5. John
5
JOHN
S unday morning, a car pulled into my driveway as I was walking back to the house after collecting eggs. I shielded my eyes, peering at the vehicle. My curiosity was cleared up when Quinn Harper stepped from the SUV, stopping to help her daughter out of the back seat.
I frowned as she approached, wondering what she was doing here.
Abby ran up, excited. “Hi!”
“Hey, Pumpkin.” I hunched down. “What are you doing here?” I asked, hoping by directing the question to her, I wouldn’t say the wrong thing and ignite her mother’s wrath.
“We had to bring your box!”
I stood, meeting Quinn’s gaze. It was calm but wary. I was puzzled until she explained.
“You left your toolbox at the house.”
“Oh. Sorry about that.”
“I called Laura and offered to drop it off. I thought maybe we could clear the air.”
I was surprised at her words. “Clear the air?”
She sighed. Before she could explain, Abby tugged at my pant leg.
“Are you a farmer?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Do you have horses and cows?”
I crouched down again. “I have chickens and cows. And lots and lots of plants.”
“What kinds of plants?”
“Corn and soybeans.”
“I like corn. Especially with butter.”
I chuckled. “Me too.”
“What are soybeans?” She looked at her mom. “Do you make soybeans?”
“They’re used in foods, baby,” Quinn explained. “Like an ingredient. You love edamame. I make toasted soybeans for our salads.”
“The crunchy things?”
Quinn smiled—a soft, warm smile that lit up her face. “Yes.” Her expression did something to my insides, making me want to see it again. I shook my head at the strange thought.
I nodded. “They have lots of uses. They’re used to feed animals, make things…”
“What sorts of things?”
I chuckled. Cody used to ask a thousand and one questions about everything.
“Oil, soy milk, tofu, all kinds of items.”
“Cool. Can I see your chickens and cows, Farmer John?”
“Sure.” I set down the basket I was carrying, feeling an odd jump of pleasure as Abby slipped her hand into mine. I showed her the chicken coop, and then we walked to the fence, where I lifted her up so she could watch the cows.
“Can I go closer?”
I glanced at Quinn, who nodded. I set Abby down on the other side of the fence, and she went closer to the small herd, who glanced at her with no interest and went back to chewing grass. She patted their hides, giggling, then raced over to the corner where some wildflowers grew.
“You’re good with kids,” Quinn said softly.
“When I’m not scaring them.”
“Look, the past few days have been, ah, difficult. It was a long drive here. I was tired, anxious, and I wasn’t myself.”
I glanced her way. “You were attacked as well, darlin’.” Why the endearment slipped out again, I had no idea, but I let it go.
“I was annoyed. They didn’t hurt me, thanks to you.”
“Still not a great introduction to the town you planned on living in.”
She frowned, then shook her head. “Regardless, I shouldn’t have jumped on you. And I was grateful for your help. I’m sorry I was rude.”
Her words surprised me, and I turned to face her fully. “I apologize as well. There isn’t a problem with you arriving early, and I don’t care if there is a husband in the picture or not. Single mothers are incredibly strong, and I admire that. I wasn’t offering to pay for the paint because of that, but because I take care of the houses I own. I want my tenants happy.”
“Laura said the paint color Abby picked is usually not allowed.”
I shrugged. “It’s one room. It can be repainted when you move on.”
She dug into her pocket and held up some swatches. “Are these okay?”
I glanced down and nodded. They were all soft neutrals. “Yep.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “I want to be a good tenant. I plan on staying here awhile. Building a life for Abby and myself.”
The way she said the words, I had a feeling there was a story to be told. But I knew she didn’t know me well enough to tell it, and I never got involved with tenants.
“I wish you all the best.”
“Thank you. The next while will be busy, but I’m sure once I get things off the ground, it’ll be great.”
“Get things off the ground?”
She nodded. “I’m opening the new restaurant in town.”
I stared at her. “Where the Sandwich Shop was?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the dill idea lady?”
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. “You have a problem with that?”
“Kinda a silly name. Nothing wrong with Sandwich Shop.”
“That’s the old name. This is a new place with a new name. And it’s not silly, it’s catchy.”
I snorted. “Such a city slicker. We like it simple around here.”
She called to her daughter. “Abby—we have to go. Come on!” Then she turned to me. “Maybe they keep it simple so farmers like you can understand.”
“Farmers like me?” I asked, stepping closer. “You think I’m simple?”
“I think you’re rude and closed-minded.” She shook her head. “I came here to apologize and start fresh, but I see that was a mistake.”
“Obviously.” I waved my hand. “Name your restaurant whatever you want. Hell will freeze over before I eat there.”
“You… ass ,” she hissed.
Abby crawled through the fence. “Why do we hafta go, Momma? I like it here!”
Quinn grabbed her hand. “Too many animals here, Abby. Rude, bad-mannered animals.”
She flounced away, and I watched as she got to the vehicle, struggling to lift the toolbox from the back. She tossed it on the ground, the lid popping open and tools spilling out.
“Whoops,” she called. “Sorry, city slickers don’t know how to care for farmer tools.”
And she drove off. I was pretty sure she flipped me the finger as she did.
I turned and looked at the cows.
“Well, that went well.”
Monday evening, I pulled up to the small town hall, sliding out of my truck as another vehicle parked beside me. Quinn stepped from the driver’s side, and our gazes met over the short span separating us.
“Here to vote against my name, Mr. Elliott?”
“I have plans up for a new renovation on an old building.”
“I looked around today. It seems you own every house available for rent here.”
“Moving already?” I asked mildly.
“I thought perhaps it might be for the best.”
“There are a few places in Terryville. I don’t own those. Not as nice, though.” I slammed my door and stepped closer. “You don’t have to move. We don’t have to like each other for you to rent a house. I won’t bother you.”
She frowned, her shoulders slumping. “That’s the problem, Mr. Elliott. For a few moments these past couple of days, I did like you.”
I was at a loss for words. I had liked her too. Then I opened my mouth and stuck my foot in it. But I didn’t want to drive her away.
“Don’t move, Quinn. Abby picked her color,” I said quietly. “If you have any issues, call Laura, and they will be addressed immediately. I give you my word.”
She hesitated, and something passed between us. A silent conversation—a promise given, one accepted. We would agree to disagree and be strangers who lived in the same town.
It was for the best since we seemed to strike sparks. Yet I had to admit, a small part of me felt sad at the thought of the distance we would keep.
She walked away and I followed, sitting on opposite sides of the small room. My request for the renovations came up, I answered some questions, and I was granted permission to move ahead. I sat down, half listening to the few items on the agenda.
My ears perked up at the sound of the request for the new name for Thelma’s old place. There were a few remarks, some laughter, and the mayor smiled at Quinn. “Unique idea.”
She stood. “I make pickles. Really good dill pickles—my grandmother’s recipe. Each sandwich or plate comes with one. Hence the name.” She met my eyes across the room. “Some find it silly. I think it’s perfect.”
Mayor Rhodes chuckled again. “Normally, this is not needed, but since you are on a trial run here, we want to make sure no one objects to the name.” He glanced around the room.
I knew if I held up my hand, I could make it more difficult. If more than one resident objected, they could ask Quinn to change the name. I glanced her way, noting the stress showing in her expression, the way she was holding her shoulders. This meant a lot to her.
Beside me, Laura squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back in silent acknowledgment.
Laura was right. It was time to move forward. I couldn’t do that to Quinn.
“Sounds kinda cute,” I offered.
Quinn’s head snapped in my direction, shock on her face. A few other people murmured their assent, and when old man Harvey grumped, I shook my head.
“Come on, Harvey, what’s not to like about pickles?” I called over.
He laughed, and a moment later, Quinn had her name.
Laura beamed at me. “Good job.”
I waved her off. “Just making sure I get my rent.”
She shook her head. “Keep telling yourself that, big brother.”
A few moments later, I headed to the truck, tired, hungry, and wanting to be alone. Hearing my name being called, I turned, seeing Quinn hurrying after me. She stopped in front of me, confused.
“Why?” she asked.
I shrugged. “It’s a name. In the end, that’s all it is. You want to name your restaurant after a pickled vegetable? That’s your business.”
“Thank you.”
I turned to leave, and she reached out, grabbing my hand. I looked down to where she was touching me, then back at her. The sudden desire to hold her hand, pull her to me, was as surprising as it was shocking.
“Maybe hell will freeze over sooner than you think,” she whispered.
I shook my head, not able to explain to her my reasons.
“I do wish you luck, Quinn.” I pulled my hand back. “Take care.”
QUINN
I slid some freshly laundered towels into the linen closet with a sigh. I walked into the kitchen, somehow the memory of finding John there a few days ago flickering through my mind. When Laura had shown me the house, I knew it was perfect for Abby and me. Small but well cared for, it had a nice yard, even a porch where I could sit and watch her play. Two bedrooms, a good-sized kitchen, and a cozy living room with an electric fireplace made it homey. The floors were hardwood and gleamed with well-worn age. The appliances were still fairly new, and the place even had a stacking washer and dryer, which was a bonus. The yard was well-kept and not overly large, so I could look after it easily. The fence was in great shape—actually, everything was.
Modest, cozy, and simple. A far cry from the huge, rambling house we left behind. The expensive cars. The complicated life I tried so hard to find my place in. The constant failure my ex liked to remind me I was—at least in his eyes.
I poured myself a small glass of wine and wandered into the living room. I sat on the sofa, running my hand along the soft fabric. No more cold leather. No sterile environment that was showroom-perfect. Instead, the furniture was homey. Not expensive, but comfortable. A rug I found at a secondhand store was warm under my feet. The chair I had bought there as well was worn but snug. Some of Abby’s toys were in the corner. I already felt more at home there than I had in my entire marriage.
I had painted the living room and the hallway, enjoying the task. The walls were a soft bisque color. I planned on using the same neutral in the kitchen, and I had a warm sage green for my room, but I would do it last.
A noise from Abby’s room caught my attention, and I went down the hall to check on her. She was asleep, the sound I heard simply a dream muttering and not an upset one. I tucked her leg in, brushing her hair back from her face. I picked up a couple of toys, placing them in the toy chest. I had painted her room first, the bright pink making her so happy. I let her pick her furniture, and the white canopy bed and dresser looked nice in the space. I’d added a fluffy rug, and she chose some frilly curtains and a bedspread in a checked pink-and-white that she loved. The room was bright, girly, and fun.
Again, a direct contrast to the bland white space she’d lived in the past few years. I was doing the opposite of everything we had known. Everything we had both hated and been forced to live with.
I bent and pressed a kiss to Abby’s head. She gave me the strength to wake up every day and move forward.
I returned to the living room, picking up my wine and sipping it. Tomorrow, I would be going to the restaurant to check on the progress there. I hoped to open in a couple of weeks if everything went according to plan. Luckily, the kitchen was usable and spotless—the last owner a local, beloved member of the community. I was reusing a lot of the things left in the kitchen. The front of the restaurant was getting fresh paint, new tables, plants, and other updates, but I was sticking to my budget.
When Cathy had told me about the opportunity, I knew I had to take it. We needed a new start. A fresh place where my ex had no influence and would never come looking for us. I loved the small town, recalling the summers spent with my grandparents. The chance to build a business that would keep me busy and use the talents I had been forced to put aside during my marriage.
The fact that I knew Preston would consider the investment foolish and running a restaurant low-class only added to the appeal. His opinion didn’t matter anymore, but I had no doubt he would find out and be scandalized. I had to admit, the thought of his reaction made me giddy. He would hate it since he could no longer order me around.
Finding this little house was the icing on the cake. I loved the brightness, with the big windows, the massive oak tree in the front yard, the peacefulness of the neighborhood, and the friendly people.
Well, mostly friendly.
John Elliott came to mind. Or Farmer John, as Abby referred to him. I thought of the man who had stepped in and saved me. His size had struck me first. He was tall, broad, and powerful, and his muscles had muscles—no doubt from the daily physical work. His blue eyes were intelligent and shrewd. Kind at times, angry in other moments. Yet, somehow in all instances, they held a hint of sadness and even a vulnerability I knew he would hate anyone to see. His hair was a light brown, the ends bleached from the sun. He was rugged and masculine, nothing about him soft.
Except his smile when he directed it at Abby. And, for a few wonderful moments, at me. When his low voice uttered the word “darlin’.”
But that changed quickly. We were oil and water—never mixing. He was quick to think the worst of me, and I was too fast to insult him.
But I was grateful he allowed me to rent this place and he hadn’t made my life harder by objecting to the name of the diner.
Even if we were never more than landlord and tenant, I could live with that.
But I had to admit, the thought made me sad.
Which was silly.
I had to put that and the thought of him out of my mind.