Page 94 of Head Over Heels

Sheila’s lips twitched as she fought a smile. “Whatever you did, it was worth it. That’s the prettiest bouquet I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m sure she’ll sue me for emotional damages later.”

She laughed.

Probably because she thought I was kidding.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t really … I’m not good at making small talk with strangers,” I admitted. “I’m bossy when I know what I want.”

Sheila didn’t answer right away. She just studied me with a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“And I’m not very friendly,” I added. The quiet was making me really twitchy. The way she watched me—all understanding and kind and perceptive—made me want to hide under the table. “I feel like everyone in this town is almost scarily nice, and I don’t understand it. I’m not like that.”

“No?” she asked innocently. Then she gave a pointed look at the flowers.

I exhaled quietly. “No. I know how to be polite and respectful, but whatever mix of my DNA came from my parents, I think the friendly gene skipped me.”

From the couch, Tim made a soft laughing noise. “I like you, Ivy.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Life’s too short for bullshitters and fakes,” he said. “Anyone who knows themselves well enough to be able to admit what you just did, out loud, is all right with me.”

My mouth fell open. How did these people make everything seem so simple?

Sheila held up a small box of tea. “Earl Grey all right with you? I think I’ve got some peppermint too, if you prefer that.”

My head spun a little from the pivot, but I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands over the front of my navy plaid skirt. “Whatever you’re having is great.”

“Does this mean no cinnamon rolls?” Tim asked.

Sheila rolled her eyes, smiling at me like we shared a secret. “You’ll be just fine without them for a couple more hours.”

“Will I?” he muttered.

While Sheila busied herself in the kitchen getting the water to boiling, I studied some of the pictures on the wall. My eyes naturally sought out Cameron in the snapshots, and I found myself smiling at his younger self—skinny shoulders, lanky build, and a massive smile.

“My wife tells me your grandparents used to be our neighbors,” Tim said.

I walked over toward the couch, taking a seat as I nodded. “I didn’t know them, but yes.”

He hummed. “They were nice. Kept to themselves, but a lot of folks who live out in the country do.”

Curiosity niggled at the back of my brain, an itch that I couldn’t stop from blooming. “What did you know about them?” I asked, despite the insistent mental guardrails I’d had up since I arrived in town.

Sheila handed me a small mug of steaming water, the tea bag tucked into the mug while it steeped. I took it with a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Your grandma made wonderful strawberry pie,” she said. “I remember her bringing some over when we first moved into the house.” Her eyes were clouded over as she set her tea down on the coffee table. “Your grandpa was quiet. Not sure I ever talked to him much beyond a hello if I saw him in town.”

The only images in my head were a few faded pictures in a photo album I found in my dad’s office. He was tall and thin, wire-rimmed glasses on a stern face. My grandma was short, with curly hair cut tight to her head.

At the time, I remember wishing that I felt something when I looked at their picture. But I didn’t.

There was a curious blank spot in my brain, a distinct lack of reaction in my chest, when I thought of them, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.

“Strawberry pie,” I said quietly.

Sheila nodded. “She put the most delicious layer of chocolate on the crust and I’d never had that before. I might actually have the recipe buried in a box in that kitchen somewhere if you’d like me to pass it along to you.”

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