Page 132 of Broken Grump

Now I’m tearing up again. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”

He sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his belly. “And I mean it wholeheartedly.”

“Thank you again. But is it okay if I take a few days to think about all of this? My head is kind of spinning at the moment.”

“Sure.” He slides the letter back over and folds it up. “You can just call me whenever you’ve made your decision.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

After that, I see him out, I make sure he doesn’t trip on the many floral arrangements lying about—just what I need is another lawsuit to deal with.

But just before I shut the door after him, I hear the sound of my daughter’s giggle and faint music coming from the backyard.

“Penny?” I call out, assuming she has something to do with both noises.

“Yes, dear?” She comes out of a random room with a pad of paper in her hand and a pen behind her ear.

“Do you hear that?”

“What’s that, love?”

Pointing outside, I say, “The music.”

She walks a little closer to me, and it’s just then that I see the hearing aids in her ears. She then reaches up to tweak them, and then she sticks her head outside. “I do. What is that?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I was hoping you would know something about it.”

“Nothing at all, darling.”

As I listen some more, I believe it’s a string quartet of some kind.

“Is there a new art school around here I didn’t know about?” Penny asks.

“I don’t—I don’t think so.” In order to investigate further, I finally closed the door and headed out onto the back terrace.

But what I see when I get out there causes my jaw to drop and my heart to fall down to my toes.

What in the world?

Chapter thirty-eight

Hayden

Penny gave me aheads-up that she was finished with Steven. But when she finally emerges from the house, I can tell by her red face that she’s been crying.

Further, her long, brown hair looks a bit ruffled.

But it’s no matter. She’s still a vision in her mossy green corduroy dress that’s tied at the shoulders, purple T-shirt, and white Vans.

As I wait for her to say something—anything—the single red tulip in my hand trembles.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, she smirks, her eyebrows furrow, and she crosses her arms. “Hayden Cohen. What the heck is all of this about?” After the question escapes her lips, she just glares at me.

I swallow hard, knowing I fully deserve that look.

“Can you please just come down here?” My voice squeaks as if I’m still a pubescent boy.

“Why?”

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