Sam, thankfully, had come bearing firewood. He crouched near the fireplace now, arranging logs, concentration etched into his wrinkled brow. “Lucas will get here when he gets here.”
“Yeah, but the pizza’s going to be delivered any minute. That boy is always late to everything.” And speaking of missing people, shouldn’t Mara and Marsh be back out here by now? They’d gone inside to fetch cans of pop from the fridge.
Sam straightened a log, gave a satisfied nod, then stood. He crossed his arms—his usual police chief stance—and cocked one dark eyebrow. “That boy is only two years younger than you and he’d cringe if he heard you call him that.”
“No, he’ll cringe when he hears my lecture if he doesn’t get here soon. He’s terrified of my lectures. It’s why he finally agreed to drive the News’s float in the Fourth of July parade. And came to the Labor Day picnic. And shows up to church now and then.”
Sam pressed his lips together, his standard scowl and the hint of premature gray at his temples always making him look so much older than mid-thirties. “Yeah, Jen. He’s scared of you. Sure.”
A chilly draft swept over the patio and she pulled her legs onto the cushion, having traded her ankle boots for simple canvas flats earlier. Leggings and a skirt might not have been the best option for a cool near-fall night, but soon enough the fire would warm her up.
As would the presence of these friends she loved so. Sam, who’d she’d known longer than the others. Mara and Marshall, who’d only come into her life this past spring. Lucas, if he ever got here.
A makeshift family, that’s what they’d become, somehow all ending up at the Everwood right when they’d needed each other most.
“You could’ve told me, you know.”
She glanced up in time to see a flicker of concern—or maybe something more like frustration—flash in Sam’s brown eyes. But he suppressed it in a blink, only the slight tic in his jaw giving away any hint of emotion. “Told you what?”
“The house. You’re finally selling.”
“You saw the sign out front—”
“I’m not blind. Of course I did.” He dropped his arms and plopped onto the chair beside her. “And even if I hadn’t, I heard about it before I got here. This is Maple Valley. Gossip spreads faster than the flu. You know that.”
“So that’s why you’re extra grumpy tonight? Because I didn’t tell you before the local rumor mill?”
“I’m not extra grumpy.”
“You’re glowering.”
“And you’re—” He clipped his words but gave his glare a few more seconds to fade before softening his tone. “It’s just . . . I know how much history there is in this place.”
Personal history, he meant, though considering her ancestors had practically built Maple Valley, there was plenty of actual history, too. And truthfully, Sam didn’t know the half of it. Sure, he knew how hard it’d been for her those few years of caring for her ailing parents before they’d passed. He knew about the breakup she’d gone through back then, too—an old relationship that had gone on far too long.
But he didn’t know about the early years. About the cottage and Aunt Lauren and the cold, unrelenting silence after she disappeared. About the toll of Dad’s campaigns and the harsh realities of Mom’s up-and-down battle with alcoholism.
About the part Jenessa had played in it all.
“She’s a liability, Granger. Surely that’s clear to you by now.” The voice of Dad’s old campaign advisor murmured through her mind. As clear now as it’d been when she was only twelve years old and unequipped to handle the grief of Aunt Lauren’s leaving.
That was when she’d first learned the importance of controlling her emotions.
Hiding them, more like.
“Jen.”
She met Sam’s eyes. He wore that look that was as much scrutinizing cop as it was observant friend—keen and probing. “I know it must be hard. You’ve been putting it off for a long time. We’re all here for you.”
“It’s okay, Sam. You don’t have to make a speech.”
“I wasn’t making a speech.” His eyes narrowed. “I suppose you think I was going to offer you a hug or something, too.”
Another gust of wind whooshed through the trees, shaking the twinkle lights and blowing out one of the candles. She laughed. “Come on, let’s go figure out what happened to M&M. And maybe one of us should text Lucas while we’re at it.” At this rate, those clouds in the distance would roll in before he did.
Sam’s steps lumbered behind her. “By the way, what are you going to do with all the money?”
“Money?” She slid open the patio door.
“When you sell the house. Didn’t your parents already leave you an inheritance? You’re going to be loaded once you find someone to buy this place. Don’t tell me you don’t have plans for what you’re going to do with it.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re Jen Belville. You always have a plan. And you’re obviously bored at the newspaper so—”
“You can tell?”
He grunted as he trailed her through the sunroom. “Everyone can tell.”
“Paige said instead of selling the house I should turn it into a bookstore or something. Maybe she has a point. I mean, I have been a little . . .” She paused with her palm on the knob of the French doors.
“A little what?” Sam prodded.
Restless. Discontent.
Unhappy. That was the nonsensical gist of it. Nonsensical because she couldn’t explain it. Knew that if she tried, Sam would probably look at her the same way her parents had too many times.
Better to smile and laugh and be the breezy Jenessa Belville everyone knew. “Oh, nothing, Sam.”
He followed her to the kitchen where they found Marshall leaning against a counter and Mara perched on the island , her feet dangling over the edge. Marshall flashed an easy grin. “Hey, guys, what’s up?”
Sam folded his arms. “Guess you forgot you were supposed to be grabbing drinks, huh?”
Mara’s pink cheeks and burst of laughter, the constant joy she wore these days, made it almost impossible to believe this was the same wary, wounded woman Jenessa had first met six months ago.
Marshall radiated the same contentedness as his fiancée. He’d come to Maple Valley last spring a broken man, but a person would never know it by looking at him tonight. In Mara, he’d found unexpected healing and happiness, and in the Everwood, a home.
And so had Jenessa. More and more, the Everwood had become her happy place, a needed distraction from the dissatisfaction she’d begun to feel with her life. She’d gotten used to sharing a morning coffee with Mara before heading into the newspaper office. To Saturday evening movies in the B&B den and the sound of Sam’s snores echoing down the hallway most nights.
Or the floorboards creaking as Lucas paced after one of the nightmares he probably thought none of them knew about.
“All right, who wants to be the one to call Lucas and interrogate him about his whereabouts? I’ve already texted him twice so—” She broke off at the unwelcome sound pattering from outside. “Please tell me that’s not rain.” She twisted to look over her shoulder, out the window above the kitchen sink.