Ten Days Later
Clara stood on the sidewalk in front of her grandparents’ house, her arms folded. The house was modest by any standard, but the surrounding acreage was worth millions. In a few hours, Clara would be signing closing documents on the estate, and she’d instantly become a wealthy woman.
She hadn’t even told Dawson how much the property was selling for. Jeff Finch had reviewed the offer, so he knew, but she also trusted that he’d keep it confidential. And now that her dad’s claim had been cleared up, Clara would be letting go of the property once and for all.
She had wondered if her dad would try to reach out to her after learning that he’d only get twenty-five dollars. She’d also wondered if her dad even cared to be reunited with his daughter after all this time. But so far, she hadn’t heard from him. She’d grown up blessed to be a part of her grandparents’ lives, and any grudge against her dad wasn’t worth the energy.
Besides, she had a great man in her life.
The sound of Dawson’s approaching truck caught her attention. He’d driven with her to her grandparents’ home, and when she said she wanted to keep her grandparents’ red mailbox, he’d left to get some tools at the hardware store.
She smiled as he pulled up to the curb, shut off the engine, and climbed out. No suit today. He wore what had become her favorite jeans of his and a gray, fitted T-shirt. Dawson had taken the entire day off to help her, and she found that more than endearing. She’d decided not to call a salvage company or sell any of the stuff off. She’d turn it over to the buyer, except for the mailbox. It had always been her job to get the mail, and the red mailbox would someday go in front of her own home.
Dawson walked toward her, a sack in hand.
“Looks like you bought more than a screwdriver,” she said.
“I bought the basic tool kit,” he said, holding up the sack. “I should probably have one stored in my truck anyway.”
“To help more damsels in distress?” she said, looking up at him as he stopped in front of her.
One side of his mouth lifted as his brown eyes captured hers. “You’re the least distressed damsel that I know.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Except when it comes to hiring lawyers.”
“What’s most important is that you got the right one in the end,” he said with a wink.
While she watched him pull out the tool kit from the sack, then use the screwdriver to remove the red mail box from the post, she felt another rush of gratitude for Dawson.
They’d had dinner together every night since the day he had called Lindsey Gerber. Mostly she cooked, but a couple of times they’d gone out to eat.
Dawson never tried to hold her hand. They hadn’t kissed either. He was keeping true to his promise of just being a friend, no expectations. Well, they had hugged a time or two. Okay, three times to be exact. Clara pushed back the urge to wrap her arms around him now.
Each time she saw him, it took five or ten minutes for her heart rate to settle down, and for her to convince herself that friendship was enough with this man. Her pulse was increasing again, so she turned from Dawson and scanned the lawn leading up to her grandparents’ home. There were plenty of weeds in the grass now, something her grandpa would have hated. And the bushes around the house needed a good trim.
It was sad to think that this could all be gone in a couple of months, replaced by a construction crew building a strip mall. Clara wasn’t entirely sure what the property would become. Maybe one day, in a year or two, she’d come by again.
“Done,” Dawson said, holding up the red mailbox. “Hey, there’s something in it.”
She turned to face him as he shook the mailbox. “What?” Clara opened the small door. Inside was a square envelope that looked like it was new, which meant it hadn’t been sitting in the mailbox for long. On the front of the envelope, it read, Clara Benson, in what appeared suspiciously like Dawson’s handwriting.
She looked at him, and he shrugged his shoulders, holding back a smile.
Clara opened the envelope and pulled out a card. The outside had daisies on it, but no words. She glanced up at Dawson again, but he kept his expression stoic.
Opening the card, she started to read.
Dear Clara,
I thought you’d like one more letter delivered to your red mailbox. I just wanted you to know how amazing you are. You inspire me every day.
Love, Dawson
She wouldn’t cry. The card was sweet, but not a tear-jerker, right? She exhaled and met his gaze. “Thank you,” she said, but it came out as a whisper.
“You’re welcome.” His words were simple, his smile sincere.
They stood there for a moment, looking at each other, Clara holding the card, and Dawson holding the mailbox.
“Do you want me to put this in the truck?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Clara said, trying to come to her senses.
She waited while Dawson put the mailbox in the truck. He brought the tool kit with him as they walked up to the house. The realtor said her key would still work, yet it was a strange sensation to open the front door.
The musty smell hit her first as she stepped inside. Everything was dim due to the pulled blinds and curtains—curtains she remembered her grandma making. All the furniture had been removed, donated or put into storage.
Dawson came inside and stood next to her, not moving farther into the house than she had gone.
“It feels so empty,” Clara said, turning to Dawson. “I mean, not just because all the furniture is gone, but because my grandma’s no longer here.”
He nodded. “You and your grandma are what made it a home. Without you, it’s just a building.”
“Exactly.” She started to walk around the living room. There were markings on the walls from where her grandma had hung pictures. The carpet was still indented from the couch and coffee table. Dawson remained by the door, his free hand in his pocket as he watched her examine everything.
“The kitchen was my favorite place in this house,” she said, moving to the adjacent room. “Come see it.”
Dawson followed.
Even though the kitchen table and chairs were gone, the kitchen looked nearly how she remembered it. She’d always loved the small glass knobs on the cupboards. She turned to Dawson. “Would it be weird if I took off the knobs from the cupboards?”
He lifted a brow. “Do you have plans for them?”
“Well, when I get a place of my own, I’ll put them on the cupboards.”
“I like it,” he said. “Do you want me to get started?” He held up the tool kit.
“If there’s more than one screwdriver, I can help as well.”
So they spent the next twenty minutes taking off all the knobs from the cupboards and drawers.
Once the knobs were in a pile on the counter, Clara led Dawson through the rest of the house. When she came to her grandma’s bedroom, she stared at the empty space. “One summer we painted her room violet,” Clara said. “I was about twelve, and I told her I wanted to paint her room for her birthday.”
“How long did she keep it violet?” Dawson asked, coming into the room and looking around.
“About a year,” Clara said with a laugh. “My grandma was a good sport, but I knew she didn’t love it. So the next summer, we went for taupe.”
Dawson turned to face her. “What color is your bedroom?”
“Come and see,” Clara said, grabbing his hand.
Holding his hand felt natural, and she didn’t let go. He didn’t pull away either.
When they stepped into her room, Dawson chuckled. “Yellow. I should have known it wouldn’t be a neutral color.”
Clara turned to face him, their hands still linked. “Yellow can totally be neutral.”
He lifted his brows. “I’m sure you have a good argument for it, so I’ll concede early.”
She smiled. “You’re such a gentleman.”
His eyes searched hers. “Always,” he said in a soft voice.
And that’s when she knew she couldn’t keep him at arms’ length anymore. She didn’t know how he would react, but she wanted to find out. Still holding his hand, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth.
He didn’t move for a second. But then he rested his other hand on her waist and kissed her back. It was gentle, tentative, and not intense like the previous kisses they’d shared. He was letting her take the lead.
Then he broke off and gazed at her. “Are you sure, Clara?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “I’m sure.”
He released her hand and pulled her fully into his arms, then lifted her up against him as his mouth sought hers again. She wrapped her arms about his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair, holding on as if she’d found an oasis. Which she had. Everything about this man was warm and solid. Safe. And she didn’t want to let go.
When they both broke off to catch their breath, and Dawson set her down, she kept her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Dawson. I’m sorry for bouncing all over with my emotions.”
“Don’t ever apologize for telling me how you feel,” he said. “Even if it hurts, I want to know.” He smoothed the hair back from her face, then kissed her forehead, holding her close. “Do you want anything from this room?”
Clara drew away from him, linking their fingers again as she scanned the room she’d slept in most of her life. The yellow walls had been bright and cheery and had served her well. She’d had a happy childhood, and that was all she could ask for. “No. Unless I take the closet door.”
Dawson chuckled and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I have room in the bed of my truck.”
“Oh, I do want the mirror in the bathroom,” she said. “It was my great-grandmother’s—at least, that’s what my grandma told me.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
They moved to the bathroom in the hallway. The house was small, and there was only one bathroom. Clara flipped on the light and stepped aside so Dawson could look at how it was mounted.
“I think it lifts right off a couple of brackets in the wall,” he said.
“You’re quite the handyman,” Clara said in a teasing tone.
Dawson looked over his shoulder and flashed her a grin. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that to me.”
“What if I want to?”
He turned and leaned toward her. “Then I won’t stop you.”
She couldn’t help herself. She kissed him again, then playfully pushed against his chest. “Get to work, handyman.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smirked as he grasped both sides of the mirror and lifted it off the brackets.
“This thing is a lot heavier than I expected,” he said. “We should seatbelt it into the truck.”
“I’ll get the doors.” She led the way down the hall and opened the front door of the house. Then they made their way to the truck, and she opened the rear passenger door.
Dawson set the mirror on the back seat and secured it with the seatbelt. Then they carried out the knobs.
Once that was done, Clara said, “Well, I think that’s it.”
He scanned her face. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll lock up, and then we can go get lunch before we go to the closing.”
Dawson leaned against the truck, his hands in his pockets, as he waited for her to lock the door. She went back in the house one last time. This was it . . . the last time she’d see the inside of her home. There were so many memories she hoped she’d never forget. She smiled to herself, thinking of the new one she’d created kissing Dawson in these rooms.
She thought of how almost every time she’d left the house, her grandma had said, “Say you love me,” and Clara had responded, “Love you, Grandma.”
She brushed back the tears that had escaped, and took a couple of deep breaths. Then said, “Love you, Grandma,” to the empty house. She closed her eyes and imagined her grandma responding.
Then Clara walked out of the house and locked the door for the last time. She took a deep breath and turned to see Dawson waiting for her. That sight steadied her, and she walked toward him.
She might be leaving her past, but she had a great future to move forward to.