his plate while he cleared his throat of the regrets rising there. “I walked away after prison because it’s the one thing I learned from our folks.”

“What are you talking about?” Indiana asked.

“At the prison that day. When I got out”—
whoo, boy
—“I knew you were both there but I couldn’t come home. I couldn’t face either of you until I was in a better place mentally.”

“But we could have helped with that,” she said insistently.

He shook his head, aware her sincerity was one hundred proof. “I appreciate you wanting to, but I had to figure things out on my own.”

“Things like what?” she asked, almost in tears.

He pushed a string of onion around on his plate. “What I wanted to do with my life—”

“Besides working construction—” Tennessee interrupted to say.

But Dakota wasn’t finished. “And how to make up for all that I put you through.”

“You didn’t put us through anything—”

“I did,” he said, meeting his sister’s gaze. “I couldn’t live with what Robby had tried to do, or the fact that we’d treated him like one of the family. I should have seen what he was—”

“Why?” Indiana asked, her napkin so snug around her fingers the tips had grown bloodless.

“None of us saw it,” Tennessee said, heading for the fridge and another beer, his voice gruff and sorrowful. “Why should you be the one to take on that burden? Robby deserves the blame for where we are now. It’s his fault.”

“And mine,” Indiana said softly.

That had Dakota frowning. “How is it yours?”

“I led him on—”

Uh-uh, he mused, tossing his fork to his plate. He wasn’t having any of that. “Did you say yes? Did you once say the word
yes
?”

Indiana shook her head. Her tears ran down her cheeks to her chin. She used her napkin to wipe them away, but finally gave up. They weren’t going to stop.

It took all the self-control Dakota had not to break something. “I brought him into our house—”

“No,” Tennessee said. “I did that. We both knew him. We all hung out. But I brought him home. And I convinced Dad to let him stay with us during that spring-break week.”

“None of this matters.” Taking a deep breath, Indiana waved a hand,
then reached for her iced tea. After a long swallow, she put on a brave smile.
A survivor’s smile. “Who did what to whom and when is in the past. I’m
sure we’ve all suffered remorse. I know I have. But we’re here. We’re happy
and healthy. We’re all in good relationships, and don’t tell me you and Thea
haven’t hooked up again,” she said, when Dakota started to interrupt.

“That so,” Tennessee said, lifting his longneck to drink and trying to hide a grin.

Dakota made a zipping motion across his lips. He wasn’t talking
about
Thea until he talked
to
Thea.

“There’s only one thing left to settle tonight. The rest can be worked out in years of group therapy,” Indiana said teasingly, though her words
had Dakota and Tennessee exchanging a terrified glance. “Are you staying?”

Dakota looked at Tennessee, who raised an eyebrow, then looked at Indiana, whose hands were clasped beneath her chin as if in prayer. Then he
got up and carried his dishes to the sink, realizing what an amazingly lucky man he was to be here, past and all.

He was looking out the window into the dark night when he said, “I’m staying,” and he’d braced himself against the counter preemptively, so when Indiana launched herself at him with a joyful screech, they both—miraculously—stayed upright instead of crashing in a heap of limbs, laughter, and sibling love to the floor.

“Do you want to do this by yourself?” Dakota asked, his voice drifting softly down to Thea where she stood at his side. The pebbled walk beneath her feet was new, and led from the newly set concrete driveway to the new front steps. Those rose to the new porch wrapping all the way around the house on Dragon Fire Hill. Sturdy steps. A sturdy porch. A sidewalk without cracks. A driveway that wouldn’t turn into mud and wash farther away with the next storm.

Thea had done cartwheels across the porch last night and laughed until she’d nearly made herself sick. Oh, but it had been glorious. No loose boards to unbalance her. No jagged nail heads catching the soles of her shoes. No splinters gouging her palms as she’d tumbled. No fear of crashing through rot to the ground beneath.

The driveway continued on to the back of the house and the new carport. On the other side of the carport was a new sandbox Frank Stumbo had used his own money and his own time to build. He’d given Robert a set of pails and shovels to match the colorful plastic toolbox he’d given James. Then he’d given them both matching trucks.

Frannie hadn’t known what to do with the attention, until Frank brought his wife to visit—with Thea’s permission. Turned out the visit was less about showing a kindness to Frannie and her boys and more about giving Letha Stumbo a reason to bake cookies again.

She hadn’t touched her Mixmaster or baking sheets or food coloring or cookie cutters, he’d told Thea, since their five-year-old grandson had been killed three years earlier by a drunk driver. Frank had made certain the driver wouldn’t ever get behind another wheel.

“Well?” Dakota asked. “Would you rather do this alone? Do you want me to wait out here?”

“Absolutely not,” Thea said, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms even though it was already in the mid-eighties and she wasn’t the least bit chilled. There was just something about this house and the way the magic had touched others who’d moved unexpectedly into its sphere.

Frank. Manny Balleza. Lena Mining. Thea wondered who she’d missed. If Dakota might have been caught up in its spell, too.
Please, please let him stay.
She couldn’t imagine life without him. “I want you here every step of the way. This wouldn’t have happened without you.”

“Without Keller Construction, I’ll give you,” he said, his arms crossed as he canted his head to the side to take her in. “But I didn’t have much of anything to do with it.”

“I refuse to believe you being at Bread and Bean wasn’t directly responsible somehow.” But she wasn’t going to push him more than that. Not about her benefactor. Not about the rest.
Please, please let him stay.
She’d done all she could; if he was leaving, then she’d move on without him, as devastated as doing so would leave her. As lonely. Though not alone.

A shudder ran through her at the thought. She shook it off and changed the subject, pressing both hands to her cheeks. The new coat of dove-gray paint, the black shutters, the white porch columns, the matching rockers scattered along it. Those had not been part of the renovations but a gift from Kaylie, Indiana, and Luna. “Oh, Dakota. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous owner deserves a gorgeous house.”

She rolled her eyes because he tickled her so with his purposefully provocative remarks. “There you go, being all sexist again.”