The Dad Next Door. C.J. Carmichael

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СКАЧАТЬ rubbed a hand over his face.

      An hour went by. There was no call from the school. He hoped that meant that Tory was settling in.

      Light danced on the lake. A pair of ducks landed on the water, then drifted out of view. The pain in his chest seemed to ease a little. He took a deep breath, grateful for the respite.

      Another hour went by.

      In the first months after Sam’s accident, many days had passed this way, with Gavin simply sitting, staring into space, accomplishing nothing aside from the immediate chores required to care for Tory.

      Reminding himself that he wasn’t going to live that way anymore, Gavin finally dislodged himself from his chair. He sorted through boxes until he found the ones from his old office. Since he had a new house to pay for and a daughter to support, this seemed like a good place to start.

      In the upstairs room he’d chosen for his workspace, he assembled the legs on his drafting table, then set up lamps and unpacked his office chair. Next, he ripped open one of the moving cartons and found his files.

      By the time he had them organized in his filing cabinet, it was shortly after two. He set the alarm on his watch so he wouldn’t forget to pick Tory up from school at three-thirty.

      As he stacked books on the windowsill, a movement outside caught his attention. The cute neighbor who lived next door and made such good lasagna was coming home.

      The lush green leaves of a big oak tree partially obscured his view. Still, he managed a glimpse of her light-blue dress as she unlatched her gate and crossed to her porch. By the time she reached the door, he couldn’t see her.

      She’d been friendly the other day, but not too friendly. He was glad about that. He wanted to get along with his new neighbors, but that was all. He wasn’t ready for anything more. Certainly nothing romantic. Since Marianne had left, he hadn’t had time to think about women. And since Sam…He hadn’t had the heart.

      Sure, Allison Bennett was pretty. And she seemed kind and thoughtful. Maybe at some other point in his life he’d have considered asking her out. But this just wasn’t the time.

      There was that casserole dish to return, however.

      He’d put it in the dishwasher last night. Now he ran downstairs and pulled it out, relieved to find it was spotless. He might as well take it back before he forgot.

      Gavin left his house, passing by the old oak en route to Allison’s. The tree was one of several that bordered the road, branches arcing over the pavement to form a natural bridge from one side of the street to the green patch in the middle.

      Robin Crescent was going to be breathtaking in a couple of weeks, when the leaves began to change. Living in New England, you couldn’t help but love the fall. Still, Gavin’s sense of anticipation for the coming season was marred by the memory of how much Marianne had hated it.

      “Why does everyone think autumn is so beautiful? The leaves are dying. Don’t you think it’s sad?”

      She’d had empathy enough for the trees. Why not for her own daughters?

      Frustrated to find himself dwelling on the past again, Gavin rapped on his neighbor’s door a little harder than he’d intended to.

      Allison responded at once. She was shaking her hair out of a ponytail and he had an unanticipated visceral reaction as her shiny maple syrup-colored hair fell loose to frame her face.

      He resisted the impulse to touch it. Instead, he held out the baking dish. “Thanks very much. The lasagna was great.”

      “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”

      He found it hard dealing with new people—people who didn’t know about the tragedy. His daughter’s death wasn’t the sort of background information you could casually insert into a conversation, like telling someone you were an architect.

      “Nice place.” He glanced around, admiring everything he could see from the foyer. Warm colors, interesting artwork, an intriguing French country armoire.

      Allison’s house wasn’t showroom perfect, like the rooms the designers at his old firm used to create. This simply felt like a home. He needed to fix up his new place like this. Yet he felt overwhelmed by all the work it would take to pull it off. “Did you use a decorator?”

      “Didn’t need to. That’s what I do—I work out of my shop downtown. You may have noticed it. The Perfect Thing?”

      He was impressed. “That’s yours? We walked by on Saturday when we were looking for a café. You’ve got lots of beautiful stuff.”

      “Thank you. The shop used to be my grand-mother’s. When I was a kid, I would hang out with her on weekends. I thought I was a big help—at least my grandma made me feel as if I was.”

      She smiled, obviously thinking of happy memories, and then she stuffed a folder of papers into a leather tote bag. He recognized them as architectural drawings of interiors. Noticing his curiosity, she explained, “These plans are for one of my clients. I forgot them this morning and we’re meeting at the store in fifteen minutes.”

      This was a perfect opportunity to ask if she was accepting new clients. Maybe she could make Gavin’s house look as good as hers did.

      But was it smart to hire his next-door neighbor? Especially when Gavin had already decided that he wanted to be friendly, but not too friendly?

      His watch began to beep. Perfect timing. He pushed the button to silence the alarm. “I have to pick up my daughter from school.”

      “And I have to get back to the store.”

      He nodded. “Thanks again for the lasagna.”

      Closing the door behind himself, he started off in such a hurry that he almost tripped over a loose board. He regained his balance, and then noticed a piece of creamy paper trapped under the board. It was a wedding invitation.

      With Allison’s name front and center.

      Gavin had a strange reaction to the news that she was getting married in four weeks. It was like…disappointment.

      Which wasn’t especially rational, considering his lack of interest in the woman.

      TORY SEEMED FINE when Gavin met her at the classroom door, but by the time they got home she was in tears.

      “I don’t want to go back there.” She set her mouth in a pout that looked more sad than willful.

      Tory wasn’t a child who cried a lot. Even as a baby she’d been content to let her twin sister make all their demands. It was always Samantha’s cry that signaled the need for a feeding, a diaper change or a desire to play or be cuddled.

      “Don’t you like your teacher?” Ms. Carter had seemed cheerful and kind to Gavin.

      Tory shrugged.

      “Weren’t the other kids friendly?”

      She shrugged again.

      Gavin rubbed СКАЧАТЬ