Page 11 of However Long the Wait (Sweet Treat Novellas #4)

C arina had developed a particular fondness for the small pond on the east end of the Chadwick House grounds.

The trickle of water and chatter of distant songbirds, coupled with the pleasant shade of tall oak trees rendered the spot nearly perfect.

It was her place of solace and peace. She stood there as the evening wore on, her mind returning to her visit with Grant the previous morning.

She had been fairly quaking with nervousness when her aunt had sent her to receive the report. How was she to endure the undertaking, she had asked herself, if Grant proved unkind or angry at her sharp words at the Garolds’ garden party? What if he returned to his earlier indifference?

But he had, instead, been attentive and kind and charming. She saw in him the Grant she remembered from those idyllic months five years earlier, the Grant she could so easily love again, the Grant who broke her heart.

Did she dare trust him?

As if fate meant to require an answer of her sooner than she was ready, she spied him walking up the path toward her.

The moment painfully paralleled his last afternoon in Rafton when she stood in their spot, watching him approach, heart soaring with possibilities.

This time, she watched him with uncertainty and a fragile thread of hope.

The years had changed his stride. He’d once trod the streets of Rafton and the footpaths of the surrounding countryside with a bouncy, jaunty step.

He now moved with focus and purpose. Truth be told, she sensed the same change in herself.

Maturity and experience had exercised their mutual influence to ground her a bit more, but she was not unhappy or pessimistic.

She hoped the same could be said of him.

“Carina.” He offered a friendly bow as he reached her. “Your aunt told me I could find you here. I hope you do not mind the interruption.”

She eyed the wildflowers in his hand—yellow and orange blooms. “Tell me the flowers are for me and I might forgive you.”

Oh, his laugh. That had not changed. Neither had her heart’s warm response to hearing it. “They are, indeed, for you. I hoped you might appreciate them.”

He held the bouquet out to her, and she accepted it. “I believe wildflowers are my favorite thing about summer.” The flowers held only the lightest fragrance, yet she liked them better for it. The subtlety of their scent only enhanced the intensity of their color.

“Living in Wilkington has taught me to value berries as part of summer,” he said. “The townspeople hold a festival each year celebrating the berry harvest. It was one of my earliest introductions to the place upon arriving a year ago. I look forward to it again this year.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“I hope—” He swallowed audibly. “I wonder if I might be permitted to accompany you to the various vendors’ booths during the festival. If you would like to, of course.”

Her pulse pounded in her neck. Heavens, she was nervous. “I would appreciate an experienced guide during the festival.” She meant the remark to be witty, but it emerged nothing short of awkward.

His countenance fell. “Your aunt has greater experience with the festival than I do.”

“Yes, but she did not bring me flowers.”

That brought his eyes back to hers and a hint of a smile back to his face. “No, she didn’t.”

“Would you mind if we walked for a bit?” She hoped moving would make her fretting less obvious.

“I would not mind in the least,” he said. “I have always enjoyed outings with you.”

Her mind flooded with memories. “We did a great deal of walking, didn’t we? The way I talked your ear off about plants and trees and vistas. You no doubt longed for winter simply to stop my ceaseless prattle.”

“I thought nothing of the sort.” He spoke gently, fondly. “I would have walked through a blizzard for the joy of your company.”

She felt heat steal over her cheeks. “I take leave to doubt that.”

“And I take leave to prove the truth of my statement. The next time we have a blizzard, you and I are going for a walk.”

They slowly meandered along the edge of the pond, a light breeze rustling branches and flower stems. The sky was soft. The birds were singing lightly in the distance. Everything about the setting evening was perfect for a leisurely walk.

“Chadwick House boasts a great many gardens,” Grant said. “That must please you to no end.”

She smiled at that. “You, of all people, know the depths of my love for flora.”

“I worried about that when I first reached Preston,” he said.

“The only accommodation I could afford was a small flat tucked into the most crowded part of the city. Hardly a blade of grass to be seen for miles, let alone trees and shrubs. I couldn’t imagine you being anything but disappointed by that. ”

He must not have given up on her too quickly for him to think of such specific concerns.

“So much about my situation then was not at all what we dreamed of,” he continued. “You would likely have been miserable.”

“You mistook my priorities, Grant Ambrose,” she said, but not unkindly. His concern for her was touching. “I had all the trees and meadows and open spaces I could possibly have hoped for in Rafton, but it was not what I wished for most.”

“And I had every opportunity to grow as a man of business and a future captain of industry, but it was not what I wished for most.”

They had both suffered needlessly. The misunderstanding that kept them apart could have been avoided so easily. A visit. A letter. A single question.

Grant stopped walking and took a deep breath. His eyes met and held hers, a plea in their depths, hope and fear.

“Have I any chance, Carina, of beginning again? I do not presume to be in a position of reclaiming your affections to the degree I once had them—heaven knows I forfeited that right—but not having you in my life has left a void nothing has been able to fill. To have even your friendship would be a blessing beyond anything I’ve let myself hope for these past five years. ”

A void. How well she knew that feeling, yet the idea of fully loving him again worried her. Could she trust him enough to allow the possibility of a friendship between them? There was still a risk there, but a far more calculated one.

“I—” Her courage almost failed her, but she rallied. “I would like to try being friends.”

A look of palpable relief slid over his features. She hadn’t realized how much tension filled his frame until it dissipated.

“Thank you, Carina,” he said. “Thank you for having faith in me—the first vestiges of it, at least.”

The idea of treading this slippery slope with him ought to have caused her more consternation than it did. Instead, she felt . . . hopeful.