Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
OLIVE
I ’m doing that thing again.
That thing where I wake up super early to go to the bathroom, but then lay in my bed and try to fall back asleep but my brain plays embarrassing or idiotic things I do on repeat.
I overshare. I know I do. And now I’m wondering if it was a mistake to tell Liam so much about my life.
I fumble in the dark for my phone and tap it. It blinds me, and I squint at the time.
4:46 a.m.
Ugh.
You overshared. You blabbed. You were too honest, and he probably didn’t even care.
Shut up, brain.
So what if I told him about my life? I want to know about his, too, but I didn’t press. I can guess he doesn’t like to be pushed into talking about things.
It’s easy to fall into this pattern with Liam, because there’s a sense of familiarity.
Platonic familiarity, for sure. He’s made that clear. He darted out of here so fast last night he might as well have said so out loud.
Not that either of us is looking for anything else, him especially.
But there was a moment . . . I know I didn’t imagine it.
And now my brain is telling me it was dumb of me to bring up the first kiss. I didn’t mean anything by it , I talk back to the voice in my head, I was just commenting on it . But now, from his reaction—and the fact that he remembered it—what exactly did it mean to him?
What exactly did it mean to me?
We were twelve, for crying out loud. Just kids, right?
I sigh. I’m not falling back to sleep anytime soon.
On a more realistic note, I hope I’m succeeding at making him love the farm. He did find that amazing spot for the market, so that’s something.
I try to sleep for a bit longer, but once I’m up, I’m up , so I give in and get out of bed. I pick up my phone, tap it to see the bright 5:12 a.m. shining at me and I tell my phone to shut its mouth and then toss it on the bed.
I shower and get dressed, and when I get downstairs, I take a minute to give my little tree the sideways glance it deserves. It’s so strange-looking—tall and weird and skinny and sparse—but I love it. I loved it when I saw it at the farm, and I loved it when Liam set it up in my living room, and I love it now. I can already see how amazing the pink, red, and green ribbons and handmade ornaments will look.
When I’m finished with it, it’ll still look like a little weirdo, but it’ll have way more personality than its taller, fuller, cookie-cutter cousins, and that’s all I really care about.
As my coffee brews and my Pop Tarts toast, I start sending emails—people I know from living here all my life and from running my own business. People who will want to know that the Pine Creek legacy is going to change hands, one way or another. People who can help generate support for our Last, Best Pine Creek Christmas.
The Last, Best Christmas. I linger on the phrase. It’s celebratory and nostalgic, with a hint of melancholy and tradition.
I attach the event calendar Jo approved, making sure everyone knows what’s happening and when, in hopes that the word will spread . . . and even though it’s only about 6:30 in the morning, I hit send.
I give a satisfied sigh and stand to grab my coffee when out of the corner of my eye I see a response push the rest of my emails down. Within seconds, more responses do the same. Do these people sleep?
The mayor wants to know if Pine Creek will still be supplying the town with its Christmas tree. Clark at the newspaper wants to come out and do a story. And the head of the Loveland/Pleasant Valley area chamber wants to know why “those Fisher kids” aren’t taking it over.
“I wish I knew, Trish,” I say out loud.
I open Instagram and see that Lacey has fully taken over the Pine Creek account. There are stories and videos and—a photo—I pinch my fingers on the screen to enlarge it. In the foreground is a little girl, holding her mother’s gloved hand and wearing an adorably oversized stocking cap. But in the background, the area I’m enlarging, there’s me, standing in the line for the carriage ride. I’m looking at the horse, and next to me is Liam—looking at me.
The photo is grainy and dark, but I’ve never seen this expression on his face. It’s kind, almost admiring.
Opposite to the permanent scowl he’s been wearing lately.
I’m trying so hard to figure him out, I’m probably projecting. I’m sure I’m reading into it. At the moment, Liam doesn’t even seem to like me, let alone admire me.
Which means he’s still a mystery.
After I eat, I grab a travel mug, fill it with coffee, and drive out to the farm. I don’t know what time Liam will be available to help me measure the spaces for the market, but I work here now. Jo didn’t give me a time to show up, and I don’t punch a clock, but I still want to be here, in the mix of things. I want to be a part of it all. It’s a shame it’s only for the month because I think I would be pretty good at dreaming up fun events for the farm.
Last night, as I fell asleep, I found myself thinking of new ideas—ways to make Pine Creek a year-round destination. The property sits between two small, charming towns near one of the nation’s largest cities. Surely it could attract enough business if marketed right.
I start thinking about it again, this time with clear eyes and fully caffeinated.
I know there have been weddings on the property, but I don’t think Jo and Brant ever really leaned into that idea. It could be a full-fledged event center and wedding venue—off the beaten path, too, perfect for unique, memorable experiences for all walks of life, both corporate and personal. I wonder why they never pursued that. I can’t think of a more beautiful place around here to get married.
This thought leads to another thought and then another and before I can stop it, my mind is whirring with new ideas. Cabins around the lake. Getaways for families or couples, each one with enough space to feel secluded. In the summer, we could play up a rustic, vintage glamping theme. We could do bonfires for all the guests or what about—honeymoon hot tubs in the woods?
That makes me think of my parents, and I shudder.
Maybe not honeymoon hot tubs in the woods.
The shop could become more seasonal, swapping out Christmas décor for other things—lake-inspired or camp-inspired and . . . what if the café became a full-fledged restaurant? The kind that garnered local and regional praise? What if Pine Creek came out with a line of merchandise we could sell on the website and in the shop? Mugs and stocking caps and sweatshirts and cozy blankets . . .
Ideas start coming at me like a derailed freight train.
I pull over and grab my iPad from my bag. I start writing furiously, unable to keep up with all the “what if” ideas racing through my mind, not the least of which is—what if Lacey is right? What if she and Liam are supposed to buy the farm and turn it into something even more special than it already is?
Yeah, he doesn’t want that.
But . . . she might. Is there any way that could work?
Once I’ve downloaded every creative idea in my brain, I pull back onto the road and drive toward Pine Creek. My heart is racing from the rush.
I’ve missed this feeling. The way creativity captures me, and I can’t write fast enough to keep up with the ideas. Losing the shop closed that door for me. It didn’t seem worth it to try to be creative when my creativity failed in such a monumental way.
But now, palms sweaty and mind reeling from a metric ton of ideas, I make a decision.
I don’t want to sit back and watch life happen around me anymore. I want to be a part of something great . Could Pine Creek be that thing?
But as I pull into the Pine Creek lot and park in the space right next to Liam’s truck, reality does its thing. He’s made it clear he has no interest in running the farm, no matter how much Lacey wishes he would. It would be wrong to try and convince him otherwise.
Plus, logically and geographically, it wouldn’t make sense for him. He hasn’t said much about his job—or about any subject, for that matter—but with his prior mobile game success I’m guessing he’s got a pretty sweet deal in Indy.
This realization doesn’t stop me from thinking of T-shirt designs and branded scented candles and local wintertime soup mixes and a line of hand-drawn Pine Creek Christmas cards—but the sight of Liam standing near the office barn with his mom does.
They’re talking to a man I don’t recognize. He’s wearing a suit and a long gray dress coat. He looks out of place next to Liam in his jeans, work boots, Carhartt jacket, and baseball cap.
I linger for a split second.
Okay, fine, a split three and a half minutes.
I watch. There’s something about this guy I immediately don’t like. I can’t hear or even see what they’re saying, but his body language screams smarm, and Liam looks like he’s clenching his fists in his pockets to stop himself from decking him.
Liam is endearingly handsome when he doesn’t talk.
That thought makes me laugh to myself. Great guy, good-looking, but a total jerk when he opens his mouth .
The kind, soft, tender side of Liam has to be in there somewhere, right?
What happened to you? Where’s my friend? His name is Liam, have you seen him?
I tuck my iPad into my bag, grab my coffee, and get out of the car, and when I do, I hear Jo call my name.
I wave and trudge toward them as the man in the suit turns toward me. I stop moving.
Travis.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Olive, come here! We were just talking about you!” Jo’s smile is so bright, it can only mean she has no idea Travis and I used to be a couple.
More than that.
He was the one who broke my heart.
My eyes drift to Liam, who refuses to hold my gaze.
Great. He probably knows the whole story. He and Travis were friends. Heck, they still could be for all I know .
So, Liam probably knows everything. I wish I did.
When Travis ended our relationship, out of nowhere and seemingly on a whim, I was the last person to find out. And once I did, he didn’t even have the courtesy to call me. He sent me a “sorry it’s not going to work out” text and called it good.
After a year of being together . . . who does that?
This walking tool bag, that’s who.
That alone should’ve been reason enough to prove he wasn’t worth my time, but he was my first real boyfriend. And when I’m in something, I’m all in. I wouldn’t have been with him if I didn’t think it could potentially last.
After it ended, I just felt dumb. Dumb for believing a single word he said. Dumb for wasting my time. Dumb for falling. Dumb for loving.
Does Liam know what a jerk his friend is?
Jo rushes toward me, loops her arm through mine and pulls me toward the men, where I’m met with familiar cold silence from Liam and an overly charming smile from Travis. The same smile that won me over all those years ago.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Jo gushes. “I was just telling Travis about some of your amazing ideas. You two probably don’t know each other, but Travis is an old friend of Liam’s. They went to high school together.”
“Actually,” blech, gag, I can’t stand the way he talks , “Olive and I have a history.” Travis’s eyes brighten, like the pleasure sensors in his brain have just sparked. He extends a hand in my direction. “Olive . . . is the one who got away.”
I look at his hand, still outstretched, and notice that Liam looks like he’s chewing glass.
“Oh!” Jo gasps, eyes wide. “Oh? Oh . . . I didn’t know that! How—” She glances at me, then at Liam, and finally—finally—Travis realizes I’m not shaking his hand and tucks it into his coat pocket. His smile holds.
Jo shifts into full make-the-best-of-it mode, a carnival barker in front of the burning big top because the elephant stampeded. “How . . .er. . . coincidental! And wonderful!”
“It is,” Travis says. “Or it was.” He looks at Jo and pastes on a pout. “I really messed it all up.” He gives me a once-over. “Huge mistake letting her go.”
“Letting me go?” I laugh, unamused. I feel heat start to rise on the back of my neck. “That’s a funny way to put it.”
Liam looks at me, but I ignore him.
“Water under the bridge, though, right?” Travis’s smile hasn’t faltered once. Twenty-one-year old Olive couldn’t see what I see now. The way Travis chameleons depending on who he’s with. The way he uses his good looks and his charm to get people to do what he wants.
He also made me believe he was someone worth loving.
Oh, buddy. Do I know better now.
“What are you doing here?” I use a purposely light tone, hoping my faking it covers the daggers my eyes are shooting.
“I came out to get a tour of the property,” he says. “I was just telling Jo and Liam that I might have a buyer.” He looks at Jo. “Should be able to get you quite a nice sum for this place. It has tons of untapped potential.”
With that, a knot in my stomach tightens, and I bristle at his thoughtlessness. I glance at Liam again, and he finally meets my eyes.
He’s ticked.
Internally, I’m screaming, Say something! Because honestly, is this what he wants? For the farm to fall into the hands of anyone Travis brings our way?
“I didn’t know you’d already listed it,” I say to Jo.
“We haven’t,” she says. “If this buyer isn’t interested, then Travis is going to take care of getting it on the market. He’s one of the top real estate agents in Chicago.” She says this last part like a proud parent.
Sounds like exaggerated Corner Park gossip started by his mother, but I don’t say so. I steal a glance at Travis, certain he’s aware I’m looking at him. His suit is expensive. His coat is expensive. Even the watch he’s wearing is expensive.
Travis has done well for himself.
If only his hairline had stuck around.
“We think it would be smart to have it listed as soon as possible,” he says. “Best to get moving quickly.”
Ah. Now I see why she no longer wants to wait until after the holidays. Travis twisted her arm.
He looks at me. “Jo says you’re quite the event planner, Olive.”
Jo smiles sweetly at me. “Yes, if we’d hired her years ago, maybe there would be less untapped potential.”
Liam looks away, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Jo’s snarky side, but it’s doing a number on Liam.
Travis is currently standing at the corner of Someone Else’s Job and Oblivious.
“Well, I am enjoying it,” I say, realizing that the flurry of ideas that just downloaded into my brain on my way out here doesn’t matter.
The farm is being sold.
And unless the new owner wants to hire an event planner—and keep everything else exactly the same—there’s no point to any of it.
Travis’s phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket. “Sorry, I’ll just be a minute.”
Jo nods at him as he steps away, then turns to me. “Olive, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s fine, Jo,” I say. “It was a long time ago.”
But it doesn’t feel that long ago. And I hate that it doesn’t.
“Are you sure? If it’s too awkward, I can?—”
“List it with someone else.” Liam’s tone has a finality to it.
Jo frowns. “What? You’re friends! I can’t do that. ”
“Yes, you can.”
The lines in her forehead deepen. “It’s why I reached out to him in the first place, because you two knew each other. I hoped he’d help us find a buyer who understands how special this place is.”
“He doesn’t speak that language, Ma.” Liam drags his hand down his face, and I notice his beard is a little fuller today. “And we aren’t friends. I haven’t talked to him since college.”
“What? Surely not,” Jo says, matching my surprise. “You boys played baseball together. He was always around.”
“Yeah. Until he wasn’t.” Liam doesn’t look at me, but if he did, he’d see a big, fat question mark over my head.
Jo leans in, as if there’s a danger of Travis overhearing. He’s in sales mode, slathering on the charm like he’s got a mint condition Buick Skylark, low miles, one owner, non-smoker, he can’t wait to see you in. “What happened?”
My eyes drill down on Liam’s, but he’s glaring at Jo.
“We should just get someone else,” he snarls, then storms off.
Jo watches him go, and then looks at me, warily. “We already signed a contract. I think . . . I think it’s exclusive too.” There’s a tight line of worry in her brow. “I didn’t talk to Liam about it because I thought he didn’t want anything to do with this place.” She looks at me, a sigh crinkling the corners of her eyes. “And I really thought they were friends.”
“I thought so too,” I say sincerely.
Her lips go straight, in a tight line. “I’m so sorry. Was it a bad break up? You and—” She nods toward Travis. “Because at the very least we can keep him away from you.”
I shake my head, not wanting to dramatize my heartbreak. “Let’s just say life took us in different directions. He decided one day to . . . um . . .go in a different direction. He was playing baseball for a farm team, he moved away . . .” I glance at Travis. “Just timing.”
It’s the abbreviated, watered-down version of the story, but it’s one I feel comfortable sharing. I leave out the part about how utterly devastated I was. And the part about how it took me months to recover. And the part about how I found out later he’d been stringing me along for weeks before he moved away.
Me and a few other girls.
Even the thought of it now churns up anger.
There’s nothing quite as devastating as finding out someone you trust has betrayed you in such a basic, horrible, humiliating way. The fact that I let myself believe I was to blame wasn’t his fault though. That was mine. And it took a lot of Phoebe time to start to believe there was nothing wrong with me.
Some days, I’m still not sure it’s sunk in.
She squeezes my arm. “So, you’re okay?”
I smile. “More than okay. Promise.”
Travis hangs up his call and walks back over to where we’re standing. “Sorry about that.”
Jo smiles warmly. “Travis, I’m so sorry you chose today to drop in. Brant took Lacey to breakfast in Loveland, and Liam, uh, had some other things to attend to, so we will have to postpone the tour after all.” She clears her throat. “I have to go into town. I’m getting a few supplies for my wreath-making class.” She glances my way. “Lord knows I need to practice.”
Travis looks at me. “I just need to get a feel for the place and take a few photos. Maybe Olive could show me around?”
Like heck I will.
I frown. “Yeah, no. I just had my tour yesterday. I’m hardly an expert.”
“Like you don’t know this place like the back of your hand.” He scoffs. “I still remember how excited you got every time we came here.”
“We came here once.” I have to work to keep my face neutral.
He points at me, his salesman grin firmly in place. “But you were excited! Eh?”
I look at Jo, who is doing her best to make it clear I don’t have to do this, but I work here now. I’m part of the team. And if someone needs to show our real estate agent around the property, why shouldn’t it be me?
I also need to prove to myself that he can’t get under my skin.
“Fine.”
“Great!” He grins. “If Brant can send over those numbers, we should be good to go. I’ll pull some comps and get the appraisal going, and we’ll find a time for my potential buyer to come out and take a look if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Jo says. “And Olive, please come back to the office when you’re finished. Liam says you two found a good spot for the market. I shouldn’t be in town long, so we can go over everything when I get back.”
“He found the spot,” I say. “And it’s perfect .”
The spark of excitement is back, right there below my surface. As soon as I scrub off this icky Travis layer, I can spend some time with it.
Because I have to make this market a success. Partly to prove that Jo wasn’t wrong to believe in me, partly to prove to myself that I can do creative things again.
But mostly because I’m really, really excited about it.
Jo walks away, and I look at Travis.
He grins. “Olive Witherby.”
I raise my eyebrows, but don’t respond.
“So, you work here now?” His smile is so dangerous, I have to look away.
“It’s temporary,” I say. “Seasonal.”
“We met here, remember?” He looks off, as if trying to access some memory in his rodent brain.
“Oh, I remember.” With Jo gone, I allow some of my true feelings to creep in.
A party Liam threw right before our senior year of college. Phoebe found out about it last minute, and we decided to go, along with every person our age in the tri-state area. I remember standing by the bonfire with Phoebe when he walked up.
Liam was different then. On his way to becoming the person he is now, I suppose. He seemed shy, a bit quiet, but funny in an observational way and a little nervous.
It had been years since I’d seen him, and then only in passing. But then he started talking about school, about this idea he had for a video game. I knew Liam spent a lot of time locked in his own imagination, but this conversation proved it.
There was so much more to him than anyone knew. I would’ve told him that, but in the middle of the conversation, Travis walked up.
I might be misremembering, but I think he slithered up.
He was flirty and charming and more handsome than anyone that age had the right to be. The kind of guy who oozed confidence and charm well beyond his age or experience, and he spent the rest of the party talking to me. I never did figure out why. Guys like Travis usually gravitated to Phoebe. Or . . . anyone else.
Before we left, I found Liam and said a quick goodbye, thinking it was odd he’d disappeared so quickly when our conversation had been going so well. It was nice to catch up with him, rediscovering why our friendship was special when we were younger, but then he was gone, and I don’t know why he stopped talking to me.
I didn’t question it that night—I was too shocked that someone like Travis seemed to like me. It was new. And fun. And exciting.
He and I dated for a year. Travis was my first real boyfriend. I’d dated in high school, sure, but those relationships consisted of standing on opposite sides of the gym at Sadie Hawkins. They felt so juvenile compared to my relationship with Travis.
I fell hard. Immediately .
He was so outgoing. So confident. So easy to talk to. Even though we went to different schools, we made it work. And then one day, with no warning and no reason—he stopped calling or picking up my calls. I’d text him and get no response.
I found out on social media that he’d started playing baseball for a farm team in Michigan.
In that moment, I realized our relationship meant a lot more to me than it did to him.
A couple weeks later, I got his brush-off text. It took me a solid week, a pallet of Kleenex, and a thousand pints of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia to finally accept it.
We were done.
It was a terrible way to end a relationship, and standing here now, I’m not sure I ever really got over it. Maybe a piece of me didn’t quite accept Phoebe’s explanation that it was all him. That there was nothing wrong with me.
Because looking at his dumb face, reliving all those memories, I feel a lot like I did when I closed my shop for the last time.
Like a failure.
He reaches over and tugs on the sleeve of my coat. “You look good, Olive.”
“I know,” I say, feigning confidence. I cross my arms over my chest and meet his gaze. He watches me, and dang it—he’s as handsome as he always was. I straighten. “What’s up with you and Liam?”
Travis takes a step back and glances toward the barn. “Nothing’s up. We haven’t kept in touch is all. Now that he’s back, maybe we’ll go out for a beer and get caught up.”
Good luck with that , I think.
After a pause he asks, “What’s up with you and Liam?”
I frown. “We’re friends.” Sort of.
“Just friends?”
“Why do you care?”
A shrug. “I was thinking about asking you out. ”
I laugh, but it comes off like a scoff, which is also appropriate.
“Seriously, Olive, we were good together, weren’t we?”
The absolute nerve. “Are you serious?”
“We were!” He watches me, and I wish I was the kind of person to act on instinct, because I feel the need to introduce Travis’ face to my fist.
“You had a funny way of showing it.” I glare at him through narrowed eyes.
He shakes his head. “Biggest mistake of my life.”
I toss him a look that I hope communicates whatever .
“Seriously,” he says, almost sincere. “I was an idiot. And a coward. I knew I was going to be gone that whole summer, and I needed to take my shot—concentrate on baseball.”
“And you didn’t think you should at least call and tell me?” I shake my head.
“I should’ve,” he says. “It was dumb, and I’m really, really sorry.”
I press my lips together and glance over at the barn, as if anyone in there is going to come save me.
Travis holds out his hand. “Let me make it up to you. We’ll go to dinner—you pick the place. Catch up, like two old friends.”
“We aren’t friends,” I say, arms crossed.
“We could be.” Arms out wide, shrugging, grinning, Cheshire Cat-like. “We could be more than that, if you want to.”
If he got caught on camera cheating on his wife in their own bedroom, he’d be the one to say, “Naw, babe, that ain’t me. It’s a deep fake, you know I only have eyes for you.”
I shake my head and walk off in the direction of my car.
Travis follows. “Come on, Olive, give me a chance. I’m not the same guy I was when I was twenty-two. I’ll prove it.”
I stop beside my car. I slowly turn and level his gaze.
His smile hasn’t dropped once. Neither have his arms .
“I’ll drive,” I say.
He gives my car a once-over, then glances over his shoulder at the big, fancy Escalade parked beside it. “For . . . the tour? Are you sure? I can?—”
I open the car door. “I’m giving the tour, so it makes more sense if I drive.” I get in and start the engine. I watch him hesitate, then finally fold his tall body into my tiny VW Beetle. He looks at me, and I don’t even try not to smirk at him.
“Comfy?” I ask.
He shoots me a thumbs-up.
“Good.” I pull out of the parking place and peel down the gravel driveway as he lunges for his seatbelt.
“Yeah, you’ll probably need that,” I mutter, making a hard left, enough to pitch his face into the window. “Careful, these roads are a bit rough.” I smile at him.
He gives a weak nod and clips his seatbelt.
As I adjust my rearview mirror, I see Liam step outside the office, watching as I drive off with Travis.
I can’t be certain, but through the dust kicked up by my cartoonish peel out, I thought I saw him turn around, go back inside, and slam the door.