“Each item in antique shops has a booth name and number. When you buy something, they know where you got it from in case you have questions.” Allen pointed to the items on the floor, shelves, and the
lamps.
Heather ran her fingers over the selection of linens. Sunlight glimmered off the silver and crystal pieces nearby. She smelled lacquer and wood, while old clocks chimed on the hour. Then they moved along and spotted furniture pieces. Allen already explained while some prices were deals, other items were higher. “Your mom loved this, huh?”
He smiled. “She did. I hated it. I was more into video games and sports.”
“Your dad was happy about that?”
“Yep, and he was at every game coaching me from the bench.”
Heather’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Oh, no.”
Allen rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, even the coach asked him to either quiet down or wait for me outside. That was embarrassing.”
“You two are close?” she asked.
“That’s why I moved to Maple Meadow. He had a minor heart attack.”
Heather’s eyebrows raised. “Wait, a minute? Mr. Carl? Carl Richards is your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew he had a son, but I didn’t…”
“It’s okay. I get that from him I guess. I’m not surprised he said nothing. He doesn’t volunteer information.”
“He’s a sweetheart.”
“I won’t tell him you said that.”
Heather sat in a nearby chair, feeling a little restless.
Allen kneeled beside her. “Are you alright? We can call it a day.”
“No, I want to be here with you.” Her body froze. She said too much. This man would break her heart if she wasn’t careful. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
He took her hand. “I think you did.”
What was it about him that made her want to throw caution to the wind? Allen was sweet and patient. He didn’t pressure her to tell him more about her past. He’d been honest with her about his. Perhaps she could take a chance and be honest with him.
“I envy you being close with your dad,” she said.
Allen slanted his head.
“All I remember was hearing my mother crying and the door slamming. He never came back. Now he’s been writing letters to my sister and me. She’s read them but I won’t.”
“Maybe he’s sorry,” Allen said.
She doubted it. How long had it been since she talked to him? She was almost thirty and hadn’t had a decent conversation with the man since he left. Whatever he said in the letters, she didn’t care to hear. It didn’t change how he hurt her mother. It didn’t change how he damaged her trust in people—especially in men.
“I don’t care,” Heather said.
“I wish I knew what to say.”
She gave a faint smile. “You don’t have to say anything. I appreciate you listening.”
Allen’s gaze turned downward as he rubbed at his forehead.