I threw back the cozy red afghan that was keeping my legs warm and stood with my cocoa to go to the door. I tried peeking out the window, but it was hard to see who was in front of it from that angle. It wasn’t as if someone in Portsmouth was going to be dangerous. Especially on this street. I opened the door, preparing to force a smile and do pleasantries with some friend of Gran’s who was glad I was here, when a forced smile wasn’t required after all. My jaw slightly dropped in surprise before I regained my composure and asked, “What are you doing here, Creed?”
The corner of his too perfect mouth lifted at the corner and he shrugged. “Had to come handle some business and thought I’d check on you.”
I stood there staring at him, not sure if I was supposed to say thank you or I was fine or invite him in for cocoa.
He glanced up toward the chimney. “Looks like you got the fire figured out.”
I nodded. “Thanks to Jack, which I should thank you for.”
“I didn’t want you to freeze.”
“Thanks,” I said again because I was still processing that Creed was here. Seeing him in Boston was one thing but seeing him at Gran’s was different. Memories came back strong and emotions that I thought were gone rose to the surface and I had to adjust. Quickly before he noticed.
I shivered then from the freezing temps outside and stepped back into the warmth. “Come in and have some cocoa. It’s cold out there.”
He looked as if he wasn’t sure that was a good idea and I concurred, but I owed him for helping me out with so many things I hadn’t thought about. When he finally stepped forward and into the house, I closed the door behind him.
“Mrs. Thompson brought me Marlborough pie if you’re hungry,” I told him.
He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the coatrack. “Sounds good. Thanks,” he replied, and I hurried to the kitchen to get him the pie and cocoa so that I had a moment to get myself together and act normal. The way he made me feel felt like I was cheating on Griff, even though I had done nothing wrong. Facing my former emotions and overcoming them would be the smart thing to do. This was normal. It had to be. We had no real closure and I had battled depression that took me through too many dark days after Cora died and Creed exited my life.
“Christmas movies already?” he asked, walking into the kitchen from the living room.
I felt myself blush at being caught watching them but decided that was the least of my problems. “Yep,” I replied. “How are things in Boston?” I then asked, feeling as if that was safe conversation territory.
“Same.” His voice was close now. I turned to see he’d stopped only a few feet behind me. “Chet and Griff are either at school or studying. The food has dwindled in the apartment and when I checked for something to eat this morning, all we had was strawberry jelly, one egg, a quarter of a gallon of milk, and some leftover pizza.”
“Yum. Nothing like jelly and pizza for breakfast,” I replied, putting a slice of pie on one of Gran’s everyday gold butterfly dishes.
“I wouldn’t know. I stopped at Dunkin’ on my way here.”
Once I had his cup of cocoa ready, I picked up the plate and cup to turn and hand it to him. “This will be better than Dunkin’,” I assured him.
He took both from me and I waved a hand toward the living room. “It’s warmer in there. I haven’t started the stove in here yet today,” I explained.
I followed him back into the living room and picked my cocoa back up then went to the overstuffed tan chair, leaving him the sofa where he would have the side table to put his food and drink on. This was all very nice and friendly. I had nothing to worry about. It seemed we could do this. Besides, Creed lived in Boston. Not Portsmouth. I doubted we would have another visit in Gran’s living room.
“What business did you have to take care of here?” I asked him, just to make conversation and a little out of curiosity.
He shrugged then swallowed his bite of pie. “Getting the wood stacked at the house, having the furnace serviced, that kind of thing.”
Confused at his response, I waited until he took a drink and another bite then asked, “Your mom’s house?” I would have thought her husband could do those things. What kind of man had she married? I remembered Creed’s dad being handy around the house and making Creed help.
“No not mom’s, my house.”
His house? I let that sink in then sipped more of my cocoa. Why did Creed have a house here? Was he not moving to Boston? He was in a band there.