When she got out of the shower the whole house smelled incredible, like warm apple pie. She laughed, thinking how Giovanni probably would think she baked something and be disappointed when he only found a pot of cinnamon sticks and boiled mush on the stove.
So not to be cruel, she decided to bake something for him as well. It would keep her mind off the very spontaneous, possibly stupid, thing she did this week.
As she stared into the pantry at the canisters of sugar and flour, she debated what to bake. She knew one recipe by heart.
Standing in the open pantry for a solid minute, she wondered if she could bring herself to bake a crumb cake without triggering a mess of unwanted memories. She wouldn’t be baking it because she had to. She’d be baking it because she wanted to, because Giovanni had once mentioned how much he loved that crumb cake.
What was she going to do, spend the rest of her life afraid of a cake? She reached for the ingredients and got to work.
As she sifted the flour and cracked the eggs, she thought of Skylar baking all the treats of the basket she’d dropped off after the funeral. That felt like a lifetime ago, but the gift still registered the same.
When she slid the cake into the oven to bake, she went to the drawer and dug out a notepad and pen. This time when she sat down to write the thank you letter, the words were there.
Skylar,
I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to find the right words of gratitude, but ‘thank you’ didn’t seem adequate at the time. Even now, I know it’s not enough to express my appreciation for your thoughtful gift.
Maybe you believe you only filled that basket with homemade cookies and sweets, but what you gave me was so much more. That basket was sunlight on a gloomy day. It was hope when I was at my most hopeless.
I know I didn’t deserve your kindness, but you provided it anyway, expecting nothing in return. I hope one day, if you ever find yourself needing a friend, I can return the favor to you.
Please tell Rhett and Addison I send them my best.
Sincerely,
Erin Montgomery
She closed the note in an envelope and addressed it for the mayor’s mansion. Then she got to work on the crumble topping.
CHAPTER 25
Giovanni wasn’t sure what to expect when he got to Erin’s. As he entered the house, he paused at the doorway, double checking that he was at the right address.
The house smelled incredible, like fresh-baked heaven, and Sinatra played from the kitchen. He glanced at the jacket hanging on the hook. Yup, that was Erin’s.
Sliding off his boots, he quietly crossed the den. She didn’t hear him come in and he paused for a moment, watching her stir something at the stove, her hips swaying from side to side as she sang along with Frank and Nancy crooning “Something Stupid.”
It felt like the first time he smiled in weeks. He could watch her forever like that. There was nothing prettier than seeing her completely unguarded.
Crossing the room, he came up behind her and hugged her, startling her. Catching her hands in his, he kissed her neck.
The words were there as Sinatra’s voice filled the kitchen, so Giovanni sang along, “And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like I love you…”
Her chest lifted and her breath hitched as she leaned into him.
He let it sink in, let her understand he was saying more than the lyrics to a song. “I love you, Erin. You don’t have to say anything back. I just wanted to let you know.” He nuzzled her ear with his nose and breathed her in. “I’ve waited all week to hold you like this.”
She relaxed into him and shut her eyes, simply letting him hold her as they swayed to the music. He hummed to the beat as the lyrics faded repeating the line I love you…
The song changed to “That’s Life” and the spell broke the moment she broke away from him. She set two plates on the table next to a mixed salad. He glanced at the pots on the stove. “What are you making?”
“That’s potpourri. The other one’s spaghetti.”
He glanced at the jar of sauce on the counter and grinned. Was she making this for him? He wouldn’t be a snob about the sauce, because it was about the gesture. “I love pasta.”
“I know. I’m sure it’s not going to compare to your grandmother’s, but I did my best.”
He wondered how long the noodles had been boiling. “What can I do to help?”
“Just wash up. I’ve got everything covered. Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes.”
She obviously wasn’t making al dente. He grabbed a quick shower and changed into clean jeans and the sweater she loved.