Free Rose Harbor in Bloom by Debbie Macomber Page A

wash windows. We’d both slept on it, but I’d been the one to bring him a peace offering. And while he probably would never have said so, Mark had been happy to see me. I noticed how hard he struggled to hide that fact, though.
    We’d mended fences, or so I assumed. Everything seemed back to normal, or about as normal as it ever was between us. And then this morning his attitude had made a complete turnaround. He’d been grumpy and argumentative and couldn’t seem to get away from me fast enough.
    What was up with that? Frankly, I didn’t understand him. I jerked on the yarn so hard it tumbled out of the basket and rolled across the rug. Rover was instantly on the alert and picked it up in his mouth and brought it back to me.
    “Good boy,” I said, and patted his head.
    It was a low blow for Mark to suggest Rover was worthless. The only reason he’d said that was to irritate me. Well, he’d succeeded. I wondered what he’d say if he saw Rover now.
    It was times like this that I really missed Paul. Every day there was something to remind me of all that I’d lost, something that seemed to land square over my heart: a hit, a bereft feeling, and a sense of confusion. I wasn’t one to fall victim to a pity party, but this thing with Mark was getting me down. My fingers continued to work the yarn, although I was hardly aware of the pattern. I should be paying more attention.
    It almost seemed that Mark didn’t want to get too close. It wasn’t only me, but everyone. Whenever I mentioned to others that he was doing some work for me, he got rave reviews. Few, however, had anything to say about the man himself. He was an enigma for sure. A puzzle that both irritated and intrigued me. It seemed he purposely kept people at arm’s length. As far as I could tell, he had no close friends but plenty of acquaintances. He rarelytalked about himself. I couldn’t help suspecting if he had a deep, dark secret. I wondered if he was part of the Witness Protection Program or was in hiding, living on the run. I immediately dismissed those ideas as proof of having a creative imagination.
    I refused to waste another minute on Mark. I finished knitting my row, set the project aside, and returned to the kitchen. Seeing that I had excess energy, I decided what I really needed was a brisk walk. It was still cool out, so I grabbed a sweater, thinking I would use this opportunity to return the book I’d recently finished reading to the library. I hoped to run into Grace while I was there.
    The instant Rover saw me get my sweater he headed for the laundry room, where I kept his leash. He was more than ready for a bit of exercise. Thankfully, the library was pet friendly.
    As I headed down the hill, my mind continued to whirl. I thought about Paul again. Truly, he was never far from my mind, and the conversation with Lieutenant Colonel Milford was front and center.
    I wondered how it was with other widows. Did they continue to think of their husbands every day for years following their death? That was a question I would ask Grace. Did she feel as I did some days, that I was living only half a life? I knew I would never stop loving Paul.
    When I arrived at the library I learned that Grace wasn’t scheduled to work until the afternoon. I left the book and collected another that had been held on reserve. The walk back up the hill to the inn was steep, reminding me that I needed to get into a regular exercise routine, possibly join the local gym or sign up for an aerobic swim class.
    As I approached the inn, I saw a car pull up and park in one of the spaces allotted for visitors. The driver’s door opened, and out climbed a rather tall, fit young man who I assumed was in his mid-twenties, possibly close to thirty. He stood and looped his darkhair around his ear before opening one of the back doors and helping an older woman out. I noticed right away how gentle he was with her, lending her a hand.
    The front passenger door opened and an older