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Back Claws and Crochet Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Untitled
  3. CLAWS & CROCHET
  4. NEWSLETTER SIGN UP
  5. CONTENT WARNING
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58. Epilogue
  64. EPILOGUE
  65. VISIT FOLK HAVEN
  66. SEDUCED BY A SELKIE
  67. NEWSLETTER SIGN UP
  68. ALSO BY LAUREN CONNOLLY
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I stand up from my chair, wrapping Bruce’s leash around my hand. Luckily, we already dropped my bags off in my truck, so I’m free and clear to make an escape.

“Thank you for having lunch with me. This was not a date. I am not going to fall in love with you, Warner Jameson. Have a good day at work.”

Bruce and I are halfway down the block when I give in to the urge to glance back. Warner watches us and offers a wave when our eyes meet. My only response is a nod before I refocus on the sidewalk in front of me.

And I decide that I’ll be better off if I avoid him from now on.

10

ZOEY

Grandma Minnie’s closet is an organized mess. At first glance, everything seems orderly. Arranged in neat boxes and tucked onto shelves. But then, once my eyes finish enjoying the beauty of a well-put-together space, I’m overwhelmed by the massive amount of stuff.

When I start taking out boxes, I realize, at one point, this was a walk-in closet.

Now, it’s a storage locker of random things Minnie felt the need to hold on to.

Hopefully, I’m not about to find thirty-year-old newspapers in these shoeboxes. Although that would make the decision about whether to throw it out or keep it easy.

The size of this task intimidates me. So much so that I feel the need to sit on the bed and stare at the closet and mentally prepare myself.

Other people might think my ideas for the furniture refurbishment are daunting ones. All that sanding and staining and reupholstering. And, sure, those projects will take up a good chunk of time. But time isn’t what scares me. Time is the whole reason I came to Grandma Minnie’s cabin.

This closet has me pausing because of the emotional strength I’m worried I might need to get through this.

Dragging out all these items seems akin to poking at a woman’s inner self. This closet is all that’s left of Minnie’s treasured possessions. Like a fragment of her soul she left behind.

Am I the right person to sort these things? To make decisions about them?

Is this closet the reason months went by without Mom making any mention of coming here to deal with the house?

“Sitting on the bed isn’t getting anything done,” I scold myself.

Too much sentimentality. Minnie is gone, and this closet is just stuff.

With a fortifying breath, I shove up from the old, squeaky mattress and zero in on the first box.

Opening it seems almost anticlimactic. Boots.