Page 30 of Every Promise Broken

Lifting the suitcase onto the bed, I unzip it and get to work. First, hanging all my shirts and scrubs in the closet. Conrad left me a decent amount of space next to his plethora of various plaid shirts. Once I get everything else folded and set in the dresser, I move on to the bathroom. All in all, it doesn’t take me long to get unpacked, and once I’m finished and I stow my bags away in the closet, I feel a little better. More settled.

I can do this.

This is going to be fine. Or it will be if my heart slows its beat.

13

Conrad Strauss

“It’s chilly today.”

Hand gripping the wheel, I turn my head and glance at my nana as she reaches for the heat, cranking it to full blast. “Well, what did you expect? Did you forget how cold Copper Lake gets in the winter?”

“I suppose I did,” she murmurs, eyes taking in the sights outside the passenger side window. “It doesn’t get this cold back home.”

“Well, yeah, you live in Greece. Of course, it’s not as cold as it is here.”

She clucks her tongue at me. “It’s too damn cold.” Glancing over at me, her blue eyes pale and piercing, she asks, “Where’s my sweet, handsome Whit?”

“He’s at home.”

“Why didn’t he come with you?”

“He had a few errands to run.” Very vague errands. He’s probably going to see his boyfriend. It shouldn’t bother me.

The last couple of days have been tense. I expected as much, especially since it’s been so long since Whit and I have lived under the same roof. Surprisingly, we haven’t seen each other a whole lot. He’s worked every day except today, and he’s come home late in the evening both days, be it on purpose to avoid me or he was genuinely busy at work, I’m not sure.

I saw him this morning before I left for the airport. He was getting ready for hiserrands. Dark, wet strands were hanging over his forehead as he poured himself a cup of coffee, and it hit me right in the chest how good it felt seeing him barefoot in my kitchen again.

“I forgot how chatty you are, Connie boy,” Nana teases.

Glancing over at her, a smile curves my lips. “How was your flight?”

That does the trick, getting the conversation off me and Whit, as she dives into the lovely flight attendants and the chatty woman who sat beside her. By the time we pull up in front of the barn, I’m surprised to see Whit’s truck. I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s here. Part of me worried he would back out at the last minute. He can be flighty when something makes him anxious, and I know he’s not thrilled to be here. Not that I can blame him.

Climbing out of the truck, I grab Nana’s bags out of the back. It’s then I notice Whit standing on the porch, shoulder resting against the wood post, arms crossed over his chest, and a lazy smile on his face as he takes in the woman walking toward him. I can’t help but stop and watch them for a moment, my chest squeezing.

“Whittaker Strauss, is that you?” Bounding up the steps, Nana cups Whit’s face, the smile tugged on his lips wide and genuine, only faltering for a moment at the sound of his married name. There are very few people in this world who are allowed to touch Whit like that, and she’s one of them. “I’ve missed this handsome face. Look at you, it looks like you haven’t aged a day.My gosh, boy, I haven’t seen you in too damn long. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”

“Look who’s talking,” he quips, pulling her in for a long hug. “Stunning and never looking a day over thirty-five. And you know I could never avoid you.”

They pull apart, and Nana looks over her shoulder at me. I already know what’s coming before she even opens her mouth. “See, this is why he’s my favorite.”

My chest rumbles with a chuckle as my eyes lift, meeting Whit’s gaze for a moment. He’s still smiling brightly, and it takes my breath away.

“Come on, Connie boy,” she barks. She and Whit are the only people to ever call me that. “Bring my bags into my room, please. I’d like to take a nap before dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Connie,can you please bring me another glass of wine?” Glancing across the table at Whit, she asks, “Another for you, dear?”

“Uh…” His eyes flit from her, up to me, then back to her. “Sure, thank you.”

Downing the rest of what’s left in his glass, Whit hands it to me as I pass by, our fingers brushing when I take it. An electric current flows between us, and based on the way his gaze darts up to mine, I know he felt it too. Standing hurriedly, he rounds the table toward the hutch in the corner of the room as I disappear into the kitchen.

“I’ll set up the game,” I hear him murmur as I grab the nearly empty bottle of red wine and refill the two glasses.

We finished eating dinner about thirty minutes ago, and after I did the dishes and wiped down the kitchen, my nana informed me that we were all going to play a game or two of Scrabble. My family has always been a board game family. Memories of sitting around the dining room table and trying to beat one another at these silly games go back to my teenage years. Whit and I have played them more times than I can count, and Scrabble was always his favorite.

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