Chapter Twenty-Six

Joe

 

I finish the last bite of eggs and lean back, full and restless. My leg’s throbbing, but I’ve had worse. I need to move. Sitting still makes me feel like I’m rusting.

“I’m gonna head back to my apartment. Change clothes, grab a few things. Then I’ll come back and work on the house.”

Izzy freezes mid-step, plate in hand. “Excuse me?”

“I need  a clean shirt and jeans that don’t smell like hospital disinfectant.”

“You’re not driving.” She slams the plate down and turns to face me.

“I’ll be fine.”

She folds her arms, her eyes sharp and piercing. “You just took a pain pill.”

“One pill.”

She doesn’t blink. “One pill is enough to make you loopy.”

 I hobble back to the couch. “Izzy—”

Loud banging comes from the kitchen as she yells back at me. “No. Absolutely not. You’re not getting behind the wheel with a busted leg and a brain full of meds.”

“I’m not full of meds.”

She snorts, “You’re full of something.”

I stand, brace myself on the back of the couch. “I have to go. I can’t sit here all day like a lump.”

“You can sit here like a healing human. That’s allowed.”

My  voice tight. “Okay? No driving. Just a ride. I’ll be back in an hour.”

 Grace watches us like she’s waiting for someone to throw a pillow or a punch.

“You’re impossible.” She  drops down on the couch , arms crossed, anger sharp on every line of her face. her face tight with anger.

“I’m persistent.”

“Same thing.”

I grab my phone, order the ride, and limp toward the door. She follows, grumbling under her breath.

When the car pulls up, she helps me down the steps, one hand on my elbow, the other hovering like she’s ready to catch me if I tip.

As I settle into the back seat, she leans in and pats my cheek. “Matt was right. You are a stupid idiot and a terrible patient.”

I grin. “But I’m your idiot.”

She shuts the door—gently, but with intent- it echoes in my chest like a slammed gate. I watch her through the window as the car pulls away. Stubborn, fierce, loyal. I don’t deserve her, but I’m damn lucky to have her.

But I’m your idiot.

I didn’t mean to say that. Not out loud. Not like that.

I lean back against the seat, leg throbbing, heart doing something worse. That wasn’t part of the plan. I was just going to help the nice lady next door. Keep her company. Fix a few things. Make sure she didn’t drown in grief or drywall dust.

Not this.

Not whatever this is.

The driver asks if I’m comfortable.  I’m not. Not even close.

I stare out the window as we pull away, gravel crunching under the tires. Izzy’s still standing on the porch, arms crossed, chin lifted like she’s ready to fight the whole world. I’ve seen that look before. In the mirror. In the field. In someone else.

Anne.

I haven’t thought about her in years. Not really.

She was the only one I ever let in. Stationed in a small town outside Edinburgh—rainy, quiet, full of stone and stories. She worked at the bakery. I went in for coffee and came out with a year-long attachment I didn’t see coming.

We didn’t mean to fall in love. But it crept in- Slowly. Sweetly. Like moss growing on old stone.

And then ….

New mission orders.  I packed. She cried. I didn’t. Not until the plane was halfway over the English channel  and I realized I’d left something behind I couldn’t explain to anyone in uniform.

It was terrible. For her. For me. I swore I’d never do that again. Never get close enough to hurt someone like that ever again.  Especially someone soft. Someone sensitive.

Someone like Izzy.

She’s already lost too much. I see it in the way she touches things—carefully, like they might break. I hear it in her voice when she talks to Miss Alice. I feel it in the way she looks at me like I might be something good.

And now I’ve gone and said it. I’m in trouble.

I close my eyes, letting the pain settle in my leg and my chest. I didn’t plan this. I don’t know what this is. But I know what it could become.

 

Chapter twenty-seven

Joe

The Uber drops me at the curb, and I stare up at the building like it’s grown taller since I left. My leg’s stiff, the pain meds just starting to dull the edge, and I’m already regretting this.

I take the stairs slowly, one hand on the rail, the other gripping the strap of my bag. I’m halfway up when my foot slips—just a little, just enough—and my heart lurches into my throat. I catch myself, barely, and stand there frozen, breathing hard.

“Idiot,” I mutter. “Absolute idiot.”

Izzy’s voice echoes in my head. Matt was right. You are a stupid idiot and a terrible patient.

She’s not wrong.

I make it to the door, unlock it, and step inside. The place smells  stale – a combo of dust and old coffee. The blinds are half-closed, casting long shadows across the floor. Everything’s where I left it—neat, quiet, untouched.

 So quiet my footsteps echo.

I drop the bag on the couch and just stand there, taking it in. The silence isn’t peaceful. It’s hollow.

I’ve been living in a holding pattern, waiting for the next assignment, the next deployment, the next excuse not to build anything that lasts.

I sit down, throbbing again, and look around. No pictures on the walls. No clutter. No warmth. Just a couch, a coffee table, a bed I barely sleep in, and a kitchen that looks like it belongs to a man who eats standing up.

This was supposed to be temporary. Everything in my life has been temporary.

Until now.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen. My thumb hovers over Izzy’s name, but I scroll past it and tap Matt’s instead.

He answers on the second ring. “You alive?”

“Barely, but I made it back to my apartment.”

“You’re not supposed to be driving.”

“I didn’t. Took an Uber. I’m not that dumb.”

“Debatable.”

I laugh, but it’s thin. “You busy?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Can you come by? I need to talk.”

There’s a pause. “You okay?”

“No,” I say. “But I’m trying to be.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

I hang up and lean back, staring at the ceiling.

Matt shows up with a six-pack and a bag of chips like we’re about to watch a game, not dissect my emotional failings. He kicks the door shut with his boot and tosses the chips on the counter.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks. I was going for ‘haunted recluse.’”

He cracks a beer, hands me one, and settles into the chair across from me. “So. What’s going on?”

I stare at the beer can for a second, then say it. “I told Izzy I was her idiot.”

Matt  sits up straight. His eyes widen as he speaks. “You said that?”

“Not on purpose.”

He laughs and slaps his knee. “Yeah. It’s about damn time. Amazing.”

“No, it’s terrifying.”

He shrugs. “I’ve been married to Claire for eleven years.  I’m still terrified.”

 “Of what?”

“That I’ll screw it up. Say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. That one day she’ll pack up the kids and leave because I forgot to notice something important.”

I snort. “That’s comforting.”

He grins. “It’s honest.”

I swirl the beer in my hand. “I wasn’t supposed to get attached. I was just helping her heal. Being useful. Keeping things moving. Not… this.”

Matt doesn’t speak. Just waits.

I sigh. “There was someone. Years ago. Her name was Anne.”

He leans forward in his chair.  “ There was?”

“I was stationed in a town outside Edinburgh . A year- long assignment. She was beautiful. Funny. She took away my loneliness.  For a while she was my world and my secret.”

Matt smiles faintly. “You fell.”

“ I fell hard.  She did, too. It was supposed to stay casual.  And then I got new orders. Had to leave. I had no choice.”

I pause, the memory sharp and soft all at once.

“What I did to that poor woman. I promised myself I’d never do again. Never get close enough to hurt someone  ever again- especially someone like Izzy.”

Matt  puts his hand on my knee. “Joe,. His grin wicked, “You’re being a nincompoop.”

I laugh. “Thanks. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“This is so different. You’re not getting new orders. You’re not leaving. You can stay. You can have a life. Maybe fall in love. Get married. Have kids.”

I shake my head. “I’m too old for kids.”

Matt grins. “So? Adopt a teenager. Skip the diapers. Go straight to sarcasm and car keys.”

I chuckle, but it’s shaky. “You think I can do this?”

“I think you already are.”

I lean back, let the beer rest against my chest, cold and grounding. Matt’s words settle in like dust on old wood—quiet, but impossible to ignore.

You can stay.
You can have a life.

I glance around the apartment again. Still hollow. Still temporary. But maybe not permanent. Maybe not anymore.

“Claire ever threaten to leave?”

Matt shrugs. “Once. I forgot our anniversary and tried to make up for it with a fancy new vacuum.

I laugh. “Romantic.”

“ She brings it up every time I forget to take the trash out.  But she stayed.”

“Izzy’s not Claire.”

“No, she’s Izzy. And you’re not the same guy who left Anne behind either.”

I want to argue, but I don’t. Because maybe he’s right.

Matt stands, stretches, grabs another beer. “You’re scared. That’s good. Means it matters.”

I watch him for a moment. “If I screw this up…”

“You won’t. But if you do, you’ll own it. You’ll fight for it. That’s the difference.”

 “I think I want to try.”

Matt grins. “Good. Now go ditch those sad clothes  and put on something that doesn’t scream ‘midlife crisis.’”

I laugh, and this time it’s real.

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Izzy

Miss Alice whispers in my ear, soft and smug: “He’ll be back when he’s ready.”.

Stubborn man.

I scrub the counter like it insulted me. The sponge squeaks against the granite, loud and sharp, but it’s not enough. I need the noise. I need the motion. I need something to drown out the ache.

Joe stood in my doorway and told me a bold faced lie. “Just going home to change,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

That was two damn  days ago.

Not a damn word since.

 Idiot.

Grace watches me from the hallway, her head tilted, her one ear twitching with every slam of a cabinet. She’s trying to herd me again—emotional damage control, canine edition.

I yank open the junk drawer. Pens, batteries, a broken tape measure. I rearrange them like it matters.

I should’ve known better than to let someone in.

Grace whines. I ignore her.

“You’re spiraling” I hear in Miss Alice’s voice, clear as ever. Not in my head, not exactly. More like the echo of memory, stitched into the walls of this house. She’s gone, but she’s everywhere.

“I’m fine,” I say aloud, to no one and to her.

“You’re alphabetizing batteries, You’re not fine.”

I huff and slam my hand on the counter, knocking the tape measure off. It hits Grace before landing on the floor.

Grace yelps, noses the tape measure, then rubs against me, looking up with questioning eyes.

“Oh, Grace. I’m not mad at you, girl.”

I sink to the floor beside her, press my face into her fur. She smells like grass and sunshine.

“Damn it. Why is this so hard? I wanted him to stay,” I whisper as she nuzzles into my neck and shoulder.

Miss Alice doesn’t answer. She never does when I say something true.

I sit there for a long time, Grace curled against me, the house quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the ache in my chest.

A hard nudge on my shoulder lifts me out of my funk.  I swear it’s Miss Alice pushing me to get up.

“Okay, okay, I’m moving.”

Grace and I head outside to find something to do.

 The garden doesn’t need me.

Everything’s trimmed, watered, mulched. The succulents are thriving. The driftwood border I laid last month still curves just right.

But I need something to do.

So, I head to the shed.

It’s already organized, of course it is. I did it last spring, labeled every bin, hung every tool. But today, I decide it’s not good enough.

Grace trots behind me, tail wagging low, cautious. She watches me open the shed door like I might find a ghost inside.

I start shifting things around. Move the rake two inches to the left. Re-stack the gloves by color. Alphabetize the seed packets even though I already did that last week.

Grace huffs and settles in the doorway, her chin on her paws.

Then I hear it.

A soft, imperious mrrrow.

His  Royal Highness saunters in like he owns the place. He’s sleek, smug, and completely unbothered by the dog now staring him down like he’s a squirrel in a tuxedo.

Grace lets out a low growl. Not aggressive. Just confused.

The cat leaps onto the workshop ledge, settles into a loaf, and gives a slow, deliberate meow.

Like Grace has no influence on him at all.

I laugh. Loud and sudden.

“God, you’re just like Joe,” I say to the cat. “Show up late, act like you belong, ignore the chaos you cause.”

The cat blinks. Grace huffs.

Hands on my hips, I stare at the perfectly hung tools and labeled bins. There’s nothing to fix. Nothing to clean. Nothing to distract me.

I’ve already done it all.

Grace lifts her head, ear twitching, waiting for me to make a move.

 “Well, that was a productive waste of time.”

The cat blinks at me from the ledge, tail flicking like he’s judging my life choices.

I glance toward the fence.

Ahh, Miss Alice’s yard.

I haven’t worked over there since Joe bought  Miss Alice’s house.  I bet it needs work.

 I feel that same nudge again—not my shoulder this time- this time it feels like a pull in my chest. Like she’s whispering, Go on, girl. I’m not done with you yet.

I dust off my gloves. “Come on, Grace. Let’s go next door.”

Grace perks up, tail wagging. The cat doesn’t move. Just watches us go like royalty dismissing the help.

I laugh at the cat. “You and Joe. Same damn attitude.”

He thought the yard was enchanted. Said it was too perfect to be real. We started a joke that the garden gnome—Mr. Buttonwillow—was the true caretaker. I let him believe it.

But now?

I step through the gate and stop cold.

It’s a mess.

“Oh Miss Alice, I’m so sorry.”

Wood scraps litter the flower beds. The grass is too long, patchy in places. The roses are covered in sawdust. The birdbath is dry. Dead fruit lie under the trees. Nothing’s been watered.

My jaw tightens.

Grace sniffs a pile of lumber and sneezes.

I clench my fists. “This is what happens when you trust a man with sacred ground.”

Miss Alice’s voice floats through me, dry and amused: “He’s not the first to forget what matters.”

I get to work.

I haul wood. I rinse petals. I mow, prune, sweep, and mutter curses under my breath. Grace follows me like a furry shadow, occasionally barking at the wheelbarrow like it insulted her lineage.

By the time I’m done, the yard looks like itself again.

But I’m still mad.

I march toward the gnome—Mr. Buttonwillow, proud and mossy, tossed haphazardly on the ground.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” I  tell him. “Not today.”

I scoop him up determined to save him from Joe.  I’m halfway through the gate, when  Miss Alice’s back door creaks open.

Joe’s voice calls out, low and teasing:

“Where you going with my gnome, thief?”

I freeze.

Grace barks hello, her tail wagging but she stays glued to my side.

And I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw Mr. Buttonwillow at his head.

Idiot.

I turn slowly, gnome in hand, fury barely contained. Joe stands there, dressed in old jeans with a rip in one knee and an old Army shirt.

Damn, he’s a good looking man.

“You lost gnome privileges.”

Joe leans against the doorframe, still favoring his leg. He’s got that half-smile—the one that used to make me feel safe. Today, it makes me want to throw mulch at him.

’ “I was coming back,” he says.

“What?” I snort. “You didn’t think I’d be worried when you didn’t show backup?  Did your phone die?” I walk over and stand at the bottom of his backstairs. “You scared me, you big duff.”

He winces. ““I just needed a little time.”

Grace trots over and sits between us, tail thumping, her head on a swivel.

I glance down at Mr. Buttonwillow. His mossy face looks smug. Judgmental.

“I should bury this guy in your lumber pile,”

Joe steps forward, slow and carefully, takes the gnome out of my arms and places him back in his rightful place. “There you go big fella.”

I let out an exaggerated huff, turn and walk toward the gate.

Let him sit with that.

 

Chapter Twenty-nine

Joe

Slowed down by my broken leg, I catch up with her just past the back gate.
“Izzy, wait—please.”

She stopped but didn’t turn.

“I’m sorry I scared you and I was an idiot not to call.”

She turned halfway, arms crossed tight.

“I didn’t know how to come back here,” I confess.  “The pills were here. And I was hurting bad. It took a few days before the pain let up enough that I wasn’t tempted to beg you for them.”

Izzy’s shoulders dropped.

“You do understand,” I added quietly, “I can’t let myself ever go there again. Right?”

Her eyes soften. “Yeah. I get it. Maybe I’m just a worry wort but it’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to even worry about.”

A beat passed. Then her gaze flicked to the yard.

“But seriously, Joe—Miss Alice’s yard was a disaster. The weeds were staging a coup. Your workers trampled some of the flowers and Mr. Buttonwillow was knocked over, face down in the dirt.”

“You saw it?”

She spins around, eyes blazing. “Saw it? I spent the whole damn afternoon fixing it.”

 “I thought the contractors were supposed to—”

“No.” Her arms cross tight over her chest. “It’s your yard now. Your name’s on the deed. Your mess. Make sure they clean up after themselves.”

She doesn’t soften. Not yet. “Miss Alice would’ve had a broom in one hand and a shovel in the other.”

I  reach down and pet Grace’s head.  “And probably a lecture about mulch.”

That gets me a reluctant smirk. “Damn right.”

I lead Izzy back through the gate into my yard, careful not to limp too obviously. The cast’s stiff, but I manage.

She follows, arms crossed, still simmering.

Then I see all she’ s done.

The gravel’s been raked. The flower beds edged. The trellis is upright again, and Miss Alice’s roses—God, they’re blooming.

“You did all this?”

“Somebody had to.”

I hobble toward the porch steps, where Mr. Buttonwillow sits in his usual spot, surrounded by a halo of purple flowers.

I can’t kneel, so I lean on the railing and bow my head.

“Mr. Buttonwillow, I apologize for the neglect. You deserve better.”

Izzy snorts. “He’s been judging you for weeks.”

 “He’s too classy to say it out loud.”

Her mouth twitches. The tension breaks.

“Come inside. Bring Grace. I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”

Upstairs, I swing open the bathroom door.

Izzy gasps. “Joe. This is—this is a dream come true spa.”

I grin. “Miss Alice’s clawfoot tub, refinished. Heated floors. Wood tiles and my fav- a bidet.”

She runs her hand along the vanity, eyes wide. “You did all this?”

“Most of it. Contractors helped with the plumbing.”

Downstairs, I led her into the kitchen. Cabinets half-hung, tools scattered across the counters.

“I’m finishing the rest of the work myself. Need to save money now that I’ve decided to stay.”

Izzy’s face lights up. “Not selling?”

“Nope. I’ve fallen in love with the place. I’m going to stay.”

She claps her hands in approval.” Did you hear that Miss Alice, he’s really staying.”

I ‘m sure it’s just my imagination but it feels like someone came up behind me and gave me a hug.

Izzy surveys the space and enthusiastically offers her services. “I’ll come help paint. Hold the ladder. Supervise.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Supervise?”

She grins. “Someone’s gotta make sure Mr. Buttonwillow approves.”

Izzy’s still admiring the kitchen cabinets when I glance around. “Wait—where’s Grace?”

We check the hallway. The guest rooms. Even peek out the back door.

Izzy calls out, “Grace, where are you girl?”

Maybe she can’t hear you. She is missing an ear.”

“I’m checking upstairs.” She takes the stairs two at a time.

I hear her laugh and then she calls softly from upstairs, “Uh… Joe?”

She’s standing in the bathroom doorway, hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh again.

I limp up the stairs and peer inside the bathroom.

Grace is curled up in the clawfoot tub, snoring softly, her paws twitching like she’s chasing rabbits in her dreams.

“She’s out cold. That tub’s got magical powers.”

I chuckle. “Miss Alice would’ve approved.”

Izzy turns to me. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I’ll go fix dinner,” she says, already heading for the door. “I’ll leave Grace here. She’s clearly living her best life.”

I watch her go, heart lighter than it’s been in weeks.

Later, once I’ve figured out how to drive with the damn cast—left foot on the brake, right leg stretched awkwardly—I take Grace with me to the store. She trots beside me, tail wagging, her one ear perked up in happiness.

I’m halfway to the flower section when I stop.

Izzy doesn’t need a bouquet. She needs something that lasts.

We circle back to the garden aisle, and I find it—a sturdy, drought-tolerant plant with deep green leaves and tiny orange blossoms.

“Good choice. This is more her style.”

Grace sniffs it, then sits like she’s giving her approval.

“Perfect, Something that’ll stick around.”

 

Chapter Thirty
Izzy

The pasta water’s boiling so I toss in a pinch of salt and watch it swirl like a storm settling. The kitchen’s quiet—too quiet without Grace snoring at my feet.

 Hope things are going well.

 I watched as he took off in his truck with Grace riding shotgun like she owns the passenger seat.

Where’s he going anyway?

How is he driving with that cast?   I laugh at myself. “Stop worrying.”

Miss Alice whispers, “Make dinner, Izzy. Joe’s coming back. You know he is.”

“All right, all right!”  I go out back and pick some fresh basil from my herb garden.  Miss Alice used to say basil was the smell of summer and second chances. I’m not sure which one I need more.

Ater washing the dirt from the basil, I stack the leaves and slice them into ribbons. My hand slips and I slice my finger.  “Damn it.” I move my hand away from the cutting board.  “Don’t contaminate the basil, Izzy” Rushing to the sink, I wash the blood way and examine the cut. Thank God it’s just a tiny nip. One band- aid later and I’m back to work.   

“Stop fussing at me,” I murmur toward her photo on the fridge. “I’m just nervous.”

I drop the spaghetti into the water and stir. The sauce is simple—garlic, butter, cream, parmesan. Easy comfort.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit out loud. “Joe’s staying. He’s fixing the house. He’s not selling. And I’m… I’m glad. But it changes everything.”

I set the table slowly. Two plates. Cloth napkins. I lit the candle Miss Alice kept by the window. It flickers like she’s listening. I promised I’d never wait for anyone again, but here I am, setting the table for two.

“I thought I had it figured out. Help him heal. Keep my distance. Be the friend he needs.”

I stir the sauce, watching it thicken. “But now I’m wondering if I was wrong. If maybe he wants more. If maybe I do too.”

I lean on the counter, heart thudding. “Can I even let myself feel that again?”

The silence answers like a held breath.

“What would Steven say? Would he tell me to go for it? Or would he think I’m betraying him?”

I shake my head. “He’d probably say, ‘Izzy, you deserve someone who stays.’”

I check the pasta. Perfect. Al dente.  I drain it, toss it with the sauce, and cover the pot with a lid to stay warm. Pasta always tasted better after it’s set for a while.

I sit at the table, hands folded, candle flickering. The house feels full and empty all at once.

And I wait.

The candle’s burned low. The pasta stays warmed, tucked under the lid like a secret I’m not ready to share. I keep glancing at the clock, then the window, then back to Miss Alice’s photo.

“You’re right.  I’m being dramatic,” I whisper. “But you also know why.”

 Outside, a car door shuts startling me out of my melancholy.

I rush to the window and take a peek.

“Good, It’s him.”

 Joe’s limping up the walk, Grace trotting beside him like she’s proud of herself. He’s carrying something—small, green, with orange blossoms. A plant. Not a bouquet.

I smile. That’s where he went. A gentleman coming to dinner- with a gift.

I step back from the window and smooth my shirt and take a quick peek at my reflection in the hallway mirror.  Looking pretty good, Izzy girl.

The door opens. Joe’s voice, soft: “Hey.” He takes a deep breath. “It smells like Italy in here.”

I turn and give him a lifted eyebrow. No way will I admit I was worried “You were gone so long, I almost ate without you.”

He lifts the plant and gives me a smirk. “Had to find the right one.”

He hands me the plant, and I give it a quick look over. “Nice. Healthy. Good roots. Thank you, I love coneflowers. This will look great in my garden.”
I nod toward the table. “I didn’t plate anything.”

 “Why not?”

I shrug, trying to sound casual. “Miss Alice never served dinner until everyone was home.”

Joe’s face shifts—something tender, something grateful. He puts his keys on the side table, then limps over and pulls out a chair.

“Well,  I’m here now.” He runs his hand over the tablecloth and leans over to  smell the scented candle “You set all  this up for me?”

“Yeah. I did.”

Grace, with perfect timing, turns over, sighs loudly and bangs her tail on the floor.

Family. I can have it again.

My throat tightens. “Then let’s eat.”

I plate the pasta, add some extra sauce,  grate parmesan on top, and set it in front of him. Grace flops under the table, already snoring.

Joe takes a bite, then groans. “Izzy. This is magic.”

I sit across from him, fork in hand, heart thudding. “It’s just basil and butter.”

He shakes his head. “It’s more than that.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes, the kind that feels like music. Then he looks up.

“I meant what I said, I’m staying.”

 “I know.”

He hesitates. “Does that… change things?”

I meet his eyes. “It might.”