When I Meet You by Olivia Newport

Author:Olivia Newport [Newport, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781643525853
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2020-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I’m okay, Dad.” On Sunday after church, Jillian flipped a page in her genealogy magazine and bit into a grilled cheese sandwich. “You don’t have to hover.”

Veronica sure wouldn’t aid and abet her again.

Nia had her hands full on Sunday afternoons recovering from weekends with every room at the Inn full.

Kris opened her shop between one and five for the weekend tourist traffic, especially at this time of year when spring weather brought more families out on mountain excursions.

Jillian was in no danger of another breakout.

“Did I tell you Clark thinks I should make an Irish spiced brisket?”

“Mmm. It’s a good idea.” She flipped another page.

“Jilly.”

“I’m okay, Dad.” At least she would be. Tomorrow, or maybe tonight, she’d go back to work on a long to-do list for the week. She wasn’t giving up on Lynnelle—not after meeting Min—but she did have obligations. Her dad was right. She’d nearly lost herself. After church, he busied himself rubbing the brisket he’d bought from the butcher with brown sugar, covered it, and put it in the refrigerator—day one of the spicing process.

While he puttered in the kitchen with his lists and recipes, he hummed snippets of arias, but he restrained himself from bursting out in song. Jillian felt responsibility for his subdued mood but not remorse. Not yet anyway. She said good night early and went upstairs to bed. Maybe a good sleep would reset her own mood.

On Monday morning, he popped his head in her office.

“I’m okay, Dad,” she said again.

This time she looked up and met his gaze, and when he left for work in Denver it was with a nod and a smile. She had three video calls on her calendar and an article due by the end of the day. Probation and an ankle bracelet would have given her more flexibility to get out of the house. She even cleared her whiteboard of the distracting list of name variants and colored arrows. Only one mattered, and it had already led where she’d hoped it would go. As a peace offering, for supper she warmed some of the many leftovers Nolan’s cooking experiments had produced and had a meal ready by the time he was home.

On Tuesday morning, Nolan worked in his office upstairs, and Jillian plodded along in hers downstairs, as they did most Tuesdays. Occasionally one printer or the other would spit something out, or a phone would ring. At ten thirty an alert on her computer’s calendar reminded Jillian they both had promised Nia they’d take a break and visit the Inn to discuss their needs for the weekend of the dinner. Jillian closed the file she was working on, stepped to the bottom of the stairs—her foot was feeling much better—and called up.

“Dad?”

“Coming.” His footsteps, answering in tandem with his voice, were right on time. “I’ll get my truck out.”

“I feel up to walking.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m okay, Dad.” Her foot was okay. Her mind was okay. Her mood was creeping toward normal. He could stop worrying.

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