Page 22 of Love, Untangled

Pen hurried into her kitchen and returned with an armful of her smallest glasses. They were for some sort of alcoholic drink.

“Oh, sherry glasses! I haven’t seen these in years. Aren’t they delicate and pretty?” Trixie asked with a smile.

Carlo filled each from his jug.

“Oh,” Hattie moaned. “That is just delicious. Like sunshine in a glass.”

Carlo winked at Pen before he offered her the last glass. She’d hung back, not wanting to get in his way.

Pen took a sip and gasped, her tastebuds delighted. “Oh, that is good.” She handed her small, delicately belled glass to Carlo. “Did you try it?”

He took the glass from her, maintaining eye contact as he sipped from the same spot she had. Heat pooled in Pen’s belly, making her lightheaded. And giddy.

When he licked his lips, that warmth in her tummy expanded up into her chest. He was such a beautiful man. He shared without reservation—whether it was his time and home improvement expertise with Pen, or his prized apples with the elderly women who doted on him.

How could she not love him?

She dropped her gaze, hoping her feelings weren’t too easy for everyone to read. As she did so, she caught Hattie’s speculative look, which was followed by a warm smile.

Chapter 9

Carlo

A month later

“Did you see it?” the child exclaimed, bouncing on his toes so fast he looked like he was doing some kind of speed run-in-place. “I got to pet it. It’s so soft and fluffy!”

“I did too,” the other child said, also too excited to stand still. “Twice!”

“Aw, no fair, Mom,” the smaller of the two whined. “I want to pet it again.”

“You’ll see the alpaca again, I’m sure. You heard the lady. She brings him to town with her often.”

Carlo’s lips quirked as the young boys, their fresh-faced enthusiasm propelled even farther than their loud voices, ran down the boardwalk toward the steps that led to the beach.

Ah, to be young and untroubled by the world. Summer had settled over Cinnamon Bay with its normal beach-loving crowds. The pretty-colored shops lining the boardwalk bustled with customers weaving in and out. Carlo leaned against the warm wooden railing, enjoying the late-morning heat that was washed away by cool sea breezes. Kids shouted from the water and the scent of sunscreen and kelp intermingled with ice cream and other sweet treats. Boats bobbed in the water beyond the buoys that ringed the swim zone. Living here was so different from Lake Tahoe and yet so similar.

Carlo waved at Hattie, Cora’s great-aunt by marriage, glad it was Wednesday and time for his standing coffee date.

For the past year, they’d met every week. He wasn’t sure why she continued to put up with him, especially when he thought back over some of his surly responses, but he was thankful for the time together. He’d missed talking—hell, just sitting with someone. Finally, he admitted the past year had been lonely.

He’d been paying penance for Cora’s death. Cora wouldn’t want that. She’d made her choices, terrible though her final one was. She’d liked to say, “Owning a decision means releasing others of its responsibility.”

She wasn’t wrong, but Carlo still wished he’d saved her. He would always wish that.

Hattie was his wife’s only family, and one of the only people he could stand to be around once he came to Cinnamon Bay. She still hassled him about talking to another professional to work through his guilt and grief surrounding Cora’s death. He’d given in, and he was glad he had. A year ago, Carlo wouldn’t have noted the kids’ joy; he would have focused on everything he had lost.

Progress happened in baby steps. That was what both his counselors liked to tell him. So he was making progress. For now, that was enough.

He bent down to give the older woman a hug, savoring the feel of her papery skin against his cheek. Hattie was the only person he hugged these days. He wished he could hug Penelope. As much as he wanted to connect with her, he didn’t.

Penelope was young—too young—and so damn bright, like the fireworks that would shoot into the sky this weekend for the Fourth, that he had to look away. No way she’d want to continue their friendship once she realized how deep the darkness ran in him—how easy it would be for him to suck that youthful glow from her.

His smile felt rough at the edges as he considered his neighbor. She was such a ray of sunshine, one he was beginning to think he desperately needed in his life.

“You’re looking fit, Carlo,” Hattie said with a smile.

“Eighteen-hour days in an orchard will do that.”

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