Not Quite by the Book

Chapter Ten

The scent of burning cake hit like a brick as I wrenched open the back door. A dark haze filled the kitchen. My phone lay silently on the counter where I’d set it while trying to carry everything outside with two full hands. A notification on the screen indicated that I’d missed my alarm twenty-seven minutes ago.

I said a few choice words as I opened the oven and fanned away plumes of smoke.

True to its name, my cake was in fact, very black.

The smoke detector went off, and my heart rate doubled. A red light flashed, and shrill beeping pierced the air.

“Shit!”

I hefted the pan with pot holders and kicked the oven door closed. I dropped the cake into the sink and turned on the water to stop the dessert from smoldering. Then I used the back door like a fan, swinging it enthusiastically to circulate the air and pull the smoke outside. When the alarm continued to screech, I grabbed the broom.

Frustration and anger mixed with a heaping helping of self-pity as I climbed onto a chair and raised the long wooden handle toward the tiny reset button on the wailing alarm.

I aimed carefully at the little target, and the alarm silenced. I pumped a fist for the victory, but the joy passed quickly. My eyes landed on the soaking-wet brickette of a cake in the sink. Partially cloaked by the room’s smoky haze.

Another failure in my quest to be like Emily.

I dropped my celebratory fist and stepped backward, ready to dispose of the fruited corpse. Then I screamed, momentarily airborne as the chair scraped over tile and clattered to the floor. In the space of that half heartbeat, my brain cued in on my predicament, and my body braced for impact. It seemed a fitting end.

Before I hit the floor, a pair of strong arms curved around my middle, saving me from becoming a heap of clumsy regret. The arms pulled me against a broad chest.

My broom bounced and slid away with a whoosh.

Davis looked down at me, sincere concern swimming in his stormy gray eyes.

I heaved several rattled breaths before I could speak, thankful for his perfect timing, and confused by how he’d seemed to manifest from the smoke. The same electric charge that had filled the air between us on the night we’d met zinged to life once more. I could’ve broken my neck, but he’d caught me. It was a meet-cute for a bestseller. A story to tell at parties for the rest of our lives.

Except we’d already met. And like before, nothing about me or this scene was cute.

Why did he keep showing up when I was a complete mess?

My silly, swooning heart performed a little kitten purr.

Inner Emily really needed to get up and kick my ass.

Instead, she whispered the words of “That It Will Never Come Again,” a poem I’d always treasured. She believed only having one life to live, one chance to exist to the fullest, was what made living so sweet. A strong reminder to absorb and cherish the moments at hand, because time wasn’t something any of us could get back.

Did I want to hold on to this particular memory? Filthy and embarrassed—but in Davis’s arms?

“You okay?” he asked, loosening his grip by a fraction.

I planted my hands against his chest, leaving dirt marks. “Yeah. Oh. Sorry.” I attempted to rub the stains away, but scents of his shampoo, cedar, and mint befuddled my brain.

I jerked back, suddenly sure I smelled like sweat, burned cake, and topsoil.

“Still trying to burn the place down?” He cast a pointed look around the hazy kitchen.

I pointed to the sink. “This was an accident.”

“You have a lot of accidents.”

“Two is not a lot.” I bristled, stepping away to cross my arms.

Davis tucked his hands into his pockets, gaze sweeping to my ruined dessert. “What is that?”

“Black cake,” I said pitifully. “I was outside trying to protect my garden, and I lost track of time. Then I fell off a chair.”

I glanced at the open back door. I’d forgotten to close it after using it as a giant fan.

“Good thing I came when I did. I tried the bell, but you probably didn’t hear it over the blaring smoke alarm and all your cussing.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. There was the curmudgeon I’d met before.

“When I didn’t see you through the window, I came around to check the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” I took another step away from him and leaned against the sink, still too buzzed from his nearness to think clearly. “I wasn’t expecting you until later. Last time you came after work, it was already dark.”

He bent to right the toppled chair; then he lifted the broom from the floor and returned it to the corner. “I wrapped things up early to have dinner with my buddy Clayton, at his bar.”

I frowned, trying to imagine Davis with friends. Strange that one of his friends owned a bar. Grace’s friend Olivia owned a farm, and on IBOOM she’d often mentioned visiting another friend’s pub on game days. Maybe local business owners had their own little community. The possibility made me wonder about Davis and his dad. According to Michael at the bookstore, both Sommers men were well known, and the elder was deeply involved in local affairs. What would Davis’s dad be like? Probably a middle-aged grouch. If not from genetics, then from dealing with his frown-faced son for thirty-four years.

Davis moved his hands to his hips, clearly impatient to get going. “Your text said the hot-water heater and furnace are giving you trouble?”

The words pulled me back to the moment. “I had to heat water on the stovetop and haul it upstairs in pots for a bath,” I blurted.

My traitorous bottom lip wobbled at the remembered trauma. I bit the insides of my cheeks to maintain emotional control.

Davis shifted, and I knew he saw my unshed tears.

“I’ve had a very frustrating couple of days,” I said, apologetically wiping the corners of my eyes. “And a very cold couple of nights. I’m tired, sore, and I hate asking for help, but can you please—” I cleared my throat and swallowed before forcing the final words from my lips in a whisper. “Please help me.”

His expression softened, and he shoved one big hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “I’ll look at the hot-water heater first,” he muttered. “Then you can clean up, if you want, while I move on to the furnace. And I’ll show you how to make a fire.”

Emotion pushed against my eyes. I straightened my spine and nodded. “Thank you.”

Thirty minutes later, I was waist deep in a hot, but not steamy, bubble bath. Not exactly the luxurious, relaxed soak I’d fantasized about before my arrival, but I was trying to appreciate the small wins. Even if Davis was somewhere in the manor, fully dressed, banging on vents and pipes. I nonsensically wished for one of those curtains on a rod around the bath, then scrubbed a little faster. The next time I filled the tub, I vowed to light a candle and bring a book. Maybe I’d even use the new loofah I’d brought to pamper my long-ignored skin. Maybe I’d buy a cedar plank and set it across the porcelain to hold my things.

For now, however, I hurried. I toweled off quickly, squeezing the water from my hair. Then I paired soft black yoga pants with a comfy tank top and a cropped zip-up hoodie. The muted ivory color detracted slightly from my sunburn, which was more pronounced without the added dirt. I drove a wand with sheer gloss around my lips and coated my lashes in fresh mascara, then beetled down the rear steps to the kitchen, a pair of fuzzy socks in hand.

Davis turned from the window when I hit a squeaky stair. He’d put on a kettle for tea.

“Are you finished already?” I asked, unsure if the house was getting warmer or if it was just his effect on me.

“Pilot light was out,” he said. “Easy fix.”

I gave myself a mental pat on the back for looking into pilot lights earlier. Next time the water didn’t warm, I could fix it myself. I took a seat on the nearest chair to pull on my socks. “Did you clean my kitchen?”

All evidence of my failed black cake was gone. The counter was wiped, and the ingredients were put away.

He glanced around at his efforts. “It was the least I could do, since you’ve had so much trouble here.”

“Well, you also saved me from a nasty fall,” I said. “I think we’re even.”

A muscle in Davis’s jaw clenched, and I wondered if he was thinking of the moment when he’d held me. I certainly was. “Fair enough.” He turned to the stove, hiding his face, and poured two cups from the kettle. “Tea?”

“Please.”

“Milk or sugar?”

“Both. Thanks for doing all this,” I said. “Fixing the furnace and water heater was plenty. Cleaning the kitchen and making tea is officially above and beyond.”

He ferried two cups my way. “I’m just sorry you were cold last night. And that you had to haul water for a bath.”

I accepted a steaming mug, and Davis took the seat across from mine.

“My offer to help you find another place stands,” he said. “No hard feelings. I suspect things like this will continue to go wrong, so getting out now, while you can still enjoy your time in town, might be best.”

I sipped the tea and gave my head a small shake. “I’m not interested in leaving. Not unless you know someone else with a historic place like this. Off the beaten path so I’d be alone. And somewhere the owner would let me make a little garden.”

He stared, the wheels of his mind almost visibly turning. “That’s very specific.”

I shrugged. “This place is exactly what I was looking for. As long as I don’t freeze to death or have to carry any more water for baths, I’ll be okay.” I smiled when he made eye contact, hoping he’d know I was teasing.

He didn’t smile back. “Is it that you can’t go without gardening? Or because you don’t like people?”

“I love people,” I said. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just—doing something.”

“What?”

I set the cup aside. “It’s—personal. So, I’d rather not say, but I can deal with the temporary inconveniences.”

Davis didn’t respond, but his presence put me at ease.

I thought again of him catching me when I fell, and how the air seemed to thicken around us. I liked the way our energies flowed together. How comfortable he made me feel, even when he was scowling for no good reason.

“I came here looking for new perspective,” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “I wasn’t happy with how my life was going, and I thought getting away from my usual routine was exactly what I needed. So, here I am, and I’d like to stick it out, if at all possible.”

Davis rested his forearms on the table, looking unreasonably interested. “You’re here to find happiness?” His gaze roamed to the open letter between us.

I folded the note and set it aside. “My little sister thinks I just want attention, and my parents would prefer I give up and come home, but this is something I need to do.”

He scanned my face, curious eyes probing mine. “Why weren’t you happy before?”

I released a long breath. Where to start? “I run the family bookstore while my parents and sister enjoy their lives. They used to work as much as I did, but over time, things changed. Annie got married. Now she’s pregnant. My folks got older and more interested in retiring than working. They spend a lot of time with Annie and her husband, doing couples things or talking about their first grandbaby. It’s all very sweet, and I’m glad for them, but one day I looked up and I was alone. I’m not sure they’ve even noticed.”

“Ah.” He kicked back in his seat, stretching his long legs beneath the table until they bumped mine.

“What’s that mean?” I asked. “‘Ah’?”

He raised his cup and sipped. “You’re a people pleaser. You miss the attention.”

I made a cuckoo face. “Obviously. Especially when it comes to my family.” I laughed. “I can’t help it. I love them all so much, and I want them to be happy. If I can help with that, it makes me happy too.”

Davis cocked his head. “You sure about that?”

I wanted to say “Of course!” But I wasn’t convinced anymore. “What matters is that I’m trying to make some overdue changes.”

“And these changes require a historic property where you can be alone and garden,” he said.

“Yep. Though I need to add more flowers. And I’m battling a bunny over the produce.”

He bobbed his head in faux understanding, then admitted, “I don’t get it.”

I laughed again. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Does this have anything to do with the list that was on the refrigerator the last time I was here?”

I cringed inwardly. Suspicion confirmed. He’d seen the list, and I was glad for the jarring reminder of my goals here. I was supposed to be breaking old habits, not forming new, one-sided crushes.

Davis raised his palms. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have read that.”

“Definitely not,” I agreed.

“One of the goals was to become your best Emily.” He squinted. “Does that mean Emily Dickinson?”

“Never mind that,” I said.

“What about the last item? Give up on love. I’m guessing there’s a story behind that one?”

I clenched my teeth and gripped my mug until I thought it might crack. “Not one for today.”

He stared another long moment before speaking. “Grace says you’re making quite an impression at Village Books. She said a few of the male classmates took an immediate interest.” He grinned. “She even saw one man hand you a letter.”

My mouth fell open, then snapped shut.

“Grace is a bit of a busybody,” he said. “I mean that with love. She only wants the best for everyone, but if you’re going to be around awhile, you should be aware. She has a special interest in you.”

“We’ve been friends for years,” I said, finding my tongue. “I think it’s nice that she’s looking out for me.”

“She’ll try to marry you off, if you aren’t careful,” he warned. “And based on that list, it’s not what you want.”

My traitorous heart split down the center, simultaneously longing for love and wanting to reach my new goal of happiness on my own.

“Who’s Paul?” Davis asked, tone casual, expression curious. He flicked smart gray eyes in the direction of my letter once more.

“A friend I met in Grace’s letter-writing class.” Also, none of Davis’s business.

He cupped his big hands around the teacup. “What’s he like?”

“He’s nice,” I said, unsure where this conversation could possibly be going and why I felt compelled to answer.

“The class works well with your Emily Dickinson related goals?” he guessed.

I nodded.

“What about Paul? How does he fit into giving up on love?”

I balked. “Don’t tell Grace, but her nephew is kind of a busybody,” I said.

Davis smirked. “Touché.” He stood and carried his cup to the sink. “I need to meet Clayton for dinner. Do you want me to show you how to build a fire before I leave?”

The urge to kick him out warred with my need for heat, so I nodded.