Prologue
Kenna
PAST
I waved frantically, trying to clear the smoke away from the oven with one hand as I attempted to open the kitchen window with the other. My efforts were in vain. The smoke detector let out a wail that was likely to make my brain bleed.
“Blasted oven.” I ran for one of the barstools and tugged it over beneath the shrieking alarm. I climbed up, stretching on my tiptoes until I could just reach the device. I twisted it off and quickly unplugged the wire.
“What in heaven’s name is going on in here? Do I need to get the fire extinguisher?”
“I’m sorry, Harriet. I just…” I wasn’t sure how to finish that statement.
Harriet fought to hold back a laugh as she shook her head, the lines creasing her face deepening with the movement. “Let me get these out of the oven, and you climb down off that death trap before you fall and crack your head open.”
I carefully lowered myself to the seat of the stool and then stood, setting the smoke detector on the counter. “I really am sorry.”
Harriet waved me off as she slipped on oven mitts. “You know you don’t have to apologize for things like this. We have to make mistakes—”
“—so that we can learn,” I finished in tandem with her. My grandmother’s best friend had been preaching this line since I’d come to live with her seven years ago. One of many Harriet-isms that I’d come to know and love.
She lifted the baking sheet up and frowned. “I’m afraid to say I don’t think these will recover. What were you trying to make?”
I took in the charred black rocks on the pan. Just the sight of them had a burn lighting behind my eyes. “Biscuits.”
Harriet’s gaze jumped to me at the sound of strain in my voice. “Oh, sweet girl. We can make another batch.”
“I don’t have time. And I just…I wanted everything to be perfect. I swear I followed your recipe to the letter.” But somewhere along the way, something had gotten mixed up, and my plans had gone up in smoke. If that wasn’t a metaphor for my life at the moment, I didn’t know what was.
“Take a deep breath.” Harriet ducked into the pantry and pulled out a Tupperware container. “I’ve got some crescent rolls from lunch you can take. What are they for anyway?”
“A picnic.” One I’d spent hours preparing for, trying to think of every last detail. “It’s Grant’s and my anniversary.”
Harriet’s expression faltered for a moment as she handed me the container. Her relationship with her grandson wasn’t always an easy one. And no matter what I tried to do to smooth the way for the two of them, it never seemed to work.
Harriet cleared her throat. “I just talked to Clark a minute ago, and he said they were all headed for the mainland. Spending a few nights in Seattle before heading on a trip to Boston.”
Grant hadn’t said a word about a trip with his parents. God, I hoped he hadn’t forgotten. “He texted me just a bit ago and said he was heading into town to pick up a few things. We’re supposed to meet on the beach in a few minutes.”
She patted my hand. “I must’ve misunderstood. You two have fun. Just make sure you’re back by eleven.”
I grinned at Harriet. “Never any curfew extensions from you.”
“I’ve only got you living at home for a bit longer, let me rule those few months with an iron fist.”
“Fair enough.” That was the thing about living the majority of your childhood with a parent who couldn’t care less about you, having a strict guardian made me feel nothing but loved. When classmates moaned and complained about curfews and family dinners, I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Was it really so bad to know that people cared about you? Your safety and your well-being?
I leaned forward and kissed Harriet’s cheek. “Don’t forget, you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning.”
She chuckled. “Always mothering me.”
“Just looking out for you.” It was the least I could do for the woman who had given me so much. I’d been terrified when I first came to live at The Gables, sure I’d be sent away from Harriet’s sprawling waterfront estate and back to the home where I had been left alone to make myself dinner with the little we had in our pantry or to try and figure out how to use the washing machine so my clothes didn’t smell. But slowly, The Gables became home, and Harriet, my family.
She cupped my face in her hands. “You’re a treasure. The best surprise gift of my life.”
Guilt swamped me for what felt like the millionth time in the past two days. I’d almost blurted out my secret more times than I could count, hungry for Harriet’s wisdom and comfort. I swallowed the words back. “I should go.”
She patted my cheek and sent me off with a shooing motion. I picked up the picnic basket and headed out of the kitchen. I tried to shove the guilt and worry from my mind as I made my way out the front door.
Gravel crunched as I walked away from the large stone house, the rocks soon giving way to thick, lush grass that tickled my feet. The quaint guest house poked up on my right, and I could see Grant’s home in the distance. I grinned, thinking about the time we’d gotten long-range walkie talkies and stayed up late into the night, swapping stories and sharing secrets.
I searched the beach for Grant’s long, lean form, but the shore was empty. I crossed to the large piece of driftwood that made the perfect picnic spot. Spreading out the contents of the basket, I eased down onto the blanket, careful not to get anything on my dress. I glanced down at my watch. He was only a few minutes late.
I took a deep breath and forced my attention to the ocean, hoping the rippling of the water would soothe my frayed edges. I’d written out what I might say to Grant, how I’d tell him, over and over, but nothing seemed quite right. I just hoped that in the moment, the right words would come, ones that eased instead of panicked, that assured him we were in this together.
I thought it all through again, practicing the different things I might say, how I would voice them. Until the rumbling of my stomach brought me back to the present. I checked the time again. Forty-five minutes had passed in the blink of an eye. I looked down at my phone. No messages.
Annoyance pricked at my skin. Grant knew that marking special occasions was important to me. Birthdays, anniversaries, I always did my best to make them special for the people I loved. Probably because my mother had never done so for me, other than the time she’d shown up smashed to my fourth-grade classroom with a dozen stale donuts. Grant knew my wounds better than anyone, which only dug the sting in deeper.
A loud whistle pierced the air, and I turned to see Grant crossing the lawn towards the beach. I climbed to my feet, doing my best to keep the mixture of frustration and hurt in check. His eyes lit with a familiar heat as he approached. “Hey, babe. You look gorgeous.”
“I thought we were meeting at five.” As soon as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. My harping on his tardiness would only ruin our night.
Grant sent me a sheepish smile, the same one he always used before trying to smooth something over. “I ran into Joe in town. We started talking, and I lost track of time. I’m sorry, babe.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. “Forgive me?”