Keep It Together - By Lissa Matthews Page 0,9
to make it to the altar with her.
Her startled gaze flew to his face. “You have? Why?”
“To see how you were doing. Because I cared and…because I was sort of keeping tabs on you and fishing for information.”
“You couldn’t call me for that?”
“Probably not the fishing for information part, but the rest, yes, I could have. I was giving you whatever space you may have needed from my family for a while. I didn’t want to intrude, but I was concerned. My brother was an ass, and while I’m not him, I thought you probably didn’t want to hear from any of us, for a bit, if ever. So, I contacted your dad.” His confession, while unplanned, was the truth.
“What kind of information were you fishing for?”
Colt felt his cheeks flush with uncharacteristic bashfulness. He didn’t even know why it was happening. “I wanted to know when you were ready to move on. He said you spent a lot of time working and shooting and making your blankets for the homeless.”
“I did. I crocheted so many blankets and scarves that I could outfit a whole platoon and then some. I kept busy, and it’s how I got over it.”
“That’s what your father said. I’m glad that you were always putting one foot in front of the other. It seems to be what healed your heart.”
“I still don’t think I fully understand why you have been so concerned about me, but thank you. That is…” She shook her head and pulled her lips inward for a moment, then let them out with a pent-up breath. “Thank you.”
Colt smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“So umm… Feel free to look around while I put the gun away; then we’ll get the tea ready.” She quickly turned away from him and disappeared through a doorway off the kitchen.
For a woman who came from money, she didn’t live like it. He knew enough about Pottery Barn and IKEA to know that she didn’t own anything from either place. The kitchen, with its open window over the sink, was a galley design and bright. He set the jar of tea on the old-style tile counter and wandered into the adjoining dining room.
Wood floors covered the house. Real wood. It was water stained in some places but for the most part looked to be in pretty good condition. The furniture in the room across a small hallway from the dining room was comfortable, plush, and looked well used.
When he’d come by back in December, she hadn’t invited him in. At the time he didn’t blame her for that. He was glad to be inside her house now. It was warm and comfortable. It was a home.
It had been years since any place had felt like a home to him. His sister, Amber, lived in the house they’d all grown up in back in Houston. He lived in a penthouse apartment on the top floor of his company’s office building, which was located in Houston as well. It wasn’t the kind of place he’d like to grow old or raise a family in, but until Chrissie, until this little understated house in the country outside Savannah, he hadn’t really known what would resonate with him. Now he did.
“Please don’t take this wrong, but why this place and not something closer to town?” he inquired when she emerged again.
“Promise not to laugh?” She herself had a smile on her face when she asked it, but he nodded anyway. “I had lived at home all my life. My parents have this huge house in Pembroke. Well, you saw it back in December, right? When my mother threw that lavish luncheon the day before the wedding? I had my own space in it and could come and go as much as I wanted. I went to college here in Savannah and had an apartment with several friends, but then moved back home after graduation. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. My mother didn’t want me doing anything but finding a man to marry. When Russ and I started dating, then got engaged, it… God, to say it out loud sounds so awful. I needed to live on my own. I wanted to live alone, on my own. I’m not explaining it right. I’m in my thirties. I should be on my own. I should have been on my own for a long-ass time.”
“I think I understand. You come from money, privilege. You didn’t have to do anything if you didn’t want to,