so much, and Gram patted her hand as if pleased she could be of help.
The shop was empty now, but the place still seemed alive in the late-afternoon light. Shadows slow dancing beneath the multicolored sky of quilts above.
“You’re a fast learner. A great help.” Eugenia patted her hand again. “You’d best be going. It will be dark soon.”
Jillian didn’t want to leave her alone. “I thought I’d help clean up. After all, I ate most of your cookies.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t. Paulina always eats a dozen.” Eugenia covered her mouth as if she might hold back the words.
They both giggled as the front door chimed, and Connor walked in.
She found herself thinking more of this man now that she’d met his gram. A man who cared so dearly for his grandmother couldn’t be as clueless as he appeared. She laughed suddenly as she noticed a pencil sticking out of his shaggy head of hair. Or maybe it was a small tree branch. She didn’t plan to get close enough to see.
“Did you have a good day, Gram?” Connor passed Jillian as if he hadn’t noticed her.
“A grand one, as always. I taught your friend many things about the shop today.” Gram grinned. “Now, what did you say her name was again?”
“Jillian,” he said, smiling over Gram’s head at her. “She’s Jillian James.”
Gram nodded. “She’s a keeper.”
Connor looked away. “Good. I’m glad everything went well.”
Jillian saw a shyness in the mayor she hadn’t noticed before. He might be comfortable around the quilting circle ladies and Gram, but he was nervous around her.
Two short beeps sounded from the street.
Connor lifted Gram’s sweater from behind the counter. “Time to go, Gram.”
“But I don’t want to go home. I don’t like it there. Benjamin won’t be there. He’s gone and the boys went off to college and never came back. They grew up, I know. But Benjamin just doesn’t come home anymore.”
Jillian felt anger rise. She didn’t care if Connor was Eugenia’s grandson; he shouldn’t try to make her go home to an empty house.
Connor put his arm around Gram and walked her to the door. “You’re not going home. The girls have supper waiting for you. Don’t you remember? Tonight you’re having dinner with your friends at Autumn Acres. Then all of you are going to watch a movie.” He stuffed a bag of popcorn into her knitting bag. “I got you caramel corn tonight, but you have to share it.”
Gram smiled. “Oh, yes. I remember. It’s my turn to bring a snack. Tell Benjamin I might even sleep over.”
Jillian watched Connor walk his grandmother out to a little bus that had steps that lowered almost to the street. He helped her all the way to her seat, then stood on the curb waving as she waved back.
The side of the bus read Autumn Acres: Senior Living in Style.
When the bus was gone, he turned back to the quilt shop. His face was cold now, sad, tired. “I need to lock up.”
“I’ll get my bag.” They bumped shoulders as they neared the door. She tried not to notice and asked, “What’s Autumn Acres?”
“It’s a new living center being built for the aging. They’ve got the independent apartments finished and one wing of the added care where they check on residents, give them their meds, etcetera, but the final wing, the nursing care, isn’t finished.”
“Gram just visits?”
His gaze met hers. “No,” he said in almost a whisper. “She’s lived there for a while, but she thinks she’s just visiting.”
Connor vanished into the back room to turn off the last of the lights.
When she collected her things and stepped back outside, he was waiting. All the little stores on Main were closing, and the sun’s glow seemed to be pulling any warmth with it. Now the smell of coffee drifted from the bakery as low clouds hugged the horizon and the few people left on the street seemed to be in a hurry.
He fell into step with her as she turned toward the bed-and-breakfast. Her long strides seemed to match his in an easy gait. “How’d it go today?” he asked without looking at her.
“Fine. She thinks you and I are friends.”
“That’s all right. Just log your hours. Give me the report at the end of the week, and I’ll write you a check. She can think you’re just helping out, if it doesn’t bother you and it makes her happy.”
“I will.” They walked in silence for a few minutes before she added, “You don’t have to walk me home.”
“I’m not. This is my way home.” Without any hint of a smile, he added, “I thought you were trying to walk me home. I was starting to get a bit freaked out about it. Thought you might be after the other bag of popcorn.” He patted the stuffed pocket of his raincoat.
Jillian smiled. He was as hard to read as his grandmother. Shy one minute, funny the next. In an odd way she found it cute. She usually had to fend off at least a few advances from men she worked with. Even the married, do-it-by-the-book bosses sometimes took casual flirting too far.
Somehow, this good-looking man who carried a book under one arm didn’t frighten her.
Trying to kid him into smiling, she said, “I don’t like caramel, but if it had been cheesy flavored, you might have needed to worry. I could easily mug you for nacho-cheesy popcorn.”
He didn’t respond. Just nodded as if logging her comment to think about later. No jokes. No flirting. She wasn’t sure Connor Larady even knew how.
Jillian matched his steps and his mood. “Your grandmother doesn’t have a home to go to besides Autumn Acres, does she?”
“No. She moved to the Acres last spring right after it opened the first wing. My grandfather, Benjamin, died when I was a kid. She lived as a widow for years, ran the shop, walked home, and claimed she enjoyed her quiet time. Then one day she just decided Benjamin wasn’t dead—he simply forgot to come home.” Connor grinned suddenly, but there was no humor reflected in his eyes. “She’s been mad at him ever since. I used to think it was just a game she played with herself, but lately I think she forgets that she moved to the Acres and just thinks she’s spending a night out with the girls. Strange thing is, she’s never asked to go back to her house, not once. So, I’m thinking somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she’s where she needs to be.”
“What about your parents?” Maybe because she had no family, Jillian felt a need to know about other families.
“My folks died in a car crash my last year of college. My dad was Gram’s only living son. I came home and finished my studies online while I took over his newspaper business. My brother went the other direction. We hear from him now and then. The conversation is usually about how busy he is, but he hasn’t been home since our folks died.”
“Gram mentioned her boys were grown?” Jillian was trying to make the pieces fit.
“She did have two sons. My uncle died before he started school.”
He offered no more explanation and she didn’t want to ask. She knew the story would be sad.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. The streetlights blinked on, making the shabby old homes on the block with the bed-and-breakfast look quaint, charming. The lights on an old refinery across the creek morphed the ugly pipes into the towers of a castle.
“On the days I can’t come get Gram for lunch, I’ll have something for you and her delivered from Mamma Bee’s Pastries.” He looked straight ahead, not seeming to see the beauty around them. “I just don’t want Gram left alone. She knows not to leave until I come, but I’d feel better if you