Page 12 of When Love And Destiny Collide

When I head in the opposite direction of the kitchen, she asks, "Where are you going?"

"I set up a coffee bar in the office," I explain. "I was planning to work for a few hours tonight, so I made a pot of coffee in there."

She follows me into the office, and I motion for her to sit in one of the two leather armchairs.

"How do you take your coffee?" I ask.

"With creamer, no sugar. What about you?"

"Black."

I hand her the cup, and she wraps her fingers around it, blowing into it before taking a sip.

When I realize I'm staring, I turn away and sit at my desk.

"What would you like me to write?" I ask, opening the book to the title page.

She puts the cup on the saucer and sets it down on the coffee table. "Why don't you decide?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Anything you say will be fine."

I write a few words using my best penmanship and sign it. Her eyes linger on mine when I hand the book back to her. I can't look away. I'm mesmerized by her eyes, her beauty, her scent.

"Thank you," she says without opening the book to read what I wrote.

"Good night," she adds, standing up.

"I'll walk you to the door."

At the door, she turns around and says, "Thanks again for the autograph. I never imagined meeting one of my favorite childhood authors."

"You're welcome," I say before watching her walk across the lawn.

Her compliment only serves to remind me of the lifetime that separates us.

***

For the next few days, I juggle my time between entertaining Davey and writing. I wake up at the crack of dawn, typing away for a few precious hours before he wakes up. After that, my focus shifts entirely to him until bedtime, after which I return tomy manuscript for a couple more hours. Jon and Sharon kindly offered to watch him for a few hours each day, but they're leaving soon. With my book due in six weeks, I know I'll need a better plan.

Today, Davey and I spend the morning wandering through the multiple booths at the farmers market, filling our basket with fresh bread, creamy cheeses, and an array of colorful fruits and vegetables. When we return home, Davey kicks off his shoes and promptly dozes off on the couch, looking peaceful and content.

Our tenant, however, has been a bit of a mystery. Since the night she asked me for my autograph, we've only exchanged brief "good mornings" in passing. She did drop off her rent check yesterday, but otherwise, she's been keeping to herself. The house feels quieter than it should, almost as if it's holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to break the silence.

I'm putting the groceries away in the kitchen when a soft knock on the back door catches my attention.

"Hi!" Lily's bright voice and beautiful face greet me when I open the door.

"Hi, Lily. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you. Can I come in?"

"Yes, of course," I say, stepping aside to let her in. As she walks by, I catch a whiff of her perfume, a scent that seems to carry memories with it. I glance at her, feeling like she can read my thoughts.

"What?" she asks, her blue eyes searching mine.

"Nothing," I lie, trying to play it cool.

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