Mindy Obenhaus - Falling For The Hometown Hero

Grace thought it was the most beautiful, if not ginormous, thing she’d ever seen. Yet as she stared at it now, the hutch looked prettier than ever. Like a better version of itself.

A noise in the kitchen interrupted her reverie and stole her attention.

“Smells delicious.” Roger closed the door behind him, wiping his booted feet on the rug before making his way into the room. His arm snaked around her mother’s waist as he set a plastic grocery sack on the counter. He said something, though the words were too soft for Grace to hear. Whatever it was, though, made her mother giggle and had a blush creeping into her cheeks.

“Love words” were what she and Lucy used to call it when Daddy would whisper sweet nothings into Mama’s ear. Sometimes she would blush, sometimes not, but either way, Grace and Lucy knew it was an intimate conversation, meant only for Mama and Daddy.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Grace grabbed the place mats and napkins and returned her focus to the table.

“Hello, Grace.” Roger stood just on the other side of the doorway between the two rooms. “Glad you could make it.” Hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, he seemed to look everywhere but at her.

Just like she did when she was uncomfortable.

Could it be that Roger was as nervous about tonight as she was?

“Thank you for having me.” Hands shaking, she finished laying out the silverware, realizing she’d forgotten to grab another set. “You have a lovely home.”

“Yeah.” He moved closer, just enough to admire the dining room and adjoining living room. Both had that same cottage feel, lots of white furniture against dark hardwood floors and pale blue-gray walls. “Your mother’s quite the decorator.”

He’d let her mother redecorate? But this was his house.

“She managed to fuse our former lives and our new life into something fresh and different.”

Much like the old hutch.

All of Lucy’s words about Roger being a good guy flooded her memory. Grace had chosen to ignore her sister. Now her emotions warred within.

Perhaps her mother wasn’t quite so eager to forget the past after all.

The doorbell rang then.

“That would be Kaleb.” Moving along the opposite side of the table, Roger headed toward the door.

Feeling as though she still had egg on her face when it came to her boss, Grace took the opportunity to retrieve that fourth set of utensils.

Inside the kitchen, her mother was removing a large baking dish from the oven. The aromas of meat, cheeses and whatever other secret ingredients made up Nonna Gigi’s famous lasagna wafted throughout the room, reminding Grace of simpler times.

She inhaled deeply, wishing she could find a way to capture the scent for those times when life got rough. “That smells amazing.”

“Always does.” Mama set the pan atop the stainless-steel stove, then grabbed a sheet pan that held a split loaf of French bread spread with garlic butter and sprinkled with cheese. “Now all I have to do is get this garlic bread baked.” She set the pan in the oven and adjusted the heat.

Hearing Kaleb’s voice in the other room, Grace opened the drawer and took out another knife, fork and spoon. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby.” Leaning her hip against the island, she gave Grace her full attention.

Grace pushed the drawer closed. “Did you know Kaleb was injured in the army?” His revelation had stunned, if not shamed, her. Sure she’d noticed that something was a little off in his gait on occasion, but she thought maybe he had a bad knee. Boy, was she wrong.

“Oh, yes. He doesn’t hide it. In fact, he’s an inspiration to everyone here, sharing his story at area schools and churches. He’s our own real-life hero.”

A hero whose title had come at a great price. Yet he didn’t seem bitter or angry, and she wondered how that could be.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Both Grace and her mother turned at the sound of Kaleb’s deep voice.

“Hello there, Kaleb.” Mama tossed her potholders on the island. “We’re so happy you could join us.”

“Are you kidding? After hearing Grace talk about her grandmother’s lasagna all afternoon, I was thrilled when Roger extended the invitation.”

His attention shifted to Grace then, his smile reaching across the room, wrapping around her heart like a warm blanket on a cold night.

She couldn’t help noticing that while she’d come directly from work, he’d changed into a pair of dark wash jeans and a tailored red-and-white button-down that hugged his muscular torso. His hair was also damp, indicating he’d likely showered.

Nothing like being shown up by a guy. Especially one who’d suddenly garnered a great deal of her respect.

Making dinner with Mama and Roger seem like a cakewalk compared to spending the evening with a guy whose character and outlook on life had her taking a long, hard look at herself...and not liking what she saw.

* * *

Kaleb had hoped for a relaxing evening and, so far, it had been just that. While there was no question that he wanted to support Roger by being here for him, he feared things could be a little tense. After the way he shut Grace down today... And even though they’d patched things up, one never knew how well that patch might hold.

Sitting in Roger and Donna’s dining room, next to Grace, no less, Kaleb finished his last bite of lasagna. “Donna, your grandmother’s lasagna has a new fan.” He set his fork atop his empty plate. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.” It was the perfect balance of meat, cheese and pasta. And those seasonings. Just the right kick, without overpowering the other flavors.

Grace’s mother dabbed the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin. “That’s the response this recipe usually gets.”

“I only wish she’d make it more often.” Roger nudged his wife’s elbow with his own, sending her a playful grin.

Donna blushed, returning her napkin to her lap. “Kaleb, I can’t tell you how excited I am about the Hometown Heroes exhibit at the museum.”

His chest tightened. The way it always did when his name and the word hero were used in the same sentence. He was no hero.

“Hometown heroes? Museum?” Grace spooned another small portion of lasagna onto her plate. Her third helping, if he wasn’t mistaken. Where did she put it?

Donna addressed her daughter. “I volunteer at the historical museum here in town. We’re planning to have a whole room dedicated to those men and women from Ouray who have served our country. We’ve received a few items—everything from photos to uniforms to ration cards—dating back to the First and Second World Wars, the Korean War and Vietnam.” She smiled at Kaleb. “However, our most recent hero is going to round things out for us. Make the exhibit more personal and real by bringing it into the twenty-first century.”

Eager to deflect the unwanted attention, Kaleb motioned toward Roger. “What about Roger? I’m sure he’s got lots of items.”

“Are you kidding?” Roger draped an arm across the back of his wife’s chair. “Donna had me pulling boxes from my Vietnam days out of the attic weeks ago.”

“We’ll have the ribbon cutting on June twenty-third, a day we’re calling Hometown Heroes Day, and Kaleb here has volunteered to give a short speech, along with our other donors.”

Volunteered? More like coerced. A bunch of women ganging up on him like that, plying him with all kinds of baked goods. A fellow didn’t stand a chance.

Now he was committed.

“When do you think you’ll have your items ready for us?” Donna smiled sweetly.

“I need to finish sorting through everything.” Of course, before he could finish, he needed to actually start the process. For now, the untouched boxes were still stacked in one of his spare bedrooms, right where his parents had left them a month ago. He knew he needed to move a lever. Yet every time he thought about it, a sense of dread seemed to settle over him. “It’s a little overwhelming.”