Winter's Path: (A Seasmoke Friends Novel) by Kelly Moran

didn’t do much cooking. If I had to, I could scrape by. As I stared at baking dishes and tupperware and cookie sheets, I wondered why I’d bothered to pack them. Most had never been used.
    Regardless, I rearranged the cabinets to my liking and put things away. The fridge and pantry were pathetically empty. Wondering if I had time to hit the store before Jenny got here, I glanced out the window. Miserable day to go shopping, but I didn’t have so much as a bottle of ketchup.
    I went into the small half-bath and stopped short. A few days ago, all that had been here was a bar of soap and a roll of TP. She’d painted the room gray-blue shade of storm cloud and had hung navy hand towels on a bar. A ceramic sailboat sat on the vanity next to a lighthouse-shaped soap dispenser. A small picture of seashells hung on a wall. Hell, she’d even put a box of tissue on the toilet tank. Curious, I opened the cabinet under the sink and found the extra beach towels my parents had stacked neatly in two rows.
    Huh. Wonder when Jenny had done this. The space wasn’t very big at all and I rarely came in here because the upstairs had a master and guest bathroom. Still, it looked really nice.
    Shooting her a text to let her know I’d leave the patio doors unlocked for her, I used the bathroom and took off for the store. Two carts later, I returned to find her car in the driveway. Whatever she was doing, she wasn’t on the first floor. Not wanting her to get wet, I hauled the groceries in myself and shook the rain from my hair.
    “Jenny?”
    “Up here. I’m riffling through your underwear drawer. Love the red silk boxers.”
    Certain that’s not what she was up to, I laughed. “Don’t have too much fun. Pretend you didn’t see the toys.” Eyeing the endless amount of bags on the floor, I sighed. At least we wouldn’t have to order out tonight. “Hey, I...”
    My gaze landed on one of the living room walls and I stepped closer. She’d hung some photos. The frames were really cool. Driftwood? She picked out great pictures, too—me and my folks, her and I, our friends. She’d been busy turning my house into a home, making it mine. The styles and colors were masculine, but inviting. I never would’ve been able to pull this off alone.
    Her feet padded down the stairs. “You what?”
    “Went grocery shopping,” I mumbled and jerked my thumb at the wall. “When did you do this?”
    She shrugged, and I noted the dark green paint on her hands. A streak across her cheek. “Today. You like?”
    “Most definitely.” I focused on the picture of me and her, my arm around her shoulders and her head tilted in a laugh. We were standing on the back deck with the beach behind us. I thought it may have been three summers ago. “That’s one of my favorite shots of us.” I had one on my phone from last year I loved, too. Us by the bonfire. “And when did you decorate the downstairs bathroom?”
    Her eyebrows pinged. “A few nights back. Couldn’t sleep.”
    “Well, thanks. It looks great.” She nodded, and I glanced around. “Chicken okay for dinner?”
    She eyed the bags on the kitchen floor. “By then, I’ll be so hungry I could eat my own cooking.”
    Laughing, I set about putting things away, and she headed back upstairs to do who knew what. Maybe I’d been concerned over nothing. She was acting normal, not at all upset I’d mauled her last night.
    Christ, she’d looked adorable with her hair tied up on her head in a messy knot and paint splattered on her skin, though.

CHAPTER SIX

     
    Jenny
    December—Six Years Ago
    I ’ve never been so scared in all my life. Not even the time Jared had hurt me, nor the day I’d discovered my mother dead on the bathroom floor with a needle in her arm. Worry twisted in my belly and my hands wouldn’t quit shaking. Pacing in the apartment over the bar, I took a few deep breaths, but my attempt at calm wasn’t working.
    The past year, I’d been noticing subtle changes in Grampy. Little