“You lost me,” Eli said.
“Okay, back to my original point. Older people don’t know what they should be doing either. They’ve lived longer and seen more, and they’ve learned some things, sure. But it doesn’t mean they automatically have all the answers or act exactly like they should.”
“From cradle to grave, there’s a learning curve,” he agreed with a gentle smile.
* * *
Eli never pictured himself taking dance lessons, but since reuniting with Iris, he’d been stepping out of his comfort zone more and more.
“I had fun tonight,” Iris said, almost as if she could read his thoughts.
“Me too. I’m looking forward to the next class.”
“I wonder what Hazel can tell me about Great-Aunt Gertie. I’m living in her house, and I feel a tad guilty about it because I didn’t know her well. And I wonder if it’s okay for me to be there. Because…”
He glanced at her, taking his eyes from the road only briefly. His sharpened senses made night driving easier, but there was no reason to be careless. “Because of what you found out recently?”
He couldn’t bring himself to say “you’re not biologically related” when that wasn’t her fault.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “That.”
“I think it’s enough that you care,” he said. “The rest of your family doesn’t.”
“Well, Olive is cut from different cloth, but—”
“She’s not here. Have you spoken to your dad since you got the news?”
“Not yet. But historically, he takes the path of least resistance. Whatever allows him to peacefully read books about ancient Rome.”
“Write him a note and put it in a biography of Julius Caesar. That way you know he’ll see it.”
Iris finally smiled, lightening the load in Eli’s heart. “Thanks. You always know what to say. It’s wild how good you are at getting me out of the bad place in my head.”
Eli didn’t know how to respond to that, so he changed the subject. “Was it me, or did the other lady…Gladys? Seem a bit…strange?”
“You noticed that too? It was so weird how she mentioned my kinfolk and called me ‘lady.’ Like, it didn’t sound like, ‘Hey, lady, move your car or else!’ It felt more like a title?” She made a softly disparaging sound. “Eh, that probably doesn’t—”
“No, I agree with you.” He cut her off because she was likely about to start second-guessing herself. Her so-called family had really done a number on her self-esteem. Now Iris acted like she was wrong about everything.
“Hmm. I do wonder what that was about. Do you think Hazel would know anything? I—oh.” Her phone beeped. “She just texted me! She wants to come over tomorrow.”
“I think you might’ve made a new best friend,” Eli noted.
It was sweet the way she collected people. On some level, maybe they sensed her innate goodness. She’d demonstrated it for him long ago, and the warmth he felt for her was only growing as he got to know her. Before, it had been gratitude and curiosity, and now—well, he refused to pin a name on these emotions.
“I could always use more friends,” she replied cheerfully. “Seems like she’s bringing fresh-baked corn muffins and homemade raspberry jam.”
“Tea or coffee, then?” He didn’t really care about the answer, but as Iris gave full consideration to the question, the unease he’d noticed disappeared.
Halfway to the house, the rain he’d seen coming earlier in the day broke, rolling thunder and snaps of lightning flashing far on the horizon. The rain fell in sheets, spattering the truck and pavement. He switched on the defrost to keep the windows from fogging up and set the wipers to the right speed. Iris didn’t seem to notice any of that, and by the time they got home, she’d decided that coffee would be best. “Tea is for tiny cakes and finger sandwiches, right? I’ll definitely make coffee for Hazel. I wonder if Sally will be home…”
“You should ask her,” he said, parking the truck behind Iris’s car.
Lights were ablaze in the house, golden rectangles of warmth that promised Sally and Henry Dale were there going about their business. That was an unexpectedly welcome realization, as his other properties were always dark—cool and inviolate spaces that offered silence and privacy. There were no baskets of knitting, no dog-eared paperbacks. Henry Dale had a collection of well-loved books, and he would read the same stories until the bindings fell apart. Already, Eli was planning to get him a collector’s edition copy of The Last Unicorn for Christmas.
If I’m still here by then. Briefly, he imagined the house covered in lights; he and Henry Dale would spend two days decorating, just to make it beautiful for Iris. Violet Gables would be a stately grand dame wreathed in snow, icicles dangling from the newly repaired gingerbread trim. Inside, the place would smell of sugar cookies and peppermint bark; something told him Sally would make all kinds of treats. All of that was a few months off, and he couldn’t stay here forever.
I can’t, right?
No. Not without telling Iris everything.
Iris bounded out of the vehicle before he could stop her, and she gaped up at the sky in sudden realization as the rain pelted down. He rounded the truck and pulled off his jacket, lifting it above her head. She didn’t argue; instead, they raced around the house together, as the front porch was still roped off from the work earlier. Both of them were drenched despite his best efforts by the time they came in through the mudroom behind the kitchen.
Eli kicked off his sneakers while Iris toed off her heels, tugging at her damp dress in little flutters. She was beautiful, even bedraggled like this, with water spangled on her skin like silvery sequins. He had a powerful urge to touch her, but he made himself step back instead of yielding to it, giving her a clear path into the house. But she didn’t move. She stared up at him with an expression that tugged at his heartstrings, an inexorable pull.
“I made hot tea,” Sally called.
Iris quickly shook her head, as if dismissing some strange thought, and her smile didn’t look as it usually did when she brushed past. “You’re a lifesaver!”
After hanging up his coat, Eli followed.
Sally smiled at him. “What would you like, my dear? The water is hot, and we’ve got apple cinnamon, lemon ginger, chamomile, and English breakfast.”
“Chamomile.” Lord knew he could use a calming drink right about then. “I’ll be right back. I need to put on some dry clothes.”
That wasn’t a lie, but the real truth was he needed a solitary moment to get his head in order. You’re not allowed to fall for her. That would be ridiculous under the circumstances. And yet she had so many endearing facets, so much that made it difficult not to—
He cut the thought with the sharpest of mental shears and continued onward up the stairs, ignoring the rise and fall of feminine voices as Iris and Sally chatted over tea. He pulled on warm socks, athletic pants, and a gray hoodie. Warm, comfortable clothing that should have felt like being enfolded in a hug, but the clothes didn’t do the trick. Truth was, he’d wanted to kiss Iris in the mudroom.