Page 8 of Matthew
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to date again, she just hadn’t met anyone who felt as steady and dependable as a well-rooted tree. Lord knew she’d had her share of tumbleweeds.
“Maybe this is the universe delivering you a boyfriend with nice arms,” her sister added.
Callie raised a brow. “How’d you know he has nice arms?”
“I didn’t.” Her sister smirked. “But I do now.”
Great.
She was such a sucker.
Callie grunted. “He was here for basil.”
“I’m here for this.”
The dogs barked once and then flopped into a shade spot together. Best friends with zero ambition.
Callie looked out toward the gravel lot where Matthew’s truck had been earlier and found herself smiling.
Then she sobered.
She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have energy for this.
But she also couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her likeshewas the thing worth noticing.
Pushing that unexpected and warm thought aside, Callie leaned against the potting bench while Maggie tore into a scone.
“You’re lucky Mom didn’t stop by and see you all starry-eyed and jumpy,” her sister said through a mouthful. “She’ll think you’re secretly pining. Let me rephrase that. She’dhopeyou were secretly pining.”
“I amnotpining.”
“Uh-huh. That was a pining-level sigh I heard when I arrived.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “That sigh was for the humidity and the fact that I now have to restock Thai basil. Again.”
Maggie hummed and tossed a piece of scone to Sammy, who ditched the shade to catch the morsel mid-air with Olympic precision. “So, what’s the deal with this guy anyway?”
She groaned inwardly. Apparently, they weren’t finished with the Matthew subject.
“He works at Eagle Security,” she replied without thinking. “Guess he’s also helping Annie Winslow out because she sent him for herbs.”
“Translation: He’s hot, kind, and he follows orders.”
“I swear, Maggie—”
“Perfectboyfriend resumé.” She popped the last bite in her mouth and reached for her iced coffee. “Mom would love him. She’s all about kind men who say yes and haul things.”
Callie let out a laugh. “Mom still thinks my standards are the reason I’m single.”
“They kinda are,” Maggie said sweetly. “But in your defense, it’s difficult to meet someone when you spend twelve hours a day wrestling irrigation valves and hoarding marigolds.”
She glanced past the edge of the property to the old ranch house with its weathered wood siding, wide wraparound porch,and wind chimes that played the same soft tune carried in every breeze, which held a lifetime of memories.
Some sweet, some bittersweet.
She could still see her dad with coffee in hand, feet kicked up on the porch rail, while her mom hummed along to old country records drifting through the screen door. Cancer had taken him two years ago. Their mom had moved into town last year, settling into the upstairs apartment above the antique shop she now ran with Grandma Mae.
“Don’t tell Mom,” Callie said, “but I think she was right. I’ve gotten too good at being busy.”
