Page 118 of First Bride to Fall
He probably wouldn’t be a star Scrabble player, or a banterer, or half as handsome. It was doubtful he’d have Grant’s unique combination of strength and caring. But that was water under the bridge. Looking back would only make things more painful. For now, she needed to move forward. She could relieve her sisters of their scramble to find husbands of their own by telling them she was going to marry Aidan, and she was going to do that today.
Nell entered the kitchen and found Grant sitting at the table, his expression drawn. He had a mug of tea in front of him. He looked up when she came in. “Hey,” he said miserably.
Her heart ached. “Hey.”
He nodded toward the stove. The French press and a clean mug sat on the counter beside it. “Made coffee if you want it.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll just go put down my stuff.” She noticed it was chillier in here than normal, and then she saw there was no fire in the woodstove. He’d probably let that burn down in preparation for their leaving, just like he’d doused the campfire.
She dumped her blanket and pillow on the bed. Her phone and Grant’s knitted hat, too. Her heart twisted painfully. Maybe she should still give it to him anyway. No. That would be ridiculous. He clearly wouldn’t want anything from her and would likely donate it to charity.
She was better off donating it herself. That seemed like a better option than selling her “Grant gift” this time. She had so much of her and him wrapped up in that hat, including her hopes for their now nonexistent future. Somehow, selling it didn’t feel right. But donating, yeah. Maybe she could do that.
She returned to the kitchen, and Grant scraped back his chair, standing. “I’ll go pack up the tent while you get your things together in here.” His tone held a sense of mournful finality, and Nell got that she was never giving him that hat or any gift ever.
She blinked back the heat in her eyes, staying strong for herself and her sisters. For her parents and Bearberry Brews. “Okay, thanks.” Then she went to shower and get dressed and finish packing up.
…
When Nell placed her packed bag by the front door, she noticed Grant’s small daypack was there, along with another bag he’d picked up in town earlier. Some filled grocery bags were there, too. She peeked into one, seeing eggs and cheeses. They appeared to be perishables.
Then she remembered about the chicken parmigiana. She opened the fridge, seeing it was mostly empty, except for the casserole dish. She took that out and placed it on the counter before checking the freezer compartment. That held several foil-wrapped packages of frozen fish and loads of frozen vegetables. The ankle ice pack was there as well, but she decided to leave it, since that really didn’t belong to her.
She stared at Charlotte’s casserole dish, thinking she needed to wash it and return it to her. She didn’t think she’d want any chicken parmigiana for a while. Not now that its memory was tied to being at this cabin. She decided to pack some up for Grant and searched his cupboards for a portable storage container. She could slip it in with his groceries for him to find later, and maybe he’d enjoy it, seeing as how there was no “Robby” anymore.
…
It was a long, quiet ride down the mountain. Grant drove them the shorter way, over the one-lane bridge, which had been repaired. Nell had her athletic bag by her feet on the floor and the chicken parmigiana casserole dish on her lap along with her purse. He saw the ends of two knitting needles poking out of it.
“Ever finish that hat?”
She avoided his eyes and stared out her window. “Yeah.”
“Bet it looks great.”
She shrugged, and Grant got that it was useless to make idle conversation. Well, what did he think? He didn’t feel a ton like talking himself. So he focused his gaze back on the winding road. When they neared town, she pointed to a gravel road on the right-hand side. A tall green street sign read: Galloway Ridge.
“We turn here.”
They drove through a patch of countryside, climbing a steep incline. A cute cottage sat near the top of the slope, fronting a cranberry bog overlooking the ocean. The one-story house had a covered front stoop crowded with plants and wicker furniture. Mixed foliage and underbrush hugged its perimeter. The landscaping had an unkempt look, almost like an English garden. The cottage was small, probably only one or two bedrooms.
“That your place?”
She nodded.
He dipped his head to peer out his windshield at the stunning views of the bog and the cliffs beyond it. Waves crashed and splattered against the jagged rocks below. “Great location.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He parked in front of the cottage, and she opened her door.
“Nell.” He touched her jacket sleeve, and she turned to him. “I am sorry. About everything.”
“Yeah.” She frowned, and her chin trembled a little. “Me, too.”
She climbed from his SUV holding the casserole dish, then grabbed her purse and bag off the floor. “Bye, Grant.”
“See ya.”
