Page 9 of Love Takes A Tumble
"Of course you are," Miss Doris agreed, in a tone that suggested she believed nothing of the sort. "Very neighborly to fix her window latch, straighten her bookshelf, deliver ice packs twice daily..." She smiled at his surprise. "Small inn. Word gets around."
Harrison focused on his coffee, unwilling to meet her gaze. "She needed help."
"Did she ask for it?"
The question caught him off guard. "Well, no, but?—"
"That's your problem right there." Miss Doris's voice was gentle but firm. "You firefighter types, always rushing to the rescue. Sometimes what a person needs isn't rescuing. It's someone who sees them clearly enough to know when to step in and when to step back."
Harrison frowned. "Is there a point hiding in all this wisdom, Miss D?"
Her laugh was warm and genuine. "The point, dear boy, is that some things—and some people—don't need rescuing. They just need someone to stay." She patted his hand. "There's adifference between fixing a problem and being present for the person who has it."
The words settled over him like the morning sunlight, warm and revealing. Had he been treating Audrey like another problem to solve? Another emergency to manage?
"I don't know how to do that," he admitted quietly. "Be present without fixing. It's who I've always been."
"It's what you've always done," Miss Doris corrected. "Not the same thing."
Harrison sipped his coffee, letting the distinction sink in. What was left of him when the uniform was gone? When there were no more fires to fight, no more emergencies to manage?
"How long do you plan to wander, Harrison?" Miss Doris asked softly. "Charleston next, you said? Then where? Savannah? Jacksonville? Always moving, never putting down roots?"
"I had roots once," he said, thinking of his ex-wife, his distant daughter. "Didn't take."
"Perhaps you were planting in the wrong soil." She nodded toward the inn. "Some plants can't grow until they find exactly the right conditions. Right amount of sun. Right amount of shade." She smiled. "Right amount of stubborn independence with just a touch of vulnerability."
Harrison laughed despite himself. "You're not exactly subtle, Miss Doris."
"At my age, dear, I don't have time for subtle." She peered at him over her coffee cup. "You'll be leaving soon, I expect. Moving on to your next temporary stop?"
The question landed like a weight on his chest. He hadn't really thought about it, had been deliberately not thinking about it. But she was right. His extended stay couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, he'd have to move on, continue his aimless journey toward what? What was he looking for?
"I haven't decided," he said finally.
"Well, don't take too long." Miss Doris rose, gathering the empty mugs onto her tray. "Some opportunities only come once. Like that sunset cruise the island runs every Friday evening. Lovely way to see the lighthouse. Very romantic." She winked. "Probably sold out by now, though."
Before Harrison could respond to this transparent suggestion, the screen door opened. He turned to see Audrey balancing on her crutches, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders instead of in its usual neat twist. The morning light caught the silver strands threading through it, turning them to quicksilver.
"Oh," she said, pausing at the sight of them. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Not at all, dear," Miss Doris said brightly. "Harrison and I were just finishing our coffee. In fact, I was about to head inside." She picked up her tray with a speed that belied her years. "You two enjoy this beautiful morning."
And with that, she was gone, leaving an amused Harrison and a slightly bewildered Audrey in her wake.
"Hurricane Doris," Harrison said with a smile. "Force of nature."
"So I've noticed." Audrey managed to maneuver herself to the chair Miss Doris had vacated, lowering herself with careful dignity. "She cornered me yesterday in the parlor. Very informative conversation."
Something about the way she said it made Harrison wonder exactly what information Miss Doris had shared. "She means well."
"I'm sure she does." Audrey adjusted her injured ankle on the footstool, wincing slightly. "Though her matchmaking is about as subtle as a foghorn."
Harrison chuckled, relieved by her directness. "Tell me about it."
Silence settled between them. The kind that didn't need filling. Harrison found himself studying her profile, the graceful line of her neck, the way her fingertips absently traced patterns on the arm of her chair. There was an elegant solidity to her, a presence that made him acutely aware of his own.
"I wanted to thank you," she said finally, her gaze fixed on the garden. "For all your help these past few days. The bookshelf, the window latch...all of it."
