Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

J o arrived at Garvin’s house just in time for supper. Garvin greeted her at the door with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Come on in. It’s mighty cold out there.” He ushered her inside, taking the basket from her. “Something smells delicious.”

Jo grinned, shrugging off her coat. “Bridget made shepherd’s pie and pecan pie. She insisted I bring them over.”

Garvin’s face lit up. “Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing. Would you join me?”

They settled at the kitchen table, the shepherd’s pie steaming as Garvin served generous portions onto the faded china plates. Jo couldn’t help but notice how his hands shook slightly, a reminder of his advancing age.

As they ate, Garvin regaled Jo with stories of his late wife’s cooking. “Essie made the best beef stew, you know. She’d simmer it all day, letting the flavors meld together just right.”

Jo listened attentively, savoring each bite of the hearty pie. She could almost picture Essie bustling around the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour.

Garvin set down his fork, his expression curious. “Say, how’s that stray cat you were talking about last time?”

Jo nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “He’s been staying on the porch more often. I think he’s starting to feel at home.”

Garvin chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Well, that’s just fine by me. In fact, why don’t you invite him inside? No sense in leaving the poor fella out in the cold all winter.”

Jo’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Garvin waved a hand dismissively. “Not at all. I know you’re taking good care of the cottage and would fix any damage.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sound the clinking of forks against plates. As Jo helped herself to a slice of pecan pie, Garvin leaned back in his chair, a wistful look on his face.

“You know, I always hoped my kids would move back here, take an interest in the cottage.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But they’ve got their big-city houses and fancy jobs. No time for our little town.”

Jo’s heart skipped a beat, a glimmer of hope igniting within her. She leaned forward, her voice gentle. “Have you been thinking more about selling the cottage?”

Garvin nodded slowly, his weathered hands clasped on the table. “I have. I didn’t want to let it go, but seeing how much you care for it, how you’ve made it a home...” He trailed off, his eyes misty. “Maybe it’s time to let someone who will truly enjoy it own it.”

Jo’s breath caught in her throat, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing.

But then Garvin’s brows furrowed, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Of course, there is the matter of that other interested party.”

Jo’s heart sank, a twinge of apprehension coursing through her. Was she about to get into a bidding war? She studied Garvin’s face, trying to discern if there was truly another buyer or if he was simply trying to sweeten the deal for himself.

“Who did you say that was?” Jo asked, her voice measured. “I thought you mentioned Marnie Wilson.”

Garvin nodded, a flicker of distaste crossing his features. “Someone from her crew came by. But I wouldn’t sell to her. Don’t trust her.” He shook his head emphatically. “Nope, if I sell, and I’m getting close, I’ll sell to you.”

Jo felt a wave of relief wash over her, a smile spreading across her face. “Garvin, that means the world to me. I promise, I’ll take such good care of the cottage. It’ll be cherished, just like it deserves.”

Garvin reached across the table, patting Jo’s hand with his own. “I know you will. But I’m not quite ready yet. I need to figure out a fair value and let the other party know, of course. I mean, if they want to make a crazy offer, then I might want to hear it.”

“Of course.” Jo laughed.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Jo couldn’t quite believe the possibility of owning the cottage she had grown to love so deeply.

Jo arrived home, the scent of Bridget’s cooking still lingering in the air. She found her sister at the kitchen sink, elbow deep in sudsy water.

“You’ll never guess what happened at Garvin’s,” Jo said, a grin spreading across her face.

Bridget glanced over her shoulder, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Did he finally agree to sell you the cottage?”

Jo nodded, barely able to contain her excitement. “He said he was getting close, and he gave us permission to let Pickles inside!”

Bridget’s face lit up, a squeal of delight escaping her lips. “That’s amazing! I know how much you’ve wanted this.”

They made their way to the front porch, where Pickles lay curled up on the worn welcome mat. Jo cracked open a can of tuna, the pungent aroma wafting through the air.

As Jo set the plate just inside the doorway, Bridget leaned against the railing, a contented sigh escaping her lips. “I can’t believe my first cooking class starts next week. I’ve got all my supplies ready to go.”

Jo looked up, pride shining in her eyes. “I’m so happy for you, Bridge. You’re going to do great.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as they watched Pickles eyeing the plate of tuna. The cat stretched, looked up at them, looked at the tuna, looked at the door, and then sat down as if deciding what to do.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Bridget mused, her brow furrowing. “That they haven’t found Tammy’s remains. Do you think it’s possible she’s not buried there?”

Jo shrugged, a heaviness settling in her chest. “I don’t know. But we can’t lose hope. Not yet.”

Bridget nodded, her eyes distant. Then, as if remembering something, she turned to Jo with a smile. “How did Garvin like the food?”

“He loved it. I bet Kevin liked it too.”

A faint blush crept into Bridget’s cheeks, and she ducked her head. “Actually, Kevin invited me over to eat with him.”

Jo’s eyebrows shot up, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. “Oh, really? He’s never invited me over.”

Bridget laughed, swatting at Jo’s arm. “Stop it. It’s not like that.”

As they dissolved into giggles, Pickles ventured closer to the threshold, stretching his neck to nibble at the tuna. It was a small victory but a victory nonetheless.