Page 32 of Against All Odds (Ember Falls #3)

twenty-four

Violet

I manage to stay away from the window for two days, pretty sure that Everett will make good on his promise.

But I miss him.

I know I shouldn’t, but I want to see him, so before I can think about it twice, I move to my bedroom window, pull the curtain back, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And . . . nothing.

Well, that was anticlimactic and disappointing.

I let out a long sigh and go do my nighttime skin routine, layering all my serums and lotions. Once all that is done, I slip into my comfy satin pajamas and head downstairs to grab my book and make sure everything is ready for the night.

I clean up the kitchen and am shutting the lights off when there’s a knock.

Oh God.

He came.

My stomach drops and my nerves are scattered.

I’m happy about this. Right? I should be. I mean, I stood at the window, and he said he would come over if I did.

I rush to the door and open it.

“Violet.”

Everett.

My heart immediately starts to race with excitement, but the look in his eyes has me instantly concerned. Everett runs his hands through his dark-brown hair and sighs. “Hey, look, I hate to ask you for a favor.”

“What is it?” I ask quickly.

“I have an emergency at the clinic and I really need to go, but my mother isn’t ... well, I need someone to sit with her.”

That’s not a favor I would ever say no to. “Of course, let me get changed real quick and grab my coat.”

I step back inside, run up the stairs, change back into my leggings and sweatshirt, grab the jacket sitting on the edge of the couch, and return to him.

He sighs heavily and then he looks at me. “Are you sure?”

“Everett, I don’t mind at all.”

Relief washes over him. “Thank you. This only happens once in a blue moon, and today nothing is going right.”

I reach my hand out, resting it on his arm. “Hey, that’s what friends are for.” Although I’m kidding myself thinking we’re only friends. He’s more. So much more.

He looks down at where I’m touching him, and then our eyes meet. “Right.”

The flutter in my stomach has nothing to do with the warmth in his eyes. Nope. It must be the baby or something I ate.

I’m such a liar.

I quickly remove my hand and say, “Okay, so you need me to just sit with her?”

He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, usually one of her friends comes over and knits or something, but she’s not feeling well.”

“Oh no, okay. I mean, I don’t know how to knit, but I’ll hang out with her. I’m sure we can find something.”

“Thanks, Vi.”

“Again, no thanks needed. You’ve come to my aid more than once.”

We walk into the barn, and I am absolutely blown away. When he said he built her a home, he wasn’t kidding.

This place is absolutely stunning. The front entryway leads to a beautiful open floor plan with a vaulted ceiling in the living room area. There is a television mounted on the wall where Mrs. Finnegan’s old recliner from when we were kids sits.

The kitchen boasts stunning two-tone cabinets, and there is a hallway toward the back.

“Her bedroom and the bathroom are back down there.” He points to the hallway. “There is plenty of food in the fridge. The front door is automated to close if it’s left open more than fifteen minutes, so don’t be alarmed if you hear something shut.”

“Anything else I should know?”

Everett nods. “She can’t remember things. I know I told you that, but she won’t know if she did something, and she may forget why you’re here or that she saw you recently. I’m sorry, I really wouldn’t ask this if?—”

I lift my hand. “Stop, it’s fine. I love your mom.”

He’s done so much for me. This is not even a favor.

“Okay,” he says, the resignation causing my heart to ache. “Mom! Can you come to the living room?”

She comes shuffling out. “Everett.” She smiles as though the sun has just risen. “Hi, sweetheart.” Then Mrs. Finnegan smiles at me. “Hi, Violet.”

“Hi, Mrs. F.”

Everett steps forward. “Mom, I have to go to work for a little bit. I know I wrote down that we were going to spend time together, and I’m sorry.”

Her eyes go to the board that’s on the wall. “Now? You have to go now?”

“Yes, there’s an emergency, so I need to go, but Violet is going to hang out with you for a little while.” Everett walks over and wipes off the timing that he would be there now and writes that she’s going to spend time with me.

I can see the concern in her eyes. “It’s so late, Everett. You can’t drive now.”

“I promise I’ll be okay, and I’ll come right here when I’m done.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s dark out.”

Everett looks to me. “I have to go.”

“Go, it’s fine. I got this.”

While Mrs. Finnegan is not the equivalent of a child, Everett said sometimes that’s what it feels like, so I do what I would do if one of my students didn’t want to do something.

Distraction.

“Mrs. Finnegan,” I say quickly. “Everett said that you are really good at knitting? I’ve never done it before, and I would really love to learn. Do you think you’d ... be willing?”

Her eyes light up. “I am very good at knitting, dear.”

Everett winks at me and mouths, Thank you .

I smile at him and then turn back to Mrs. Finnegan.

We spend the first thirty minutes with her explaining all the different things about knitting. I had no idea there were different ways to hold the needles or loops or patterns.

Once she determines that I am now knowledgeable enough to attempt it, she starts me off with a row and hands it to me.

I thought that I was pretty crafty and smart.

I realize now—I am not.

Somehow almost half of the first row undoes itself and comes off, causing her to have to fix it. “It’s okay, Violet. You’re doing great.”

I snort a laugh. “I am terrible.”

“Well, you’re not awful,” she says with a smile.

“I’m a much better baker.”

“Your grandmother used to make me the best carrot cake each Thanksgiving.”

That was one of the first things she taught me to make.

She said a carrot cake was the best cake for any occasion.

If I could master it, I would be well on my way to being a good baker.

I never understood it, but she said most people would justify eating a piece since it was a vegetable.

Also, because she prepped every ingredient by hand, it gave us quality time in the kitchen.

I reach over, resting my hand on Mrs. Finnegan’s. “Would you like to make one with me?”

“You know how to make her cake?”

I nod. “I do, and I have all the ingredients at my house.”

I have enough baking items to make pretty much anything anyone can think of.

“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Finnegan says. “But we’ll have to do it in Everett’s house, since my oven doesn’t work.”

“Okay, we can do that.”

We both put the knitting supplies away, and I leave a note on the board for Everett, just in case he gets back before we do. I help her with her coat, and we head to my house to gather all the supplies we need.

Mrs. Finnegan walks around the first level, a wide smile across her face. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”

“I didn’t want to take my grandmother out of this home.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t think you could even if you knocked it to the ground.”

I let a soft laugh out. “I bet she’d still find a way to be here.”

“This home was as much a part of her as she was of it. Is that why you are here now?”

“Yes, I needed to be somewhere that felt like home.”

She walks closer, her hand resting on my cheek. “Home is where you feel like yourself.”

“It’s why I’m here.”

Her grin widens and then drops, her eyes looking out across the field. “It’s why I can’t be in Everett’s house. I miss the other half of myself. When I’m there for too long, I get sad.”

My chest grows tight as I think about the pain she must’ve felt returning to her home, only for it to no longer be that. I guess in some ways I know that it’s why I had to leave California. It was too hard to see places where I thought my home was becoming a prison in so many ways.

The pain of seeing a bed I shared with someone who betrayed me.

The living room where we laughed, watching a movie before we’d end up in each other’s arms.

Even if the last three or more years have been hard, it was my dream and it was taken from me.

“Do you like the barn apartment?” I ask her.

“Oh, yes, very much.” She looks around and then her eyes widen. “Do you know where my phone is? I need my phone.”

“I have it right here,” I say, holding it up. She exhales and then reaches for it. “Are you ready to bake a cake?”

Mrs. Finnegan nods. “Yes, you know I used to love your grandmother’s carrot cake.”

I smile, grab the basket of supplies, and link my arm with hers. “Well, we should make that.”

We head to Everett’s house, which he left unlocked, and I shoot him a quick text.

Hey, we’re going to bake a cake at your house.

Everett

My house?

Yes, your mother and I want to do something nice and she said her oven doesn’t work.

Everett

Okay, have fun . . . I think . . .

I put the phone away, and we set up our workspace and then get to work on the cake.

Together, Mrs. Finnegan and I prep all the ingredients.

Throughout the entire process, we laugh and do a pretty good job.

We have a few hiccups, like when she can’t remember what ingredient we were looking for or what the measurements we need are. Regardless, we have a lot of fun.

She is still the sweet woman with a heart of gold I grew up with, and even though she seems frustrated at times, she pushes through.

“You want to actually crush the pineapple by hand?” she asks, almost horrified.

I chuckle. “We have to. Granny would never buy it from a can.”

“Okay, then.”

Pineapple juice sprays us in the face and pretty much the entire area around us. Once we get it assembled, we put the cake in the oven, and she gives me a high five.

“And what are you two doing other than making a mess?” Everett’s voice breaks in as we laugh.

I turn my head to see him and instantly smile. “We’re making a cake.”