Page 18 of Love and Landscape (Rockland Falls 3)

Chapter Six

Kathryn

How I’ve managed to survive this week with only seeing Jensen a handful of times is beyond me. Well, that’s not true. It was actually pretty easy, considering I hid inside the house under the impression of working. Not that I wasn’t up to my eyeballs in dust bunnies and dirt, but it was definitely a convenient excuse not to go outside during the daytime.

The house is slowly coming along. Very slowly, actually. I started cleaning my old bedroom, which is where I’m now sleeping. I was only able to stay at the bed and breakfast in town for a few days, just enough time to get one bedroom and bathroom ready for occupancy. The electrician was kind enough to make sure power was still on in that wing of the house and the contractor helped ensure the relocated fridge and washer and dryer were working too.

I’ve moved on to the other bedrooms, once used by guests. Actually, now that I think about it, we rarely had guests. But here I am, tearing apart the bed, taking down dusty curtains, and giving the rooms a deep clean. Each bedroom has an en suite bathroom, so I’ve taken the time to clean those as well before moving on to another room. After one week, I’ve completed my bedroom and two of the guest rooms.

Now that it’s Friday evening, I’m exhausted. Like bone-deep exhausted. But without the kitchen ready to use, I have limited ways to cook food. That’s why I’ve eaten out or brought home take-out way more than I’m used to. Sure, I have some fresh fruits and vegetables in the fridge, and even a few blueberry muffins in my room for breakfast, but without a stove or microwave, I’m limited on my dinner options.

That’s why I’m heading out to grab a quick bite.

Pizza.

That’s what I crave, which is weird because I haven’t craved something like pizza in years, but just the thought of Pizza Castle has my mouth watering and my stomach growling.

As I head out the front door, I notice all of the fresh landscape work around the front entrance. I’ve avoided looking out the window to see what Jensen has been up to, but loved to take a stroll around the property to see his progress. Today’s work included planting new flowering trees and ornate shrubbery around the front entrance. I also notice he has the fountain cleaned out and taken apart. Jensen told David, my attorney, that he would take a look at the pump and plumbing to see how extentive the damage was, but anticipated having to bring in someone else to fix it. That’s exactly like the young man I knew so many years ago. He loved tinkering around with things, figuring out how they worked, and trying to fix them himself, if possible.

I’ll have to ask if he was able to get the old fountain going.

The drive to town is quick, but finding a parking spot near the pizza joint isn’t. In fact, I have to drive around the block twice before I get lucky and someone pulls out of a spot. With my purse in hand, I hop out and head down the sidewalk. There are people loitering around. A few families and couples strolling near the old band shell and town square, which brings a smile to my face. The only time I did that was with Jensen and his family. My parents barely had time for me, let alone to take me to the park or milling around town. They had companies to run and fundraisers to organize.

When I reach the gazebo, I find myself stepping inside, my fingers grazing against the old, well-maintained wood. A smile crosses my face as I recall my very first stolen kiss, right here in the middle of this gazebo. We were sixteen and had just left the homecoming dance. The night was still young, the air cool and crisp. Jensen threw his suit jacket over my shoulders as we strolled down these very paths that snaked through the town square. When we reached the gazebo, he pulled me into his arms. His fingers had a slight tremble to them as he softly lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes. I knew what was about to happen, the anticipation almost more than I could bare.

Then he kissed me.

Soft and sweet, the perfect first kiss for two young kids.

I push those memories aside and step out of the gazebo. Making quick work of retracing my steps, I head just down the block to the pizza joint, the smell of oregano and garlic becoming more pronounced with each step I take. I pull open the familiar red door and step inside. A smile instantly crosses my face as I glance around, realizing nothing has changed in the twelve years I’ve been gone.

“Can I help you?” a friendly young girl asks from the hostess stand.

Glancing around, I realize the place is packed with families waiting by the door to be seated. “Actually, I’d like to place an order to go, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” she says politely, handing me a menu. “We could seat you, but it may be a twenty minute wait.”

I wave her off. “No, that’s okay. I’ll take it to go.”

It only takes a few seconds to find what I’m after on the menu. “I’ll take a personal pan veggie pizza with extra mushrooms and a side salad with Italian.”

The hostess jots down the order and gives me a smile. “I’ll run this back. Should be about fifteen minutes or so. Have a seat,” she says, then gives me a brighter grin. “Well, if you can find a seat, that is.” Then she’s off, taking care of my order.

I glance around the foyer, noting the décor on the walls and avoiding the faces, in case someone from my past is near. When I gaze into the full dining room, that’s when I feel it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and even though I haven’t spied him yet, I know he’s here. I can sense it.

Unable to fight the urge to look, my eyes finally connect with those ocean blue ones I’ve been avoiding. He’s sitting at a booth, staring directly at me—into my soul, is probably more accurate. My heart starts to gallop and my breathing comes in short little pants. No, I don’t feel the onset of a panic attack, but I definitely feel something strong (primarily between my legs).

Jensen gives me a tentative wave and a small smile. It’s awkward, at least it is for me. I mirror his actions, trying not to let my nervousness show. Unfortunately, my arms feel stiff and my wave is anything but fluid, and let’s not get into my smile. I probably look all teeth, with my strained, fake smile in full force. I’ve seen that look before. It’s been photographed and published in newspapers all over New York, mostly while I’m on Charles’s arm.

Suddenly, he waves me over and before I can even try to figure out what I’m doing, my legs are carrying me there, through the dining area and toward his booth. It sits on the back wall with an old version of the Monopoly board game on the wall.

“Hey,” he says softly, the deep timbre of his familiar voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

“Hi.”

“I’m Max,” a loud voice calls from across the booth. My eyes connect with the much younger, much shorter version of the man across from him.

“Hi, Max. I’m Kathryn.” Now, my smile is genuine. The little boy is the cutest little guy I’ve ever seen, and it’s not because he looks so much like his dad. His eyes are wide and expressive and his smile could melt the glaciers in Iceland.

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