Page 92 of Sweet Somethings

"I know where you're going with this, but you're taking a big leap. My grandfather was happily married for a long time."

"So was Cecelia's lover," she reminded him. "They're about the same age."

"Yes, and they have both lived in this town for most of their lives. My grandmother has been dead for twenty plus years. If they were carrying a torch for each other, wouldn't one of them have done something about it by now?"

"It depends on how much their breakup hurt, how betrayed they felt, how scared they would be to take another chance and risk all that pain again. You heard the sorrow in Cecelia's voice when we read the letters."

"I suppose it's possible, but there's nothing for you or us to do about it. You told Cecelia about the letters. You have to let her make her own decision."

"But your grandfather might not know about them. Maybe they need a gentle push in the right direction. They've both been eating my Wish cookies all week. Sounds like they have something to wish for."

"My grandfather may like shortbread cookies, but I can tell you for certain that he doesn't think they're magic."

"We should try to get them in the same room or in the same place," she continued on, dismissing his opinion. "I wonder if they're going to the dance tomorrow night. That would be a good place for them to meet up."

"I doubt my grandfather is going to the Sweetheart's Dance."

"You should get him to go. And I'll encourage Cecelia. If she doesn't come by the bakery tomorrow, I can take her the letters and talk to her about the dance."

"Juliette, didn't you just say you had nonstop work to do?"

"There's always time for love," she said.

"Well, you're on your own with this one. I can't mess around with my grandfather's love life."

"But we're so good when we work together. And don’t you want to see your grandfather happy?"

"I think he's happy enough."

"Oh, come on. Anyone is happier with love in their life. All you have to do is ask him about Cecelia."

"That's all, huh? My grandfather and I talk about nails and plumbing and electrical; we don't talk about women. He doesn't ask me questions, and I don't ask him. That's the way it's always been."

"You could change that. I have an idea."

"Wait, hold on," he said, as she started down the path. "What are you going to do?"

"Tell your grandfather about the letters. If he's not the person they're about, then he won't care."

Roman grabbed her by the arm. "Cecelia didn't tell you who she was writing about. You should respect that."

She wavered slightly. "I'm not going to say the letters are about him. I just think we should tell him about the letters. He is the owner of the house, after all." She pulled away from Roman and walked quickly down the path. "Mr. Prescott," she said, drawing Vincent's attention to her. "Hello."

He gave her a nod. "Miss Adams, Roman. What's this I hear about you hiring Travis Hastings?"

"I was going to talk to you about that. He needs a job, and you need help."

"I thought of the two of you didn't speak," Vincent said, a puzzled expression on his face.

"We did a lot of speaking yesterday. I'll fill you in later. It's a long story."

"All right, but if he doesn't do a good job, he's out."

"I told him that," Roman said.

"There's something I wanted to tell you, Mr. Prescott," she interrupted. "Roman found a metal box filled with love letters hidden under the floorboards in the downstairs bedroom."

"What?" he asked, his face tightening. "Love letters from who?"

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