Page 10 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER TEN

Dove

N an grinned from behind her wine glass, crow’s feet winging from the corners of her eyes like fireworks shooting into her hairline.

“You seem to be doing well, little Dove.”

Her hand was steady as she set the glass down. Her eyes were clear, skin seemed fairly well hydrated, and even her strength had improved in the months since she’d moved in.

“I am. I like my new place, and I’ve been able to take a few days off lately, which has helped.”

She didn’t need to know I’d quit one of the jobs now that the house was sold and I could use some of the money from the sale to help pay for her housing.

I didn’t want to dip too far in, but my friends had sat me down a few weeks ago and begged me to ease up on myself. They’d seen the signs of burnout.

I’d made the move last week after my crying jag on the porch steps to quit one of my part-time jobs that typically had me working nights or weekends, or both.

Now I primarily worked in the clinic and occasionally took shifts at the hospital ER.

I’d done a stint in palliative care and home health last year, mostly to develop my skills in those areas with an eye toward helping Nan if we never got a spot at Silverton Springs or ended up needing to turn it down due to finances.

Thankfully, here we sat with her looking healthy and eyes bright, assessing me with her sharp gaze.

“Good. You were working yourself too hard. And I’m sorry I let you.” Her brow furrowed, and her lips pursed in that way that told me she was unhappy.

“It’s not about permission, Nan. I’m thirty years old. I loved living with you, and I miss you a ton, but I’m so happy you’re happy here.” My eyes got a little glassy as I reached for her hand, which she readily took. “You are happy here, right?”

She covered my hand with both of hers. They were warm and so soft.

The skin at her wrists was paper-thin and showcased the amazing collection of veins and blood vessels that kept her system going.

With knobby knuckles on each finger, thumbs bent from age and arthritis, and nails painted bright magenta, these precious hands held mine, and I couldn’t keep the tears at bay.

We’d had enough check-ins like this, I didn’t doubt.

But hearing the words again, having the reassurance that all the stress had been worth it, and everything was really as good as we’d anticipated…

it eased some of the merciless ache that caught me off-guard a few times each day.

The reminder I didn’t have the one person who’d been my safe place when no one else was, and that someday, I wouldn’t even be able to visit her, stung .

“I am so happy, little Dove. And I am so grateful to you.” Tears lined her eyes, and she smiled, her face so loving and soft. “Thank you.”

With a quick flick of my napkin under each eye, I beamed at her and told her what was most true. “I’m grateful to you, too, Nan.”

I drove home in silence. No audiobook, no music, just the sound of the road lulling me along. If I hadn’t been so sad, I might’ve fallen asleep. But my heart felt like it was breaking and as exhausting as it was, it kept me focused on getting home.

Once inside, I could huddle up on the couch and let it out.

I could cry for what I’d lost and what I’d gained.

I could cry for missing Nan and missing the rest of my family who hadn’t been safe but had still been mine.

I could cry because I loved my job but wanted to take a week off, and I could cry because what I wanted most in this life felt so far away right now.

The lights burned in the windows of Dorian’s home. A wild thought flitted across my mind and said, “ Just go knock on his door. ” Thank goodness I had enough wherewithal not to or I’d end up crying into his shirt again.

But after trudging up the small staircase, I found another small box tucked behind the storm door. This time with a folded piece of notebook paper taped to the top.

My heart leaped as I quickly unlocked the door and hustled inside. After washing my hands, I opened the box and sighed at the delicious little creation. I didn’t even need to know what was in it—I’d eat it. I didn’t know where he was getting these, but I needed the name.

Flakey crust with a cinnamon-sugar dusting and what tasted like peaches again, and maybe blackberries, on the inside. Delicious.

I consumed the little delight in a matter of seconds and then unfolded the note with a wild little flip in my chest.

Dear Ms. Dove L. Jensen, Esq.,

I’ll call you Dove if you call me Dorian.

I appreciate your note and the donuts. That is one delicacy I can’t seem to replicate to my satisfaction. You’ve earned Bear’s unending gratitude as well, though it’s worth noting he’s easily bought.

It’s important you know you don’t need to thank me for anything. You’re a person. You’re a paying tenant. Sometimes we all need pie.

Please enjoy this peach and blackberry hand pie. If you ever want me to show you the berry bushes, let me know.

I hope work was good and you rest well.

Sincerely,

Dorian M. Forrester

PS. Bear would like to request a visit at your earliest convenience.

I grinned to myself so hard, I nearly pulled a muscle.

He wrote back!

And he didn’t seem put off by my weirdness. If anything, this felt like an open letter, one I could possibly reply again to. Why did I feel so completely charmed by his offer to show me the berry bushes?

First, obviously yes. Second, had this man picked fresh berries and then baked the little delight I’d just hoovered up in seconds by hand?

A swoon forced me to rest my elbows on the counter—or maybe that was the general exhaustion and emotions piling up again. I’d come home with every intention of sobbing into my pillow after a bowl of cereal, but here I was, smiling and glowing.

In the scheme of things, this meant nothing.

Dorian—and yes, I officially had the green light for first-name basis—couldn’t change my exhaustion or the bittersweet feelings churning around in me about living apart from Nan.

He couldn’t affect anything about how all of my friends’ lives were moving on in these beautiful ways and I felt stuck.

But the man was proving to be an unanticipated bright spot. A gift.

And so, without anything to give him except my enthusiasm and friendship, I pulled out another card and set to writing.