real quick.”
Justine creaked the patio door open for them to step inside.
“No worries, Son,” Wilfred said as he followed him into the kitchen. “Just leave them in the sink. I’ll take care of the rest. Now, you did say that you were planning to stick around this week,” Wilfred continued as he moved toward the sink, the pan in one hand, his plate in the other.
“He was going to,” Justine blurted, “but he had an emergency come up with the office. I told him he should go ahead and go.”
Wilfred plunked the pan on the counter and snapped his head back to look at Burke.
His heart clanked out a hard beat. “Uh, but I assured Justine that I was happy to…you know…see if someone could cover for me.”
Justine hurried over and cupped a hand around Burke’s bicep. “Yeah, but I assured him it was fine. Mainly because he’s not sure the guys at the…the—”
“The office?” Burke inserted for her.
“At the office could do, um, you know, a sufficient job.” Her face went cherry red as she turned a look at her granddad.
The old man’s hands were empty now, and he was folding his arms over his chest ever so slowly. At last he settled into position with a humph.
Burke gulped.
“So…” Justine finally said. “This might be goodbye for the two of you. Until next time,” she was quick to add.
Wilfred continued to look Burke up and down, eyes narrowed with that deep-set furrow in his brow. “What’d you say your name was? Your last name, that is.”
Not even Justine had asked him that. And while he had his former last name to fall back on, something he’d used with Lenny Foster easily enough, anxiety kicked in hot at the center of his chest. “Richards,” he blurted.
“Richards, huh?” The old man nodded. “What was it we were talking about a minute ago?”
Justine rushed in and flung her arms around him. “Thanksgiving,” she said. “I’m going to try and make Gretchen’s cranberry tart.”
“You don’t say?” he boomed. “I haven’t had that in, well, it’ll be two years I guess. That sounds real nice.” His pleased expression barely budged as he turned back to Burke. “Well, son, I hope you can at least come in for Thanksgiving. You don’t want to miss out on that tart, do you?”
Burke knew better than to commit this time.
“He’s having Thanksgiving with his family, remember?” Justine said.
“Right, right,” Wilfred said with a sigh, sounding only slightly put out. “Go on and get over to the lodge then. It was nice to finally meet you, Burke.” This time the man gave him a real hug. The sort of embrace fused with love, gratitude, or both.
A burst of warmth sprouted in Burke’s chest. “Thanks. It was very nice to finally meet you as well, Wilfred.”
Justine was already shrugging into her jacket, juggling her purse strap to slip into the other sleeve. “We better go, Gramps.” She hooked a hand around Burke’s arm and guided him toward the door. “Thanks again for dinner. Love you.”
Burke gave the man one last nod before stepping out into the darkness with Justine. The air was colder than it’d been yesterday. Instantly he felt the bitter bite on his knuckles and nose. “It’s really cooling down now, isn’t it?”
“It usually hits out of nowhere. The weekend is supposed to warm up again. Perfect flannel and jeans weather,” Justine said as they headed toward the passenger side of his car. He liked that she didn’t argue with him over opening her door; he’d dated women like that before. It was nice to be with someone who didn’t mind him treating her like a lady.
“So this alarm to go set up at the lodge—was that fake?” he asked. The thought had only come to him just then. She seemed so anxious to get him out of there and so determined to keep him out of there too. Or any other place she might be in the days ahead. Why was she so determined to end things now?
“No,” Justine said, “but you should drop me off home so I can drive there myself, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” he assured as Justine climbed into the seat. Except that he didn’t want to say goodbye to her yet.
“You know what I also wouldn’t mind?” he said casually as she fastened her seatbelt.
Burke ran the sole of his shoe over the pine needles at his feet, hoping his remark would come out sounding playful, not desperate. “I wouldn’t