9. Happy Returns
9
HAPPY RETURNS
As he stood on the small balcony off his bedroom, a movement down by the river caught Mitch’s eye. Tayla, running along the track, her athletic upper body barely covered by a bra top, and her hair pulled into a high ponytail. Initially, Simon’s suggestion of a wife for hire had seemed to hold merit. But the more Mitch thought about his loved-up sisters in London, the more he questioned his motives. Living a lie was always a bad idea, especially when it affected so many people.
As Mitch watched Tayla jog in and out of view, he recalled the afternoon they’d been officially introduced—the day after Norman passed away. She’d stood in his grandfather’s cottage, a string bag of books and groceries in one hand, her expression one of shock and disbelief as Ken broke the news of Norman’s passing. At that stage, although he’d known of her visits, he’d had no idea how much his grandfather had meant to Tayla, so the silent tears she’d quickly wiped away with the back of her hand had puzzled him.
He’d noticed her several times before that day—riding her bike through the orchard and standing behind the checkout at the supermarket where he shopped. The first time she’d served him, he’d momentarily lost himself in those hazel eyes before he’d pulled his credit card from his wallet and handed it to her. He remembered thinking, why would this introverted girl, fashioned in goth from head to toe, want to spend time with his ultra-conservative grandfather?
Now, years later, he found Tayla in his thoughts more and more as he pondered her detached nature, the vibrant color of her hair, those tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her delicate jawline.
Mitch turned to grab his sweatshirt off the bed, and when he looked back, Tayla had reached Norman’s cottage. She stopped and bent forward to catch her breath. After checking over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching, she opened the gate, climbed the half-dozen steps to the veranda, and peeked through the living room window.
“Time for a walk, boy,” Mitch called Edward to heel. The pug sat and refused to budge. “Come on, I’ll carry you halfway”—he scooped down and picked him up—“but that’s all, you lazy little pooch.”
“So, what do you think?”
Tayla’s hands flew to her chest. “Shit! You gave me a fright.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
She untied the hoodie from around her waist and shrugged it on. “I didn’t realize you were back.”
“I flew in yesterday.” He bent down and unclipped Edward’s leash.
“How was London?”
“Great. Cold, but I love it there.”
“I’ve never been, but it’s on my bucket list.” She tugged up the zipper, covering her exposed midriff, and nodded toward the pup. “What’s his name?”
“Mr. Edward.” He picked him up .
“He’s adorable. May I hold him?” She accepted the puppy and snuggled him into her chest, massaging under his ears as Mitch watched. “I’d love a pug.”
Mitch reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Feel free to pug-sit any time you want.”
“Thanks.” She put Edward down. “Anyway, I should get going. Mum said you’d refurbished the cottage. I was just curious.”
“Yeah, it’s a B&B now. Keen for a look?” Mitch unlocked the front door and instructed Edward to sit. “You spent a lot of time here when Norman was alive.”
Tayla hesitated. It had been years since she’d been inside, and she had no idea how she’d feel after all that time. The thought of him lying dead in his bed still freaked her out.
Mitch cocked his head in invitation. “Come on.”
Following him along the hallway, Tayla trailed her hand along the wood paneling. “I love this, how you’ve painted the tongue and groove off-white,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Everything’s so much lighter.”
“Thanks. The place was a depressing dump before. All that floral wallpaper and dark wood.” He opened the door to Norman’s bedroom.
She looked from the doorway, reluctant to venture inside but also surprised by her lack of reaction. There were no goosebumps or shivers up her spine. “It’s beautiful. The palette reminds me of the silkworm cocoons lying in a straw basket that my biology teacher had on a shelf in her classroom.” She glanced over her shoulder and caught his amusement.
“Come see the kitchen.”
Apart from the black enamel coal range, the kitchen was new. Tayla couldn’t believe how the cabinets and appliances nestled into the space as if they belonged. In the adjoining sunroom—Norman’s nook as she’d once called it—his antique writing desk still held pride of place, and wing-backed chairs in sapphire blue velvet sat on a plush ivory rug .
She sat at the desk, smoothing her hands over the inlay. The smell of leather took her back. “I always loved this desk. I’d sit here to read to him. He’d sip tea and eat scones or shortbread. Occasionally, he’d ask me to reread a line or paragraph so he could grasp the meaning.”
“ East of Eden was one of the books you read to him, wasn’t it?”
She smiled at the memory. “It was. We finished it two weeks before he died. How did you know?”
“He talked about it. Reading fiction was one of the few things we had in common.”
Tayla glanced up. On the wall above the desk, a woodcut of a famous Tolstoy quote caught her eye. She read it aloud: “‘If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content.’ Where did you get that?”
“I made it. It was one of Norman’s favorite quotes. Not one he lived by, unfortunately.” He watched her with the same intensity she’d felt the day he’d asked her to marry him—with questioning eyes and that hint of amusement. “What do you think? Of the cottage, I mean.”
“It’s beautiful.” She swallowed hard, a physical reaction to how talking about Norman made her feel. “You’ve done a great job. You’ve never thought about moving in?”
“What, here? No. Too many ghosts from the past.”
Tayla rose from the desk and walked through to the living room, Mitch following two steps behind. She stood back to admire the colorful artwork. “I love these Gauguin prints. They add a touch of vibrancy that lifts the whole interior. I’ve always been a fan of his work.”
“Yeah? I found them rolled up in an old trunk in the spare bedroom. I love how he used bold color to offset the expressions of his subjects.”
Tayla stepped forward and ran her hand over the frame of the first print. She hadn’t thought of that before, but now Mitch mentioned it, she understood what he meant. “I miss him. Norman, I mean.”
Mitch inhaled deeply, a sadness in his expression. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen his vulnerable side. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Thanks for the tour. He’d be impressed with what you’ve done, not just here, but with the orchard too.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Norman didn’t approve of my choices as a rule.” He followed her through to the hallway. “At least he came to Massey for my graduation though. That was something.”
“You went to university?”
“You sound surprised. Do you see me as uneducated, Tayla?”
Turning, she caught his wry smile. “Any man who quotes Tolstoy and understands Post-Impressionism is obviously educated. But education comes in varying degrees. What did you study?”
“Engineering.”
“Norman told me you loved constructing bridges, dams, and tall buildings. But in my imagination, you were a cute little boy tinkering with that old-school Meccano set he kept in a box on his bookshelf.”
“So, you imagined me as cute?”
Tayla looked his way. “Our imagination can play tricks when we don’t possess all the facts, don’t you agree?” And her imagination was playing all kinds of tricks right now. Ones it had no business playing. What would he taste like if they kissed, how would she feel wrapped in his arms?
He nodded, his gaze holding hers.
“Anyway, I should go.” She broke eye contact. “Thanks again. I wished I’d had the chance to say goodbye. He was such a lovely man.”
Mitch raised a skeptical brow as they stepped onto the veranda. Maybe now was her chance to talk to him about Cherry Grove .
“Actually, do you mind if we sit for a moment?” she asked. “I have something to say.”
He pulled over a chair. “Sure.”
Tayla sat on the love seat she’d sometimes shared with Norman. “It’s about the sale. My sisters and I don’t have enough money to buy Cherry Grove, and it’s not profitable anyway. I’ve been to the bank, but they won’t come to the party. If the sale doesn’t go through, I doubt my parents will even have a roof over their heads by the time they return from Auckland. So, if there’s any chance of you changing your mind…”
His hand went to his chin, where he rubbed a finger back and forth. “You’ve had no other offers?”
“Not at this stage.”
Seconds passed before Mitch released a sigh from deep within his chest, as if clearing his thoughts and energy. “I still can’t see it working.”
“Why not?” Tayla said bluntly. “Have you met someone?”
He hesitated again, seemingly unwilling to elaborate. “From our contact so far, I doubt anyone would believe us.”
Now it was her turn to stare. “How one behaves is all down to attitude. People act out their lives to some extent every day of the week. I’m sure I could play my part in this game of pretense.”
He raised a brow like before, but this time, he added a huff.
“What? You have no faith in my ability to live a lie if it will save my parents from financial ruin?” Tayla asked.
“Not a lot.”
“So, the marriage offer was just a front, was it? Are you waiting for the bank to foreclose so you can pick up Cherry Grove for next to nothing?”
“See, that’s what I mean right there.” Mitch sat forward, his hands helping him prove his point. “You don’t know me, so stop pretending otherwise. It’s obvious I pissed you off over that credit card mix-up, but let it the hell go. Learn to play nice, and we might have a deal. Keep acting like a prissy stuck-up snob, and all bets are off.”
Tayla sat back, reclaiming her personal space. She crossed her arms over her chest and held his gaze. He had to be kidding. “You are the rudest man I have ever met.”
“Yeah, well, some people bring out the worst in me. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
With that, Mitch stood, picked up Mr. Edward, and bounded down the steps, leaving Tayla glued to the seat, a ‘but’ dying on her lips.
She watched until he disappeared behind the lime trees, his words harsh in her ears, then took the steps two at a time and ran all the way home. No one had ever talked to her like that, and if Mitch wanted all bets to be off, she would happily oblige.
After a shower, Tayla made herself a sandwich and while she ate, surfed the internet again for realtors specializing in orchard sales.
By evening, a sudden cold snap gave the air a distinctly autumnal feel. Tayla never knew how to describe this conundrum—coolness wrapped around the warmth of late summer. Because in Clifton Falls, warm days often stretched well into the calendar months of autumn, and this year looked like being no exception.
And along with the unseasonable woodsmoke from a neighbor’s fire came a stilled feeling of melancholy—almost despondency. Tayla sat on the veranda, her hands curled around a mug of hot chocolate, and recalled their exchange with regret.
Prissy stuck-up snob?
She didn’t want to be that girl. The one who held an eternal grudge because someone had misjudged her. And if she’d learned one thing from her relationship with Hayden, it was that things weren’t always as they seemed.
Her hot chocolate finished, Tayla stood and walked through the house to the kitchen. She wondered if she should text Mitch an apology or just let the dust settle .
Deciding on the latter, she soaked in the tub until the water cooled, then went to bed, her life feeling devoid of purpose and direction for the first time in years.