be late for school.”
Her eyes narrow, and the brief glimpse of the old Annie is gone; she’s back to hating me.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she mutters.
“Actually, young lady,” Mrs. Koontz says, shooting me a look, “she is. She’s your mother, which makes her the boss of you until you turn eighteen, at the very least.”
“Whatever,” Annie says under her breath.
She gets up from the table and stomps into the kitchen. She emerges a moment later with her backpack.
“Thank you,” she says to Mrs. Koontz and Mrs. Sullivan on the way out the door. “I mean, thanks for telling me about my great-grandma.” She doesn’t even look at me as she strides through the front door, onto Main Street.
Gavin comes by as I’m closing to drop off the spare keys I’d given him two days earlier. He has on the same pair of jeans with the hole in the thigh, which seems to have gotten marginally bigger since I last saw him.
“Your pipe’s fixed,” he tells me as I pour him the last of the afternoon’s coffee. “Dishwasher’s running good as new.”
“I don’t even know how to thank you.”
Gavin smiles. “Sure you do. You know my weaknesses. Star Pie. Cinnamon strudel. Hours-old coffee.” He looks into his coffee cup and arches an eyebrow, but he takes a sip anyhow.
I laugh, despite my embarrassment. “I know I should be paying you in something other than baked goods, Gavin. I’m sorry.”
He looks up. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “You’re obviously underestimating my addiction to your baking.”
I give him a look, and he laughs. “Seriously, Hope, it’s fine. You’re doing your best.”
I sigh as I place the last of the day’s remaining almond rose tarts into a flat Tupperware container that I’ll store overnight in the freezer. “Turns out my best isn’t good enough,” I mutter. Matt had brought me a bunch of paperwork that morning, and I haven’t begun to read it yet, although I know I need to. I’m dreading it.
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Gavin says. Before I can reply, he adds, “So Matt Hines has been around a lot.” He takes another sip of his coffee.
I look up from packing away the pastries. “It’s just business,” I tell him, although I’m not sure why I feel like I have to explain myself.
“Hmm,” is all Gavin replies.
“We dated in high school,” I add. Gavin grew up on the North Shore of Boston—he’d told me all about his high school in Peabody one afternoon on the porch—so I assume he doesn’t know about my past with Matt.
I’m surprised when he says, “I know. But that was a long time ago.”
I nod. “That was a long time ago,” I repeat.
“How’s Annie holding up?” Gavin changes the subject again. “With the stuff between you and your ex and everything?”
I look up at him. No one has asked me this recently, and I’m surprised by how much I appreciate it. “She’s okay,” I tell him. I pause and correct myself. “Actually, I don’t know why I said that. She’s not okay. She seems so angry lately, and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s like I know the real Annie’s in there somewhere, but right now, she just wants to hurt me.”
I don’t know why I’m confiding in him, but as Gavin nods slowly, there’s not a bit of judgment on his face, and for that I’m grateful. I begin to wipe down the counter with a wet rag.
“It’s rough when you’re that age,” he says. “I was just a few years older than her when my parents got a divorce. She’s just confused, Hope. She’ll come out of it.”
“You think so?” I ask in a small voice.
“I know so,” Gavin says. He stands and crosses to the counter, where he puts his hand on mine. I stop wiping and look up at him. “She’s a good kid, Hope. I saw that this summer with all that time I spent at your house.”
I can feel tears in my eyes, which embarrasses me. I blink them away. “Thanks.” I pause and pull my hand
Her eyes narrow, and the brief glimpse of the old Annie is gone; she’s back to hating me.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she mutters.
“Actually, young lady,” Mrs. Koontz says, shooting me a look, “she is. She’s your mother, which makes her the boss of you until you turn eighteen, at the very least.”
“Whatever,” Annie says under her breath.
She gets up from the table and stomps into the kitchen. She emerges a moment later with her backpack.
“Thank you,” she says to Mrs. Koontz and Mrs. Sullivan on the way out the door. “I mean, thanks for telling me about my great-grandma.” She doesn’t even look at me as she strides through the front door, onto Main Street.
Gavin comes by as I’m closing to drop off the spare keys I’d given him two days earlier. He has on the same pair of jeans with the hole in the thigh, which seems to have gotten marginally bigger since I last saw him.
“Your pipe’s fixed,” he tells me as I pour him the last of the afternoon’s coffee. “Dishwasher’s running good as new.”
“I don’t even know how to thank you.”
Gavin smiles. “Sure you do. You know my weaknesses. Star Pie. Cinnamon strudel. Hours-old coffee.” He looks into his coffee cup and arches an eyebrow, but he takes a sip anyhow.
I laugh, despite my embarrassment. “I know I should be paying you in something other than baked goods, Gavin. I’m sorry.”
He looks up. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “You’re obviously underestimating my addiction to your baking.”
I give him a look, and he laughs. “Seriously, Hope, it’s fine. You’re doing your best.”
I sigh as I place the last of the day’s remaining almond rose tarts into a flat Tupperware container that I’ll store overnight in the freezer. “Turns out my best isn’t good enough,” I mutter. Matt had brought me a bunch of paperwork that morning, and I haven’t begun to read it yet, although I know I need to. I’m dreading it.
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Gavin says. Before I can reply, he adds, “So Matt Hines has been around a lot.” He takes another sip of his coffee.
I look up from packing away the pastries. “It’s just business,” I tell him, although I’m not sure why I feel like I have to explain myself.
“Hmm,” is all Gavin replies.
“We dated in high school,” I add. Gavin grew up on the North Shore of Boston—he’d told me all about his high school in Peabody one afternoon on the porch—so I assume he doesn’t know about my past with Matt.
I’m surprised when he says, “I know. But that was a long time ago.”
I nod. “That was a long time ago,” I repeat.
“How’s Annie holding up?” Gavin changes the subject again. “With the stuff between you and your ex and everything?”
I look up at him. No one has asked me this recently, and I’m surprised by how much I appreciate it. “She’s okay,” I tell him. I pause and correct myself. “Actually, I don’t know why I said that. She’s not okay. She seems so angry lately, and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s like I know the real Annie’s in there somewhere, but right now, she just wants to hurt me.”
I don’t know why I’m confiding in him, but as Gavin nods slowly, there’s not a bit of judgment on his face, and for that I’m grateful. I begin to wipe down the counter with a wet rag.
“It’s rough when you’re that age,” he says. “I was just a few years older than her when my parents got a divorce. She’s just confused, Hope. She’ll come out of it.”
“You think so?” I ask in a small voice.
“I know so,” Gavin says. He stands and crosses to the counter, where he puts his hand on mine. I stop wiping and look up at him. “She’s a good kid, Hope. I saw that this summer with all that time I spent at your house.”
I can feel tears in my eyes, which embarrasses me. I blink them away. “Thanks.” I pause and pull my hand
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