“Will lost so much that day,” Hannah said, her heart breaking for Will all over again. “I do understand why he closed off that part of his life. I had a hard time painting for a very long while. My publishers and the authors I was working with were very understanding, of course, and made all kinds of allowances for me at the time. Honestly, though, if it hadn’t been my sole source of income, I can’t say whether I’d have found my way to keep going.” She took a breath, paused a moment, and went on. “The only reason I ended up working with the author of the second series I illustrated was because my son loved her books so much when he was little. I heard she was doing a signing near where I lived, so the two of us went, and I was surprised to learn she knew of my work on the other series I’d been illustrating. We stayed in touch, and she eventually asked me to collaborate with her. It was one of the most enjoyable projects I ever did. Liam was getting old enough by then that we really shared the whole process of my illustrating. They had long been some of his favorite characters. After I lost him, it wasn’t something I ever wanted to look at again. I honestly didn’t think I could.”
Addie’s entire countenance crumpled. “Oh, honey,” she said, devastated. She just reached right over and wrapped Hannah up in a surprisingly strong hug. “I didn’t know,” she said. She held on for a good long while, and when she finally let go, they both had damp eyes. “I’d have never . . .” She broke off, shook her head. “I’m a foolish old woman. I thought you’d both lost a spouse. It just made perfect sense . . . and you hit it off so well with Jacob, and—” Her expression went slack again as an additional wave of guilt washed over her.
“It’s okay, Addie Pearl,” Hannah assured her, wiping her eyes. “I’ll admit, there are parts of being around Jake that are challenging. Liam would be his age now. But to be honest, he’s such a delightful young man and I’ve spent enough time in his company now that I can see how utterly different he is from Liam in pretty much every way. So . . . that makes it easier. I’ve decided to think of Jake as a friend I’d hope my son would have made.”
Addie wiped her eyes, then finally withdrew a hankie she’d had tucked in one of the many pockets of the cutoff canvas coveralls she wore that day. She blew her nose rather noisily, which made Hannah’s expression warm even further. Now it was her turn to pat Addie’s arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I thought, given everything we’re talking about here, that you should know. It’s okay to be sad, but he was a great kid, so I try to think of how he’d love something, instead of how much I miss him not getting to see it or do it. You know? He’d have loved the Falls and would have talked your ear off.”
Addie sniffled rather inelegantly and nodded. “I can’t . . .” She didn’t finish, shook her head again, then put her hand on Hannah’s arm and held on this time. Finally she made a little sound of disgust and said, “Here I barge into your day with all these grand plans of mine, certain I’m going to save the world, or a small part of it anyway, and instead I drag you through—” She broke off. “Now I’m blubbering all over the place and you’re the one giving comfort.”
“It’s never foolish if your heart is in the right place,” Hannah said, meaning it. “It really is okay,” she went on, patting Addie’s arm. “What is it you thought I could do for Will?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject for both their sakes.
Addie’s voice was a bit throaty. “As I said, I can see Will is making strides, and I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be a part of that. I’ll apologize for sticking my nose in, but I saw the two of you in the parking area at your party the other day. The way you were looking at each other . . . maybe I drew the wrong conclusions.”
“You didn’t,” Hannah said, seeing no reason to sidestep anything now. “We are interested in each other. But I’m not sure he’s really ready.”
“Or he’d be in more regular contact,” Addie finished, then let out another little snort of disgust, but not self-directed this time. “Men can be such dolts.”
Hannah laughed at that even as she dried the last of the dampness from her eyes. “I think we can all claim doltishness on our personal resume. I should probably just call him. It’s silly that I haven’t. I just . . . he was the one who asked me out—so I thought he should do the calling, you know?”
“I do,” Addie said. “But if there is one thing I’ve learned in this long life, it’s that there’s nothing to be gained by sitting around, wishing and hoping.”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “I don’t want to be chasing someone down who doesn’t want to be caught. Maybe if I had contacted him right after we—after the last time we saw each other, we both could have easily sorted out where we stood. Now I feel the deafening silence is speaking for itself.”
“Men have weird logic sometimes,” Addie said. “I could tell you stories about the man I married, but I won’t bore you. Suffice it to say, a man can rationalize pretty much anything if it suits his purpose. Men hate conflict, so if said rationalization helps avoid an emotional confrontation? That’s the direction they will inevitably go and convince themselves they’re being noble for doing it.” She shifted to look directly at Hannah. “If Will asked you out and is reneging on the offer, then the least he owes you is a polite explanation. And I’m disappointed to hear he hasn’t done so. That’s not the man I know.”
“I was thinking the same thing, on both fronts, but honestly, Addie Pearl, at this point, I’d really rather just let that sleeping dog lie. He’s got a full plate, and so I think it’s best if I just go on about my business. Things are only right when they’re right for both people involved. Maybe it’s not quite time for intimacy, for him. Baby steps aren’t always a bad thing.”
“He keeps moving this slow, he’ll be taking baby steps right on into the Hereafter.”
Hannah spluttered a laugh at that.
“Just calling it like I see it,” Addie said, unrepentant. “Sometimes a swift kick in the hind quarters can help a man get his head on straight. In fact, that was exactly what I was hoping you could help me with. He wasn’t ready last year to contemplate taking that next step, getting back to his work as a fiddle maker, much less playing one. But a year has passed now, and with Jake’s progress and love for fiddling, it seems like Will could use a good nudge before he talks himself back into his safe little hidey-hole.”
Hannah didn’t necessarily disagree with her, but she frowned in confusion. “How did you think I could be of any help with that? I have zero musical ability. I’m happy if I can keep time by tapping my toe.”
“I wasn’t thinking of anything that direct,” Addie Pearl said. “I just thought, if he was lowering his walls a bit, letting you in, and you seemed to be a force of good, maybe you could, you know”—she made a little shooing motion with her hands—“urge him to take his support of Jake’s fiddling right up onstage. With you there rooting both the McCall men along, it might actually happen.”
Hannah nodded now that Addie’s whole scheme had finally come to light. “Actually, he told me that it was Bailey’s tough love that got him into that arena the first time. I was really only there to add encouragement after the fact.”
“That works, too,” Addie said.
“Well, it’s a lovely idea,” Hannah told her. “But I don’t think I’m going to be the one rooting him on from the front row. I mean, I’ll always cheer for anything that brings him and Jake closer and deepens the bond they already share.” She paused, trying to decide if she wanted to offer her opinion on the plan. “But as well intentioned an idea as it is—and I agree it would be a wonderful thing for both of them—Will might never want to play again, much less up on a stage. Unless it’s something he truly wants to do, I think that needs to be okay, too. He made a huge stride being there in person to support Jake.” She smiled and let her honest affection for Will shine through. “His love for his son will push him forward. But it may have some limitations, and Jake might need to accept that. I guess I would just caution that support can someti
mes come across as pressure, and I’d hate for Will to feel like folks are sitting and waiting for him to do things he truly doesn’t want to do.”
Addie Pearl listened intently, truly seeming to take what she’d said in the manner she’d intended. Addie took a few moments when she’d finished before speaking.
Hannah hoped she hadn’t overstepped. Addie Pearl had a lifelong relationship with the extended McCall family and was certainly in a position to know a great deal more about Will than Hannah did. She could only speak to the aspect of dealing with grief, and other people’s ideas about how she should handle things and when she should be ready to move on. Her parents being two of the worst offenders, love them though she did. Establishing new boundaries and making fresh connections had been two of the reasons why she was now living in Blue Hollow Falls.
And, as to those new connections, though Hannah was hopeful to deepen her relationship with Addie, her loyalty was to Will in this matter. Whatever he thought of her, or whatever kind of friendship or relationship they might go on to have, she cared about him, and for him. So her protective instinct extended most strongly in his direction.
Addie’s smile came slowly, but it spread into something ebullient. “You’ll do, Hannah Montgomery,” she said. As if reading Hannah’s thoughts, she said, “It speaks well of you that you look out for his best interests, no matter where things stand between you.”
“He’s a good man,” Hannah said simply, and she meant it. This talk with Addie had also made her rethink her decision to wait for Will to contact her. She didn’t want to push him into anything he didn’t want to be involved in. This was a big step for her, too, so if they both weren’t up for giving it a go, she wasn’t interested. But given what they’d shared with each other in her home, in her bed, she felt she did at least deserve to know where he stood. Maybe he was taking those baby steps Addie had just joked about, and that wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, given the first time they’d been alone together, they’d ended up in bed. She just wanted to be part of the conversation, that’s all.
“Well, I won’t keep you from your canvas any longer,” Addie said. “I appreciate your spending some of your precious free time with a nosey old woman.”
“A caring woman,” she corrected warmly. “And I’m glad we talked. I hope that’s something we can do often. Whatever the subject matter.” They stood and grabbed their walking sticks from their resting perches on the back of the bench.
It was only then that Hannah saw Will standing just a few yards away, at the edge of the clearing. She had no idea what he might have heard of their chat, but from the look on his face, he hadn’t just arrived.
“Ah, Will,” Addie Pearl said, a smile creasing her weathered face. “Right on time.”
Chapter Sixteen
Will and Hannah both looked sharply toward Addie, who merely shrugged.
“Well, if the two of you can’t see past the end of your own noses, then I wasn’t just going to sit around on the sidelines and let you screw this up.”
Will noted Hannah’s mouth drop open, which answered any lingering question he might have had regarding her knowledge of this little setup.
Addie looked at Hannah. “Our little discussion was truly my reason for coming to talk to you.” She looked to Will, then back to Hannah. “But you can’t blame an old woman for having a backup plan.”
Will’s jaw might have been clenched, but he was polite when he said, “I can’t speak for Hannah, Addie Pearl, and I appreciate that you have our well-being in mind. But if it’s okay with you, I’d prefer to see to my own affairs in the future.”
Unfazed and undaunted, Addie braced her palms on the top of her walking stick and held his gaze directly. “Well, you can’t rightly do that if you don’t actually do anything about them. You might be a bit out of practice at this dating business, but even all the way back in my heyday, a gentleman didn’t leave a young woman hanging for several days—”
“Addie,” Hannah said, in hushed shock.
She looked at Hannah, as undaunted as ever. “And today’s woman doesn’t just sit around waiting for her white knight.” She lifted her stick in Hannah’s direction. “You want something? Go out there and get it.” She nodded toward Will. “Though if this one can’t get his act together, you might want to broaden your scope a bit.”
Hannah’s expression was somewhere between stunned disbelief and abashed embarrassment.
“Sound advice, Miss Addie,” Will said. “All around,” he added, when Hannah swung her questioning gaze to him.
“Glad you can take this in the spirit intended,” Addie replied. “Now, I’m going to pull my nose back out of your business. This here park bench is officially available. It’s a lovely summer day. Perhaps the two of you could make good use of it.” She walked over to the trail that led back through the copse of trees to the main path. She glanced back at both of them, neither having moved so much as an inch. She made a shooing motion toward them. “Go on now. I’ve got a guild to run and mill business to oversee. I don’t have time to be running around after you two, trying to get you on track.” She pointed the knob of her cane at them. “But don’t you think I won’t.” She smiled then, quite merrily actually, and with a wink at them both, she was on her way.
“Well then,” Hannah said, once Addie had retreated far enough down the trail that her steady, striding figure could no longer be seen. “I guess we’ve been told.”
“It would appear that way.”
Hannah turned to face him, her expression unreadable for the first time since he’d met her. “Addie’s lecture notwithstanding, you don’t need to stick around. I’m sorry she set you up. Both of us up, apparently. I would like to ask one thing though.”
“Hannah,” he began, knowing he deserved that somewhat frosty, dismissive tone. “I owe you an apology.”
“Actually, you don’t owe me anything. Although a little respect would be nice. You did ask me out, and you did say you’d contact me. Granted, you didn’t say when, but I guess my estimation of the window of opportunity was a bit shorter than yours.”
He let his chin drop, knowing he deserved every last one of her gently said, but decidedly pointed words. Then she undid him completely by letting her annoyance drop away, and adding, “I’m guessing it was a lot too much, a lot too soon, and I’m sorry for that, Will.” She took a step closer. “Sorry it felt that way to you.” She took another step, then stopped and spoke slowly, as if choosing her words cautiously. “I don’t know if it will help matters or hurt them, but I’m not sorry for me.” She paused and waited until he met her gaze directly. She smiled then, fully, honestly, and he swore he felt his heart physically shift toward her inside his chest. “In fact, I was downright giddy after you left the other night, propriety and restraint be damned.”
He had to resist the urge to clap his hand over his heart, as if he could physically keep it from giving itself to her. He wanted nothing so badly as he wanted to close the distance between them, pull her into his arms, and make her giddy all over again.
“I was wrong not to get in touch with you,” he said, hearing the rasp of regret and a bit of shame along there with it. “I know that, knew that. I was just trying to . . .” Get in control of the feelings I have for you, which can’t be wise or smart, or real. Too much, too soon, and then some. “It is a lot,” he admitted. “But none of it bad. The opposite of that.” He held her gaze again. “I didn’t want to leave you that night, and I’ve thought about pretty much nothing else since then.”
Her eyes widened at his heartfelt and raw admission. He saw his own confusion mirrored on her face, along with a flash of awareness that made his body leap and catch right up with his heart. That’s what she did to him, how she affected him. And it scared the ever-loving bejesus out of him.
“I’ll be honest,” he said. “I’m not sure how to—I wanted to call, but I didn’t know how to explain. And I don’t want to be anything other than candid with you. But . . . I haven’t explain
ed it to myself yet. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. But by not saying anything, it ended up being just as wrong anyway. I—”
“It’s okay, Will,” she said softly, and sounded like she meant it. “I understand. I mean that. It is overwhelming. Not in a bad way, not for me, but overwhelming is still overwhelming. You have other things you’re dealing with, different from me. So . . . I get it. I guess, if I can say anything, it’s that I hope the friendship we have, or that we’ve begun, would always be front and center. If you need to talk something out or figure something out, then let me be a sounding board and trust that I’ll understand what you mean. Even if what you’re trying to figure out is about me. Maybe especially then. We’re adults.” She grinned then. “Though I will cop to feeling a lot like a rejected high school girl the past few days, so we’re none of us without our faults. I could have just called you and dragged it out of you.” Her tone grew more serious again. “As long as we remain candid and honest with one another, even if we end up on opposite sides of an issue, even if that issue is what we want from whatever it is we’ve started, then . . . that has to be better than leaving things unsaid, or unexplored, or unexamined.”
He nodded as she spoke, agreeing with everything she said. Putting her suggestion into practice, however, was an entirely different thing. “I’m used to being in charge, whether it be in my former career as a marine, or raising my son—at least for the past twelve years of his life—so I haven’t had the luxury of discussing things or getting a second opinion. I’ve spent my life making unilateral decisions—some of them with deadly consequences—with little to go on in some cases other than my gut.” He smiled briefly. “And when my gut has nothing for me, I am on the record as being very good at just burying my head in the sand rather than dealing with issues that I’d rather leave unexplored and unexamined.”
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