Weeded her flower beds. Cut and mulched her grass. And then he’d gone to a market outside of town, one that was open on the holiday, and bought some hanging baskets for her porch and a planter for beside the front door. With everyone across the bridge for the parade, the errand hadn’t taken him long.
He’d just finished up and planned to sneak away without a word when Emily appeared on the porch, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn to the street dance. First, surprise at seeing him flickered across her face, then one look around the place was all it took for her to burst into tears.
Shit, he thought. Not exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
She nodded and exhaled a big long cleansing breath. “I’m sorry. I’m such a stupid woman, and I can’t seem to stop crying these days. It’s just…well, Rick always did the yard work and I…I’ve been pretty good at it for the last few years while he was in the hospital. Then last month, the mower broke just after…after he passed, and I haven’t gotten around to getting it fixed.” She swung her gaze to the left, over by the thorniest rosebushes he’d ever had the pleasure of trimming, and attempted a smile. “Everything looks so beautiful. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“It’s nothing,” he replied gruffly.
“It’s a lot.” Emily glanced back at him and swiped at the tears on her face. “Why? You didn’t want to come in last night, and I…” Her chin trembled and she bit her bottom lip. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”
He looked at her for several moments before answering, deciding honesty was the best way to go.
“Maybe I see something of myself in you.” He shrugged, feeling the heaviness of her situation, looking for the words to help her understand and maybe make her feel not so alone. “Folks have always thought I had it easy. That my God-given talent with a football or a hockey stick was the kind of gift that made everything okay. That it elevated me somehow. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a partner, but I know what it’s like to feel lost and screwed up and confused. I’ve had a few folks ask why I quit ball when I was at the top of my game, when I have a lot of good years left in this arm. They would never understand, so I say nothing. The truth is?” Throat tight, he took a moment. “I hated playing ball when I was playing. It was a monkey on my back I couldn’t wait to get rid of, and now that it’s not there, it’s all I think about.”
Shit. What the hell was he doing unloading on Emily like this?
“Can’t you go back?” she asked softly, sniffling a bit. “To football?”
“I could,” he admitted. Only the day before, his agent had been on the horn with chatter about talks for another contract. About the Saints willing to pay a fortune to have him on the field. “I just don’t know if I should.”
Her tears forgotten, Emily frowned. “Why did you hate playing ball? We all thought it was your dream. That you were living it.”
The irony was impressive. “The answer to that is complicated.”
Silence fell between them, broken by the call of a mourning dove. “I can’t thank you enough. The place looks great.” Emily offered a small smile. “Do you want coffee or something?”
“I can’t. I have this thing out at Wyatt’s place.”
“Oh. Right,” she replied woodenly. “I forgot about that.”
“Were you planning on going?”
A noncommittal shrug was his answer.
“I can give you a lift if you like. Wait for you to change and do whatever it is you women do before socializing. I just have to stop at my place and grab a shower on the way.”
“I’m not much fun these days.”
He cracked a grin. “Apparently, neither am I, but it beats sitting here alone, doesn’t it? Thinking about all those things that make you sad?”
“I guess,” she admitted. “Do you know if Ethan’s going to be there?”
Boone hadn’t seen much of Ethan Caldwell since he’d been back in town. Back in the day, they’d been pretty tight, Caldwell had excelled in hockey and had been the goalie on every rep team Boone had played on. “I don’t know. But if he is, maybe you guys can talk and clear the air between you.”
Emily seemed to think about that,