Hummingbird Lane by Brown, Carolyn (good books to read for beginners TXT) 📕

“Sorry I took so long,” he said when he carried the records out to the porch. “I should have asked you to come in and pick out whatever you like. I have a really big collection. Would you like a beer or something to drink?”

“I’m sure whatever you’ve got is fine, and I don’t need anything to drink right now,” she said.

He removed the record on the player and put on a George Jones. “We had this elderly guy who was my grandpa’s friend. Harry was his name, and he and his wife, Sally, lived down the street from us. When Harry’s wife died, he spent even more time with me. We used to listen to his vinyl records and go fishing together. Then a year later he passed away and left a big chunk of his money to me. Before that, though, Harry gave me that old record player right there and all his vinyls. I’ve got a fancy stereo setup in the house, but I bring this one outside and listen to the music, like we did back when . . .” He choked up at the memory.

“Sophie and I used to listen to music together. I missed that when she wasn’t there anymore,” Emma said.

“I still miss him”—he swallowed hard—“a lot.”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine losing Sophie. We hadn’t talked in years, but friendship like we have and what you had with Harry doesn’t need words every day. It’s just knowing that that person is there,” she said. “But your friend is gone, and that has to leave a hole in your heart.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so, so sorry. That came out wrong. I would never . . .”

He reached over and removed her hand. “It’s okay, and you are right. It did hurt for a long time, but now I just think of all the good memories and let go of the pain. I do feel bad that I didn’t go to his funeral, but I couldn’t bear to see him in a casket. I wanted to remember him sitting in his living room with me while we listened to his records.”

“Then you did what was right for you,” Emma said. “That’s all any of us can do when it comes right down to it. I’ve tried for all my life to make my mother happy, but it’s only been since I came here that I’ve realized that’s impossible. She doesn’t like me or my father. She only likes her fancy friends, her money, and her job. And even at that I wonder if she even likes herself. How could anyone so calculating and self-centered like themselves?”

“I think my folks like me,” Josh said, “especially now that I’m getting a name in the art world, but I’ve always felt like I disappointed them. I hated school, so that put an end to me becoming something they understood and could be proud of. My dad wasn’t real happy when Harry named me as the heir to his estate. He and Mother have only visited me a couple of times here at the trailer park. They both thought I was crazy for buying it, and for not moving into my grandpa’s big mansion. But before he died, Harry told me that I should make myself happy. This place makes me happy.”

“Artists are often . . .” She shrugged. “You know.”

“Yes, I do.” He sat down beside her on the top step but kept his distance.

Sophie had told them when she first brought Emma to the park that she was a little like Coco. Josh understood that it would take time for her to be comfortable with him, but he had hopes that someday she could see him as a real friend—and maybe more.

Chapter Thirteen

Sophie stood in the middle of the building that might be the art gallery and let the spirit of the place talk to her. That would sound crazy if anyone else felt that way, but she was an artist, and to be able to work in a place, she had to be at peace in it.

The old building had such character, with its high ceilings that were covered in copper tiles. True, they’d been painted pale blue, but the detail was still there, and someday if Sophie and Teddy wanted to have them stripped, there was that possibility. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint, but the black-and-white floor tiles, so evocative of the seventies, would be perfect once they were cleaned and waxed to a shine.

“Oh,” Sophie gasped when she saw the loft where her studio would be. “Once those windows are cleaned, there will be light and”—she stopped and wrapped her arms around Teddy’s neck—“is this really going to happen?”

Teddy removed his glasses and cleaned them on the tail of his shirt. “I see us being happy here, don’t you?”

She pulled him to her lips for a long, steamy kiss. They were both panting when she took a step back. “This building loves us, but this is all so perfect that I feel like the other shoe will drop any minute. Are you sure you are ready to settle into one place and to be committed to store hours? You won’t regret this decision in a few years, will you? You’re used to traveling and setting up shows for artists—to wheeling and dealing and selling their things. Are you going to be happy just working with me and selling art out of this place?”

“I will absolutely never regret it. Knowing that between customers I can run up those stairs and make out with you through the day, and have lunch with you, go home with you, sleep with you every night. You want me to yell yes from the rooftop of this building?” Teddy grinned.

“Just from the depths of your heart,” Sophie answered.

“You got it, darlin’. Shall we go downstairs and make an offer on the place?” He tucked her arm into his.

“Yes, please, and