sounding from the front door cut her off. “That’s probably her now.” Her focus shifted from her half-filled tub to the still-almost-full shelves.
Another knock. “Go on. I’ll keep working.”
She turned before exiting the room. “By the way, Blake, hear that knocking?” Teasing tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Notice how they’re waiting for me to answer the door before barging in?”
He tossed a paperback at her retreating form, then stood, a grin of his own leading the way back to the bookshelf. But instead of hooking his arm around another bundle ofbooks, he paused, gaze drawn to a framed photo serving as a bookend. The faces of Autumn and her family stared back at him from the porch of the inn—all smiles and carefree poses, arms locked around each other.
He picked up the frame, his scrutiny moving from Autumn’s little-girl grin to her father’s face, awareness creeping through him. He’d forgotten about her family’s loss.
“And this will be your bedroom, Luce—if you decide you’d like to stay here, that is.”
He turned at the sound of Autumn’s voice and shuffled steps entering the room. A man followed Autumn in, along with the young woman who must be Lucy. Straight blond hair hung in pigtails on both sides of her heart-shaped face. She peered around the room with interest, movement slow but smile steady—features both endearing and telling.
“What do you think?” Autumn asked Lucy. “We’ll clear out the bookshelves, and I’m going to clean out the closet, too. It’ll be all your own.”
“I can’t stay at Hope House?”
Blake recognized the name of the nonprofit in a neighboring town—a home for adults with Down syndrome or other developmental challenges.
The man beside Lucy placed his arm around her shoulder. “I’m afraid not, Luce. But I think you’d really like it here. It’s right by where Betsy works, and you can come to the house and see your nieces and nephew whenever you want. We’re all excited about having you so close.”
Must be Betsy’s husband.
“Is he staying here, too?” Lucy pointed at Blake.
At that, both Autumn and the man chuckled. “No, this is my friend Blake. He’s just helping me get the room ready for you. If you decide you like it, I’ll have it all ready when we help you move tomorrow.”
Lucy stepped forward and jutted out her hand. “Hiya, Blake.”
“Hiya, Lucy.” He mimicked her greeting and didn’t have to work for the warmth in his voice. Partially because Lucy’s sweet demeanor naturally drew it out of him.
But, too, because he couldn’t stop the rush of respect toward Autumn. Opening up her tiny home. Reaching out to a friend’s sister. Watching Lucy with as much care and concern as if she were family.
Lucy glanced around the room once more. Nodded. And then, “Okay.”
Autumn’s lips spread. “Good.”
“Can we go say hi to Betsy now?”
Autumn and Betsy’s husband laughed at the quick change, and seconds later, as she walked them back through the house, he heard Autumn promising to help pick up Lucy’s things tomorrow.
Blake was loading up another box of books when Autumn returned. And she must have read the question in his eyes. “Hope House is closing. Betsy and Philip live in a three-bedroom house with four kids. I have this spare room. So . . .”
From his kneeling position he looked up at her, pretty sure the wave of admiration surging through him was visible on his face.
“Anyway, I thought it might feel a little more like home if my stuff wasn’t crowding the space.”
He held her gaze. “You’re something else, Red.”
Embarrassment flitted through her eyes, and she turned to the shelf. “It helps that she already knows me. She spent a lot of time at the inn before moving to Hope House. And I hang out at Hope House a couple times a month and lead a book club for the residents.”
He dropped another load of books in the tub. “They got the right woman for the
Another knock. “Go on. I’ll keep working.”
She turned before exiting the room. “By the way, Blake, hear that knocking?” Teasing tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Notice how they’re waiting for me to answer the door before barging in?”
He tossed a paperback at her retreating form, then stood, a grin of his own leading the way back to the bookshelf. But instead of hooking his arm around another bundle ofbooks, he paused, gaze drawn to a framed photo serving as a bookend. The faces of Autumn and her family stared back at him from the porch of the inn—all smiles and carefree poses, arms locked around each other.
He picked up the frame, his scrutiny moving from Autumn’s little-girl grin to her father’s face, awareness creeping through him. He’d forgotten about her family’s loss.
“And this will be your bedroom, Luce—if you decide you’d like to stay here, that is.”
He turned at the sound of Autumn’s voice and shuffled steps entering the room. A man followed Autumn in, along with the young woman who must be Lucy. Straight blond hair hung in pigtails on both sides of her heart-shaped face. She peered around the room with interest, movement slow but smile steady—features both endearing and telling.
“What do you think?” Autumn asked Lucy. “We’ll clear out the bookshelves, and I’m going to clean out the closet, too. It’ll be all your own.”
“I can’t stay at Hope House?”
Blake recognized the name of the nonprofit in a neighboring town—a home for adults with Down syndrome or other developmental challenges.
The man beside Lucy placed his arm around her shoulder. “I’m afraid not, Luce. But I think you’d really like it here. It’s right by where Betsy works, and you can come to the house and see your nieces and nephew whenever you want. We’re all excited about having you so close.”
Must be Betsy’s husband.
“Is he staying here, too?” Lucy pointed at Blake.
At that, both Autumn and the man chuckled. “No, this is my friend Blake. He’s just helping me get the room ready for you. If you decide you like it, I’ll have it all ready when we help you move tomorrow.”
Lucy stepped forward and jutted out her hand. “Hiya, Blake.”
“Hiya, Lucy.” He mimicked her greeting and didn’t have to work for the warmth in his voice. Partially because Lucy’s sweet demeanor naturally drew it out of him.
But, too, because he couldn’t stop the rush of respect toward Autumn. Opening up her tiny home. Reaching out to a friend’s sister. Watching Lucy with as much care and concern as if she were family.
Lucy glanced around the room once more. Nodded. And then, “Okay.”
Autumn’s lips spread. “Good.”
“Can we go say hi to Betsy now?”
Autumn and Betsy’s husband laughed at the quick change, and seconds later, as she walked them back through the house, he heard Autumn promising to help pick up Lucy’s things tomorrow.
Blake was loading up another box of books when Autumn returned. And she must have read the question in his eyes. “Hope House is closing. Betsy and Philip live in a three-bedroom house with four kids. I have this spare room. So . . .”
From his kneeling position he looked up at her, pretty sure the wave of admiration surging through him was visible on his face.
“Anyway, I thought it might feel a little more like home if my stuff wasn’t crowding the space.”
He held her gaze. “You’re something else, Red.”
Embarrassment flitted through her eyes, and she turned to the shelf. “It helps that she already knows me. She spent a lot of time at the inn before moving to Hope House. And I hang out at Hope House a couple times a month and lead a book club for the residents.”
He dropped another load of books in the tub. “They got the right woman for the
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