Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
TINSLEY
A fter my third lesson on beekeeping from Bubba’s mother, his wife Tammy brings me back to Aiden’s property. She said she welcomed the time with another adult woman after being with the kids most of the day. She and I are opposites in almost every way, but with the windows down we both sing along to a PJ and the Oak Brook Boys song and chat about the updates to the BBQ joint. I also asked if she had any family photos that I could use for a project at the restaurant.
We remain in the car, gabbing until the sun is about to set. When I wave goodbye and go inside the trailer, I realize that I’m still smiling. Wouldn’t you know it? I think I made a friend.
After freshening up, I alternate between watching YouTube videos about bees and baking tutorials. I listen for Aiden’s motorcycle and eventually must doze off after the long day working at Sweethearts and learning to spackle.
Who have I become?
A scratching sound wakes me from a dream about a river of honey. I bolt to sitting and listen carefully. The moon is high in the sky and paints the field surrounding Toby with an eerie, ethereal shade of pale white.
I step away from the window, not quite sure I want to see whatever is out there. Aiden’s Murder Doll, trying to escape the trunk of the Maybach? He used to tell Bess and Mae ghost stories, and I’m starting to wonder if they’re real. Or if I’m going to be a victim of some dastardly urban legend, er, rural legend.
Getting back in bed, I tell myself to ignore it and go to sleep. The trailer door is locked. I keep my phone charged and within reach. It’s probably just a curious critter. Harmless. Definitely not a Sasquatch hungry for human flesh.
The night noises of birds, bugs, and branches blowing in the wind seem especially loud tonight. Was that the scratching? Footsteps? Is someone breathing heavy? I swallow thickly.
Tammy told me about the pack of wild hogs they had to chase from their property the other night. I’m not quite brave enough to go outside to scare it off—I haven’t been in the country that long to gum up what Tammy called “Country Courage.” And I don’t want to bother Aiden again.
There was a protective ferocity in his eyes that night he came down on the quad that scared me. Not for my welfare, but for anyone who crossed him. He alternates between being a laid back capable country guy who works hard, a slick businessman who’s no stranger to a devastating smolder, to someone else—an alpha male who’ll burn down anything in his path if it means protecting those he loves.
Including me, it turns out.
Aiden told me he loved me. In much the same way that I do my level best not to think about what’s lurking outside, I’ve tried to clear those words from my mind. To cancel them. To forget them.
They scare me because no one has ever said them to me before. Not my parents or siblings. Not previous guys I’ve dated or anyone in my life.
No, that’s not true. When we left Texas after the one visit to my grandparents, they told me they loved me. I didn’t want to leave their house and had one of my renowned Tinsley Tantrums. My grandmother kissed the top of my head and uttered those words. My parents had to cart me off, kicking and screaming.
I wanted to play in the mud, drink from the hose, and pick wildflowers.
Mother would have none of that. As we drove away with my face plastered to the car window, she said, “ This was a mistake. We never should have come .”
Dad retreated to steely silence while she complained and nagged us kids.
See, the thing is, I can’t allow myself to get too attached. I’ll let myself have fun while this lasts, but we’re on day twenty-three of my community service. Only seven to go. What then? I’ll go back to my life. Right?
My mind swarms with thoughts about the past and future, but what I need to do is sleep right now.
Letting out a sigh, I sit back up and give the box my brother gave me a little kick. I’d forgotten about it in the BMW and Officer Henley brought it to me since my name was printed on it before the car went back to New York.
Flipping on a light, I open the flap and find relics from high school and even from when I was younger. Books, notes, keepsakes, and a T-shirt from a theater production. I flip through photos, glimpsing who I was before I tried to fit in and stand out.
Sounds like an oxymoron, but I molded myself into who I thought my peers would like while also being such a brat three nannies quit before my parents found one who, unbeknownst to them, just left me to my own devices. At the time, that was predominantly my device where I captured every moment of my life on social media.
Who cared about my grooming habits, shopping sprees, or nightlife? It turned out a lot of people. I have millions of social media followers. But the minute I got into a sticky situation by being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person—I’m looking at you, Puma!—all those people “forgot” that I exist.
I find a glossy program from a high school theater production. I played, of all things, a farm girl. I pull the plaid shirt from my costume. Still fits even if a little snug. I tie it at the bottom. This feels like a trend in the making.
Since the shirt still fits does that mean I could still be that girl? Rather, a woman now?
I always wanted to get to the top, but I imagine it’s lonely up there and likely there’s always further to go, a never-ending, never satisfying climb. I’d rather remain here with friends, meaning, and purpose.
For years, I thought I was independent. An influencer. A trendsetter. Turns out I’m a follower like in my diva dream. It floods back now and I recall feeling self-conscious about viewers seeing every pore, every fake eyelash, the mole above my lip which sometimes sprouts hairs, and every age line...all of it. All of me.
I wanted them to see me, and yet I didn’t.
Aiden sees me, and I don’t mind. I like it. He looks at me with...love. It’s real.
All too real.
But the lifetime achievement award from the deep sleep diva dream was not and it’s certainly not something I could claim in real life.
It’s been just over three weeks since I drove away from everything I knew. What do I have to show for myself?
Bangs I cut myself and freckles on my face from being outside most of the day.
Chipped nails and callouses that prove I’ve been working hard.
A few extra pounds and much stronger muscles.
But there’s more. The screen time on my phone is down and I’ve contemplated deleting my social media accounts. I’ve learned new skills, including beekeeping. Beatrice, Bubba’s mom, said I’m a natural. And there’s a certain guy who asked me to be his girlfriend. Who told me he loves me.
Who I love. But I’m afraid to say it. To make it real because what if I finally have what I want and it gets taken away? Aiden is a maverick, a gentleman, and a hard worker. But it’s like he still hides the essence of who he is behind those sparkly blue eyes.
My thoughts return to my dreams when I was a kid—I wanted to be a cowgirl but took dressage. I wanted to dance like the girls in the country music videos on television but took ballet lessons. That was my mother’s doing. When I finally cut myself loose, I didn’t choose much differently. I wanted to be free and ended up putting myself in a box by aspiring to become an actress, by fitting a mold of what I thought it took to “make it” and be seen and adored by the public and anyone who put up with my antics.
In my diva dream, the host of the awards show congratulated me on winning the award, saying I’d done so much to deserve it. His exact words return to me like a message from my past self, “ You’ve enriched our communities, given selflessly to children and the least among us.”
I’ve done nothing of the sort. A yearning builds inside. I want to do something to deserve respect, make a difference, and not just parade around for my own sake.
Getting back in bed, my mind finally settles as I tuck away this new goal to be a better person, to be generous and giving, to be worthy of any kind of achievement award—not that I expect one, but I’d rather not earn a trophy for being Society’s Most Selfish Socialite which, looking back, was about all I qualified for.
Less than an hour later, my phone beeps. Startled from sleep, I check it to find a text from someone. Eyes bleary, I read it.
DO NOT CALL: Hey girl, I miss you. Finally out on bail. What a mess. Ready to pick up where we left off.
It takes my brain a few revolutions of thought to realize it’s from Puma. My breath catches in my chest.
I’m not sure what wasn’t clear about me being rudely awakened by federal agents and carted off for questioning that might indicate I’m interested in ever speaking to him again. Ignoring the message, I roll over and go back to sleep.
At dawn, my phone beeps again.
DO NOT CALL: Hey, thinking about you. Seriously, we need to get together. Where are u?
My eyes burn and I let out a long breath. My finger hovers over the keyboard, but I drop the phone onto the bed. No, I’m not going to dignify him with a response. I should change the contact label to DO NOT REPLY .
Even though I’m exhausted, I somehow make it through the morning at Sweethearts without setting anything on fire, messing up orders, or causing problems. I count that as a win. While I wait for Aiden to pick me up, I find about ten messages from Puma.
They continue with him wanting to get together then verge toward desperation before ending with a threat. He probably wants to talk to me to make sure I don’t know anything I shouldn’t.
DO NOT CALL: Tinsley, this is serious. Answer me or I’m coming to look for you. We have to talk.
My skin prickles and my upper lip beads with sweat. I brush my finger over the mole there, mostly having forgotten about it and all the little things that used to make me self-conscious. My morning routine is now under an hour. Earlier, I felt ready to take on the world. Now I feel like retreating into hiding.
My phone beeps one more time, but I don’t look at it and slide it into my purse as Aiden pulls up, gets out of the car, and greets me with a kiss.
Right now, out of the three versions of him that I’ve seen, he’s Aiden-the-protector. Shoulders back, eyes sharp. The man is strong and he loves me. I don’t have to worry about Puma. There’s no way he could find me in little ole Butterbury.
Aiden asks me about my morning, and my phone suddenly feels like a blinking alarm in my purse, signaling that I have a secret.
“I’m tired. Heard the scratching again last night.” As I speak the words, I get a case of flop sweats, worried that it was Puma. But that’s silly. If he were looking for me, he wouldn’t scratch around outside the door.
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“Didn’t want to bother you.” My voice is slow, sleepy.
“Am I going to have to pitch a tent outside Toby to keep an eye on things?”
“Is Murder Doll still in the trunk? If so, that might not be a good idea. It could sense your vulnerability while you’re sleeping under nylon and go after you.”
Aiden chuckles, but as I connect my comment to Puma’s messages, my stomach tightens on top of the nervous perspiration coating my skin.
“Is it hot in here?” I crank up the AC.
“Welcome to southern summers. The house is supposed to be done in less than a month. We’re a couple of weeks behind because I pulled the guys off the job to help at Bubba’s, but I can’t wait to give you a tour.”
At first, only Aiden and I were working on Bubba’s, but last week a crew of guys appeared and went full blast, building and finishing off an addition and then the roof. I was wondering where the crew came from.
“I’m surprised your place isn’t a Designed to Last project.”
Aiden bristles. “Nah, they’re busy.”
What I’m more surprised at is that I haven’t been up there yet, but he said he wants to do a grand reveal. Apparently, not even his sisters have been inside.
“Don’t want to get into it with the ladybosses over creative differences?” I ask around a laugh.
“Something like that.”
“Did you visit Mae, Taylor, and the baby last night?” I ask.
“Actually, they were at Ladyboss HQ for a bit.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Um, discussing the future and Gatlin Stoll. He still hasn’t turned up.”
“Oh, you mean the future like running for mayor.”
“Yep. And like I said when we first met, I’d like to make you Mrs. Mayor. I saw you and knew.” Aiden playfully elbows me.
“No, you were just amusing yourself while in jail.”
He tips his head from side to side. “I had an inkling. I didn’t know this at first, but after spending these last weeks together, being with you made me want to come home, settle down, and—”
I’m afraid to hear the rest of the sentence. “But you are home, right? Don’t you have to be a resident of Butterbury to become mayor? And you’re building a house. That seems pretty settled if you ask me.”
“Yeah, but my work takes me all over the place.” When he says this, he suddenly sounds as tired as I feel after the poor sleep last night.
My phone beeps, startling me. I ignore it when several more messages come in.
“Are you going to check that?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Anyone who needs me knows where to find me.” Except for Puma. I hope.
In addition to Aiden and my community service, it seems half the tradespeople in town have been in and out of Bubba’s these last weeks as we framed the addition, hung drywall, and installed a new-old wood floor using reclaimed lumber. Other guys are working on tiling the new bathroom, hanging stainless steel wall panels in the storage and prep areas, and generally redoing the entire place.
When we pull up, several dusty pickup trucks already sit in the parking lot. Bubba stands in a crowd of guys and looks dubious as we approach.
For the first time in my life, the group of men don’t ogle me. I used to wear it as a badge of honor to be desired, but now I’m relieved, especially after I glimpse the text messages from Puma.
He insists I reply or he’s coming for me. Not coming to see me, to talk, or catch up. No, he’s “Coming for me.”
The sweat from earlier doubles, especially in the increasing heat of the day.
Aiden tells Bubba that we’re kicking him out of the kitchen, so it can be fixed up. He seems uncertain, but Aiden points out a food truck behind the pickups.
“Rented that for you to work out of this week.”
“Aiden, you’re really going out of your way. You didn’t have to—” Bubba starts.
“How many meals have you fed me? All of us? How many times have you helped people broken down on the side of the road, donated food to community events, and time to neighbors? We’re doing this for you...and you can thank Stoll.” Aiden winks.
“Haven’t seen him around...”
Aiden grunts. “Yeah. He’s, uh, on vacation.”
One of the workers mutters something about hoping it’s a permanent vacation.
I think about my man-cation. With a glimpse at Aiden, I can say that it’s officially over.
We tackle the various projects to get the kitchen back online STAT, including stocking the silverware and assembling the refrigerated stainless steel food prep unit. It’s sweaty, elbow-to-elbow work, and although I’m already tired, it feels good to create something and see progress. The updates and extra space are going to make Bubba’s life easier and the restaurant will be a great destination for visitors to Butterbury and locals alike.
While we break for lunch, I imagine coming back here someday and remembering that I took part in this. Aiden and I sit in the chairs I brought out to the field when Beatrice was helping me with the bees.
“I hear you’re a pro beekeeper now.”
I tip my hand with a dismissive wave. “I still have a bit to learn.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stick around?” Aiden taps his boot against mine. “Get it, stick, sticky, like honey. Listen to me, making dumb jokes. Of course, you’re going to stay.”
I was thinking someone else would take over with the beekeeping when the time comes, but I’m afraid to say that and quite honestly am not sure where I’ll go. I can’t keep taking up space in Aiden’s trailer. This is community service. It’s not designed to last, which makes me think of the ladybosses’ show.
“You should have a makeover show on HLTV too, only you’ll rehab businesses,” I suggest, eager to change the subject.
Aiden chuckles. “Oh yeah? What would it be called?”
“How about ‘Nailing down the Details?’”
Aiden’s lips twist as if he’s considering it. “What about ‘Building a Bond?’”
“Hmm. Not specific enough.”
“No?”
“You want the audience to know exactly what they’re getting. How about ‘Restoring with Aiden the Handy Man?’”
He clutches his stomach and laughs. “That’s a good one, but no. I don’t think I’m a good candidate to be the face and name of a television show.”
I turn to him and walk my fingers up his arm then press my hand against his face. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and I’m here for it. I like the rugged look. It’s intimidating, manly.
My phone beeps again and I let out a thick breath.
“Anything important I should know about?” Aiden’s gaze drifts from mine to my purse hanging over the arm of the chair.
He has enough on his plate today, so I leave out the details. “Nope. What about “Remodeling Lives’ for the show?” I also don’t want to revisit the past that keeps trying to buzz its way back into the present. In a way, my life was remodeled. Like on demo day, I pulled out the notion that the only place worth going was to the top and replaced it with being here, where I am...with Aiden.
He links his fingers through mine and swings our hands between us. “I kind of like ‘Constructing a Love Story.’”
“Ah, a story like a second floor. Clever.”
“And like our story. We’re building our love story.” His blue eyes penetrate mine.
My breath stops then he leans over with a smoosh before getting up and returning to work.
Again, my phone beeps, but I close my eyes, feeling the ghost of Aiden’s lips on mine. I wander over to the beehives for a long moment. This field is a place for running around and having fun, a place to commune with nature, with the bees and their honey. It’s a place of peace.
With Aiden and while here, I feel deeply connected to everything that matters. I don’t pick up my phone for the rest of the day, hanging onto the peace that comes from nature and hard work. From friendships and community.
At the end of the day, when we return to Toby and grill up dinner, I wander out to the field surrounded by woods. Over the tops of the trees, I can see the peak of the roof to Aiden’s new house. I turn my attention back to the hum of the bugs and the whisper of the wind in the leaves. I let out a calm yet courageous breath.
I’m about to tell Aiden how I feel. That I’m scared, not sure about the future, but that I love him...when he hollers at me.
“Don’t make any sudden movements.”
I look up and meet a pair of dark eyes. Now, all I feel is fear.
This is the part in the movie when the main character gets attacked by a werewolf, has to live with a facial scar on her otherwise ivory skin, and experiences the agony of the monthly shift into an untamable beast.