One Lavender Ribbon

They were laughing when Will neared the room. He peeked from the living room around the kitchen door to find her and Pops sitting at the table. Her long dark hair shone everywhere the light hit it. Her voice was sultry as it slipped out of that soft, generous mouth. There was a scent of citrus and flowers surrounding her, and if it hadn’t been for the pungent aroma of fresh crab, it might have been disarming. Will rubbed a hand over his face, shook his head to clear it, and glanced around the room, trying to erase the vision of the woman he’d met last week. Fat chance. He’d thought about her often in the last seven days. Even caught himself glancing up at work occasionally when he caught a glimpse of dark hair. Ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as her showing up to inquire about his grandfather. Again.

He pulled a breath and stepped fully into the room. The veggies had been chopped and arranged into a salad; the crab had been cleaned and boiled; and now she and Pops sat at the table, breaking open crab legs and removing the meat.

She hadn’t knocked on the door this time. Nope, she must have stalked Pops outside. Great. Will was pretty sure his grandfather had already invited her to stay for dinner—fresh crab salad was one of his specialties. Besides, that’s just the kind of man Pops was, gracious and ever so trusting.

Will, on the other hand, glared at her accusingly. “I thought I heard voices,” he said as he stopped where he could tower over them.

“Will, this is Adrienne Carter.” Pops used his elbow to shove a chair out so Will could sit. “She lives in Bonita Springs.”

Will nodded but didn’t sit down. He’d traded his work attire for old jeans and a white T-shirt. He almost wished he were still in his suit and tie. He felt more authoritative in them, and something about this woman caused him to be slightly off kilter. The suit would help him keep control of the situation. Will pressed his eyes shut. Really? Was he really feeling intimidated by a sprite of a woman who couldn’t weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet? The thought of seeing her soaking wet flashed through his mind. Skin glistening with water, flesh slick, and . . . whoa there. Will reined in his thoughts.

“Here,” Pops said, trying unsuccessfully to remove the loose bits of crab from his fingers. He reached for the photo. “Isn’t that a handsome fellow?”

Will took the picture. He softened, remembering what Pops had looked like years ago when Will was a kid. Not this young, of course, but younger than now. The two of them had always been close. His mind’s eye took him back to when he was only five years old, sitting on the floor next to Pops, the two of them coloring for hours until Pops had to have Grandma Betty give him a hand up from the floor. For several moments he stared at the photo, wondering when Pops had gotten old. It seemed like it had happened so fast. Five years ago, in fact.

Laughter once again drew his attention to the present. Will placed the picture on the table with a little more force than necessary and turned his full focus to Adrienne Carter. “So, are you a student doing a paper on World War II?”

“No,” Adrienne said, for the first time looking self-conscious about the crab meat she was up to her elbows in. She used her shoulder to brush some of that luscious hair away from her face.

A twinge hit him for being so rude, but hey, this was the last thing Pops needed right now. “Reporter?”

She shook her head, those giant eyes troubled. She glanced to Pops, seemingly searching for help.

“Settle down.” Pops said. “She didn’t come here for anything like that. Forgive my grandson, but a few years ago, a show about the 101st Airborne was a big hit on TV, and we were inundated with reporters and college students wanting interviews about the war. It was when we found out my wife was sick. Not the best time for interviews.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

Pops turned to Will. “She has some letters that belong to me.”

A little of the tension left Will’s shoulders.

Pops winked at Adrienne. “Of course, they were in your house. Technically, they belong to you.”

She gently touched the older man on the arm. “They’re your letters. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her voice lowered when she said it, rolling over Will like honey on toast. He pulled out the chair and dropped his six-foot frame into it. So he’d misjudged her. “It’s nice to meet you, Adrienne,” he mumbled.

“You as well, Will.” A flash of a smile on that full mouth, and she returned to her job of removing meat from shells.

“Adrienne is staying for dinner,” Pops announced.

Will pointed to her hands, covered with bits of crab meat. “I figured so. I really didn’t think you were going to have her help make dinner, then ask her to leave before eating it.”

Pops winked at her again. “That would be downright rude, wouldn’t it?”

Will watched as she pressed her lips together, biting back a smile. She pivoted and swung her feet out from under the table. Will’s eyes trailed down a pair of long, slender legs to the tanned ankles tied with a black sandal strap. Dark pink toes. Sexy feet, especially as she stood, high on the sandals. She leaned over and grabbed the greasy bowl of empty shells.

Will realized he was staring, so he stood up with her, a half-hearted attempt at courtesy. He reached his hand out to take the bowl. “Can I help?” But he only succeeded in making her jump. The two were now face to face at the table edge. The color drained from her cheeks. Wow, he thought, I really must have been a bear the other day to elicit such a response.

“Uh, yes . . . ” She clutched the bowl, but he could see her slippery fingers losing their grip. She pulled it to her, against an apron he’d seen Pops wear many times. Then he saw panic in her eyes as her grip tightened, but the bowl slipped away from her anyway.

It flipped up, over, around, and fell as she clambered, fingers grasping, trying to recover. Empty crab claws showered the floor, then ricocheted, pelting them all with bits of meat and crab water. The bowl didn’t break, but turned like a top, its clattering ring echoing through the kitchen until it finally rested.

Adrienne’s jaw hung open in shock, her face turning from pink to a deep crimson red. Bits of crab were stuck to her legs and clothes. In her right hand she grasped one mutilated claw.

“Glad I could help,” Will said, beginning to chuckle as he heard Pops mumbling that the kitchen floor needed to be mopped anyway.

She blinked big brown eyes. Once, then again, her mind probably trying to catch up with what she’d just done. There was a bit of crab meat caught in her eyelashes. That’s when Will laughed, a deep belly laugh, and it rolled right out of him, ridiculous as the mess that was in the kitchen and on the pretty brunette who’d arrived and turned their crab bowl—and their evening—upside down. In five years of making fresh crab, Will had plenty of messes under his belt, but none came close to this, and for some reason, inexplicable and surprising, the look on her face, coupled with the crab stuck in her lashes, unhinged him. She stared at him for a few horrified seconds. Blink, blink went the crab. She must have noticed it there because she blinked harder, her left eye trying to focus on the white sliver, and she actually tried to lean away from it. It dropped onto her cheek, and Adrienne reached up.

“Here, let me.” He slid a thumb across her face, trying not to notice how smooth and delicate her skin felt beneath his touch.


“I don’t know what to say,” she managed.

“How about, where’s the mop and broom?” His voice lowered to match hers, creating more intimacy in the moment than he intended.

With the crab meat gone from her cheek, Adrienne took in the carnage. “It’s everywhere,” she whispered.

“Yeah. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Her dark eyes fanned back to his face. He was fighting another full-on laugh when her own glossy lips spread into a smile. Her shoulders rose, and she tried to stifle the laugh but couldn’t. Adrienne and Will both dropped to their knees to gather the pieces. Pops grabbed a garbage can as they cleaned up.

Adrienne sprawled on the floor, catlike, with one elbow propped up. Will’s gaze danced over those legs again. He noticed her toes were painted meticulously, but her fingernails were worn down and . . . stained. He thought he’d seen that the other day but had dismissed it. Beautiful women—he’d told himself—don’t run around with stained fingers.

Adrienne got up, ran her hands under the water at the sink, and reached for the soap a second time.

“That won’t work,” Will said, sliding beside her. He cut a fresh lemon and gave her half of it. “Try this.”

She threw him a half grin. “No thanks, I prefer oranges.”

“Ha, ha. It’s not to eat.” He rubbed a piece over his hands. “It removes the fishy smell.”

Her gaze drifted down to his chest. “Does it work on shirts too?” She reached over and plucked a piece of crab meat from his T-shirt.

“Hopefully,” he said, and noticed he was smiling again. He liked watching her gaze slide down over him. So she wasn’t here to use his grandfather for a story or a thesis. She was simply here to return items that belonged to Pops. That changed the dynamic.

Will tried to keep reminding himself of that, but somewhere in the back of his mind he felt there was more to the pretty brunette’s story. Throughout dinner, he couldn’t stop his gaze from continually drifting to the klutzy woman with the smoldering eyes. It was almost like she knew his grandfather as well as he did.





“Tell me about yourself, Adrienne,” William said, shaking pepper onto his salad. They had settled into a comfortable flow of conversation—until now. She’d never really liked talking about herself. And now that she was a twenty-eight-year-old divorcée, she liked it even less. “I moved here from Chicago,” she began slowly. “I’ve always wanted to live in a beach house in Florida, so in February, I began looking for one.” February 14th, to be exact. The day her divorce was final. Happy Valentine’s Day.

“Did you have some high-falootin’ job in Chicago?”

Will rolled his eyes at her. “He means high-powered job.”

She smiled. “I recognized the term. I have a grandfather as well.” Taking a bite of salad and crab meat, she looked from the older Mr. Bryant to the younger. Will had seemed so stoic at first, but that had melted somewhere between broken shells flying in the air and squeezing fresh lemons to eradicate the smell.

“No,” she said. “No high-falootin’ job for me.” Side by side, she could see the family resemblance in the two Mr. Bryants, though the contrasts were glaring. William’s eyes were a soft blue, the shade of a pale summer sky and soft fuzzy baby blankets. Will’s were an intense green that seemed to darken in direct relation to his mood. William’s hair was white, but full. Will’s hair was dark with loose waves that threatened the business professional cut it was layered into. Hair gel held it in place, and for a brief moment Adrienne wondered what it looked like untamed and windblown.

“So, why now?” William set his fork against his plate.

She lowered hers too, not wanting to discuss what brought her here. Not now and not ever. This night wasn’t about her. It was about William. But as her eyes traveled up, it was Will’s tender look that held her captive. The green had softened, almost glowing, coaxing her on. Suddenly, she did want to explain. “I was in a divorce months ago. I never wanted to live in Chicago, but he accepted a residency there. We met while he was in med school and married before graduation. He promised that when he finished school we would move to Florida, but he really had no intention of doing so. He’d made up his mind and that was that.”

Concern ran across both men’s faces. “How long were you married?” Pops asked.

Will shot a look over to him. “She may not be comfortable talking about this, Pops.”

Adrienne shook her head. “No, it’s okay.” She felt like she was in a safe environment, tucked between two men she barely knew. “Five years, almost six.”

Pops rubbed a hand over his face, elbows on the table. He threaded his fingers together, chin against them, and leaned slightly toward her. “So sorry, Miss Adrienne. Love is an unpredictable thing. It is beauty and tragedy.”

Adrienne took a thoughtful moment. She nodded.

“Pops, you sound like a Hallmark card.” The somber mood that had filled the kitchen dissipated. Will glanced at her with an apologetic smile.

She smiled back. And really, didn’t she owe William this? She had walked into his life without his consent or approval. “My husband was unfaithful. It was the last straw. So I began looking for a house to remodel here on the Gulf Coast.”

“Good for you,” William said, rising from the table. “How is the remodel going?”

“Considering I’ve never done anything like it, I’d have to say it’s going well,” she said, but noticed Will’s eyes had not left her. “Until a week ago.”

William pulled a piping-hot pan of cobbler out of the oven and turned. “What happened a week ago?”

“I found your letters.” The aroma of homemade crust and fresh fruit made its way to the table. Even though she was full, she salivated.

Pops set the pan down on the stove top. “My letters have distracted you that much?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Perhaps I better take them back, or you’ll never get your house finished.”

Will had grown quiet.

“I don’t even remember what I said in them. Sitting down to write a letter was an escape for most of us, like a little mini-vacation from the madness.” He sat back down and drifted off to another time and place. “When I had downtime, there were only two options. Write a letter to Gracie or read a letter from Gracie.” He reached for the photo on the table. His hand ran along the torn portion. A tiny frown drew his brows together as he examined the jagged edge where Gracie had once completed the photograph.

Adrienne swallowed, her appetite for cobbler gone.

His finger moved from that side of the photo to the other; a gentle smile touched his face, dissolving the struggle she’d just seen. “Sweet Sara,” he whispered, lovingly. “She was fourteen when I left. Her mom had just bought her this dress. Gracie and I took her to town and got the picture made. It was the only time I ever saw a dress on Sara.”

Adrienne settled into the chair.

Memories danced, catching the light in his soft blue eyes. “She was the original tomboy. Rolled-up pants and hair tied back. You would more likely find her at the fishing hole than at a dress shop. Sara loved to fish.” He set the picture on the table.

When Pops’s voice cracked, Adrienne’s heart crumbled. She looked away, feeling this was too intimate a memory to be privy to. But the silence became stifling, and she looked back to Pops to find his eyes misty.


“I guess she grew up while I was gone.” His index finger ran across her picture as if trying to capture her essence. “I just wish I knew what happened to her . . . ”

The sadness in his tone pierced Adrienne’s heart. “You never saw her after the war?”

“No,” he said. “After Gracie died, Sara and her momma packed up and moved back to North Carolina. They were gone just days before I came home.”

Adrienne shot a quick look to Will but couldn’t read his face. She reached over to Pops and placed her hand on his sun-darkened arm. “I am so sorry about Gracie.”

“Love is beauty and tragedy, remember?” He patted her hand. “Gracie’s letters got me through the darkest chapters of my life. I would never have survived without her. I still thank God she kept writing. She made a choice to follow a different path, fell in love with someone else, but she kept me alive. And I never knew it from the letters. She still sounded just as in love as the day I left. It wasn’t until I got back that I learned . . . ” He paused, cleared his throat. “Maybe if I’d made it home quicker, she wouldn’t have left town with that other man. She died one month to the day before I got home.”

“And Sara was gone too?”

“Sara was gone.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know how to find her, contact her. We both lost our best friend when we lost Gracie. I wanted to be there for Sara, but she didn’t stay in touch with anyone here.” He cradled the photo. “Didn’t leave an address. It was like she just disappeared.”

Years had healed the wound, but not the sorrow. To still hold Gracie in such high regard was remarkable, and Adrienne was once again reminded she was in the company of an extraordinary man.

Will, on the other hand, seemed to have grown increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I didn’t know any of that, Pops. Your life is full of mysteries.” He stood to clear the dishes.

Pops picked up the cue and stood as well, stretching up slowly, using the table for support. He took the plate from his grandson. “Let me.” He motioned toward Adrienne. “Why don’t you two go sit on the front porch while I clean up.”

But both Will and Adrienne protested and began moving dishes and silverware to the sink. After all the work he’d done already, neither one was willing to let him clean too.

“Fine,” William said, sounding tired while the two of them sprang into action. “When you’re done, you can go wait for me out front. I’m going to relax for a few minutes in the living room while the cobbler cools. I’ll meet you out there when it’s ready.”

Adrienne slid dishes under running water, rinsing them before placing them in the dishwasher. Without the buffer of Pops in the room, an awkward silence hung in the air. Will hadn’t wanted her here in the first place, and blast it all, he was just so irritatingly difficult to get a read on. “I should probably go home. I think I’ve disrupted enough of your evening,” she said.

Will stopped and turned to face her. “I’d like you to stay. Pops is a social creature but doesn’t get many visitors. You—you’ve made it a nice evening for him.”

Well, that was unexpected.

Unexpected. A good description for the younger Mr. Bryant. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, causing her to have to look up to see his eyes. She did and found him to be uncomfortably close. He’d been passing her dishes for the last several minutes, standing close, then moving away. But now there were no more dishes in his hand, and it was just him and his broad shoulders and bright green eyes.

One side of Will’s face cracked into a smile. “Besides, Pops would be crushed if you left before having some of his homemade cobbler.”

“What about your evening? I feel like I’m intruding . . . ”

His gaze dropped to her lips for a split second, and Adrienne felt a whoosh of hot blood shoot from her head to her stomach.

“You’re not intruding.”

Okay, Will seriously needed to turn down the intensity level on those eyes.

As if he’d picked up on her discomfort, he moved away. “In fact, you’ve been a great help. If you hadn’t been here, I would’ve had to clean all the crab.”

“I’m good at cleaning them—just lousy at getting the shells safely to the trash.”

“Well, that’s a talent that takes years of practice.” He recovered the last plate, rinsed it, and handed it to her to slide into the dishwasher.

She tilted her head to the side, eyeing him. “You didn’t do so well either.” She reached under the sink for the detergent she knew would be there.

“I was distracted,” he said, taking it from her and pouring it in.

“Did I distract you?” she teased.

“Yes,” he admitted, a mischievous grin animating his face. “I thought you were some nutball.”

“Oh, very nice. But now I’m okay?” She slid the lock on the dishwasher, and they nearly bumped heads as both bent to set it to the proper wash cycle.

He shrugged. “We’ll see.” Will had an amazing smile, and he knew just how to use it, she realized. He motioned for her to follow him outside. The two of them paused in the doorway. “We’re headed out, Pops. Let me know when the cobbler’s ready to cut.”

William mumbled something from farther in the living room. Will shook his head at his grandfather’s obvious attempt to leave them alone for a while.

Adrienne and Will stepped outside into the evening air. Two large trees laden with Spanish moss secured the front yard. Tall, spiny trees stood at attention along the edge of the driveway, guardians of the Bryant fortress.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said. Tropical bushes and pots of vibrant flowers surrounded them as they moved to sit on the porch swing, where a thousand crickets serenaded.

“I’m sorry about your marriage.”

Ugh. They really didn’t have to go there again. Tension knotted Adrienne’s neck.

Will threaded his hands together. “I see that happen a lot at work, and it’s a shame.”

The breeze moved the giant palm leaves of the nearby trees as if whispering to the night’s sky. “Thank you. You see that at work at the bank?”

“I’m the senior loan officer there.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to make the connection between divorces and banking.

He seemed to pick up on her confusion. “I handle a lot of business accounts. Couples getting divorced who are joint owners in a business rarely want to stay in business together.”

“I guess a lot of businesses sell for that reason, huh?”

“Some, but more often one party will buy out the other. That’s where I come in. New business loans, new paperwork.” He used his index finger to scrape at the paint on the swing’s armrest. It sported a bare section, and she thought he must do that often. “Trust me, I’ve sat in on my share of ‘he said, she said’ conversations where both parties are more concerned with hurling accusations at each other than taking care of their incomes and investments.”

She frowned. “In the middle of a divorce, income is the least of your worries.”

“When it should be at the top of your list.”

Adrienne stared at him. You can’t really be this dense. This callous. “When your world is crumbling around you, you don’t stop to think about money.”


“I know, and that’s a problem. I mean, isn’t there enough upheaval with the divorce? I’d think people would want to protect what stability they have.”

“Wow. Stability must be really important to you.”

He turned to face her. “Isn’t it to you?”

Heat rose to her cheeks. “Oh yeah. Absolutely. That’s why I bought a house practically sight unseen in a town I’ve never been, planning to restore what most would condemn. Yeah, I’m all about stability.” Her words hung in the air, emotions dredged up and raw.

He sat quietly for a few seconds, his fingers lacing and unlacing in slow, methodical motions. “Sorry, Adrienne. That doesn’t sound very stable.”

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Well, we’ve discovered I’m all about stability and you’re all about compassion.”

She watched his brows knot, and then understanding came into his gaze. How could anyone over age fifteen not understand what love does to the heart? And the brain.

William Senior stepped out onto the porch just in time. He must have felt the thick tension in the air because he set three bowls of blackberry cobbler on the table and split questioning glances between Will and Adrienne.

The metal chairs scraped against the wooden deck as they pulled them from under the patio table to sit. It was Adrienne who broke the silence. “This looks wonderful, William.” She scooped a plump blackberry into her mouth, tangy sweetness zinging her taste buds, helping erase her frustration with Will.

“I’ve been perfecting this recipe for twelve years.” He tilted his head back.

“Come clean, Pops,” Will said with a hint of humor and accusation in his tone. “This was Grandma’s recipe. You haven’t changed it a bit.”

“That’s not true,” Pops corrected. “Sometimes I add the salt first, sometimes the baking powder.”

Adrienne laughed. One thing about Will, whether he was frustrating or not, he adored his grandfather.

“And it tastes the same every single time,” Will reminded him.

Now that Pops had joined them, the earlier tension dissolved. “William, I have a confession to make.”

Both men abandoned their plates and gave her their attention.

She twisted the checkered napkin in her hands. “I wasn’t completely sure I’d find you. Or get to talk to you.” Her gaze skated to Will. His eyebrows rose.

“What I’m trying to say is, I don’t have the letters with me.” And I wasn’t about to leave them with Will, Adrienne added silently. Even if he admitted to being your grandson.

William’s light-blue eyes smiled at her. “That’s okay. You can bring them back another time.”

Adrienne shot a quick glance over to Will, but his reaction was unreadable.

William took another bite, “If it isn’t too much trouble for you.”

“No, I’d love to come back.” Maybe during banking hours, when your aggravating grandson is gone.

She met Will’s gaze and hoped he hadn’t read her thoughts. But she didn’t find the contempt she’d expected. In fact, he almost seemed glad he hadn’t completely run her off.

“You really enjoy those letters don’t you?” Pops’s light-blue eyes wrinkled at the corners.

“I do,” Adrienne whispered.

“Do me a favor then?” Pops rested his elbows on the table, fork hovering over his dessert.

“Anything.”

“Make yourself a copy before you bring them back.”

Her gaze dropped to the table. “Are you sure? I mean, they’re . . . well, intimate.”

“I’d be honored to share them with you, Adrienne. Love doesn’t always go the way we hope, but that doesn’t mean we can stop living. It doesn’t mean love isn’t a beautiful thing.” Aged fingers rubbed swollen knuckles, and his gaze intensified to the point that she thought she might burst. “You understand?”

Don’t stop living. Oh, she understood. That was a tall order. One she wasn’t completely sure she could manage. Adrienne exhaled and looked away, beyond the yard to a long stretch of road, the road that had brought her here. The road that would later lead her home. It was becoming familiar, each turn, each bump. “I understand.”

When there was no more cobbler and no other excuse to stay, Adrienne returned home. It was nearly 10:30, and the cool breeze of a coastal night proved too much for her to resist. She chose a random letter from the stack and went out back, where a moon framed by a million stars shone against the water. Off in the distance, she heard the hum of a motorboat moving slowly along the horizon. Adrienne opened the letter and read.