Page 37 of A Soldier's Return

“Yes. That’s right.” He found her trace of Spanish accent completely charming.

“Her doorbell is that one.”

“Thanks.”

She paused and appeared to be debating whether to add something. In the end, she gave a quick glance at Melissa’s doorbell, then looked back at him. “I am glad you are here for Melissa tonight. She is having a struggle right now. It is hard to share a daughter.”

“I imagine it would be.”

“Thank you for being her friend. I am glad to know Dr. Sanderson’s son is a good man like his father.”

Was he? He was completely positive his father wouldn’t have kissed one of his nurses until neither of them could think straight.

Fiona tugged on the leash before he could answer, and Rosa laughed a little. “I have to run. We are off on a little adventure and she is a little excited about it.”

“Safe travels,” he said.

“Thank you.”

She hurried down the steps toward an SUV parked next to Melissa’s vehicle, loaded her dog and backpack quickly and backed out.

At least the unexpected conversation had helped put the evening in perspective. Melissa needed a morale boost, and he was glad he had the chance to offer one.

He rang the doorbell, his hands tightening around the flowers in his hand.

When Melissa opened the door, his breath seemed to catch in his chest and, for a crazy moment, he forgot why he was there.

Friends, Eli reminded himself. They were only friends.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.”

He couldn’t think what to say for a long moment, then he remembered the flowers. “Here. These are for you. Peonies from my dad’s garden. He was thrilled with the banana bread. It’s one of his favorites. When I told him we were going to listen to Tiffany tonight, he insisted I cut some flowers to pay you back for the bread. They were my mom’s favorite. The peonies, I mean.”

Okay, he was babbling. He never babbled.

She looked touched by the gesture. “He showed me a picture of your mother once. I wish I’d known her. She had the kindest eyes.”

He felt the pang he always did when he remembered his mother, the ache that had become a part of him after all these years. “She did.”

“How old were you when she died?”

“Twelve.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been rough. I was fourteen when I lost my dad. The pain never quite goes away, does it?”

He shook his head, aware of yet another thread tugging him toward her. They both knew the void left behind from losing a parent at a young age.

He didn’t know what to do with this soft tenderness unfurling inside him so he focused on the flowers, instead. “Anyway, the vase is from my dad. He made it in ceramics class at the rehab center. He wanted you to keep it.”

Her features softened. “I’ll cherish it even more, then. It’s lovely. I have to tell you, I adore your father. If only he were thirty years younger!”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that phrase since I’ve been back in Cannon Beach,” he said ruefully. His father was quite popular with women of all ages in town. Somehow Wendell managed to make every woman feel like she was the most important one in his world.

“Come in a moment while I find somewhere for these and grab my purse.” She opened the door, and he followed her into the apartment.

He didn’t know what the apartment had looked like before she moved in, but it was clear Melissa and her daughter had turned the space into a home. A large dollhouse stood in one corner, with a baseball bat propped against it and several stuffed animals on the roof, as if keeping watch. The room was cheery and open, with splashes of color from prints on the wall and bright pillows on the sofa and chairs.

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