Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Autumn
“You’re changing your clothes again?” Meg says, following after me.
"Yes!" I bark. I'm also attempting not to murder my bestie. She's only in town for a couple more days. I'm focusing on clothes and not the fact that Meg just accepted a date for me.
A date —as in dinner, dressing up, guy-and-girl-go-out kind of a thing. The kind of thing I haven’t done in… oh… forever !
“I could run into Daniels and see what they have at Walmart,” she suggests.
“My meeting is in twenty minutes. Daniels is thirty miles away.” I shake my head, staring at my white T-shirt and red plaid button-up. My jeans are clean, at least.
“We could try the thrift shop,” Meg says, her blue eyes scanning over my outfit. “Or we could cut a few inches off the bottom of my slacks.”
“Meg—it’s fine! You were right before. I’m the boss here. I can wear what I want!”
She wrinkles her nose. “You’re mad about the Kip thing? Right?”
“The Kip thing?” My brows rise to the very top of my head. “If you are referring to the date you accepted on my behalf, well, I’m not exactly thrilled.”
She blows out a sigh. “This is your red bikini.”
“Excuse me?”
She waves one hand at me. “When I went to Hawaii, you stole my swimsuit. You shoved that red bikini into my suitcase. I had no choice but to wear it. And in the end, I was glad.” She nods, so sure of herself. “This is your red bikini.”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m giving her this only because that red bikini was so outside her comfort zone, like Wyoming-to-Australia outside.
I can always cancel my date with Kip once Meg leaves town.
Meg wraps her arms around my back and pulls me in for a hug. She hugs me tight until I can’t help but forget my anger. She loves me. Truly. And she’s trying to help. Besides, I have more pressing things to worry about. I’m down to ten minutes before my interviewee arrives.
“It’s fine,” I say, hugging her back. “I’m just stressed. Who knows why? I’m the one doing the hiring today. I mean, in place of the Linus’s, of course. They could override me, they’d have every right, it’s their funding and—”
She drops her arms and steps back to look at my face. “Whoa. They aren’t going to override you. They trust you. You’ve been dreaming about your own restaurant for years, Autumn. You’ve thought of everything… Well, except for this outfit”—she wrinkles her nose—“but everything else. Stop with the doubts.”
I breathe in, grateful again that Meg is here. Even if she is a weasel who accepted a date on my behalf with the sapling truck driver. She’ll head back to Hawaii and Kal in three days, and then I’ll be stuck here again, all by myself.
I’d go on that date with Kip if it meant she’d stay.
As it is, I will be backing out the minute Meg boards her plane.
And—I'm not technically by myself. I need to be more grateful. I have people. Lots and lots of people… The Linus's, Dessie, and Don are like family and I adore them. I've been helping them run the Christmas tree farm and their trio of Airbnb's for years. And then there's Mom. She's in town. Never far away. Depending on me and ready to listen if I ever feel like talking.
I stayed for her. And, of course, for Dad.
My heart pinches with the thought of my father.
Because while Mom and the Linus’s are still here. He isn’t.
“You have your list of questions?” Meg asks, bringing my thoughts back to the present.
“I do.”
She reaches out and tucks a straying hair from my ponytail behind one ear. My hair might as well match my clothes. Ponytails and plaid go hand in hand. Right?
“And you’re meeting him, where?”
"At the front office." I nod. I've got this. I have years' worth of research data and ideas burning a hole in my pocket.
This is merely a variation of the dream I had all those years ago.
Sure, I’d hoped to go away… far away, New York far. Instead , I’m still in Love.
I planned to go to one of the best culinary schools in the country, work in a prestigious restaurant, and become a Michelin chef before thirty. Instead , I never made it to school. I haven’t even worked at a McDonald’s, let alone a fancy restaurant. I’m two years away from thirty and I don’t have a lot to show for it, besides my slowly declining medical bill stack.
My subconscious reminds me, never letting me forget— Ezra . Or as I like to refer to him, at least when I have to refer to him, he-who-must-not-be-named . You know, like Voldemort. I’m not saying Ezra is Voldemort… but I might as well be writhing in pain like Harry Potter whenever he comes up in conversation. Because, yes, he was a part of that plan too. A big part.
Okay, maybe this isn’t the dream, opening a little sit-down bistro in Love—population nothing—on a Christmas Tree farm I’ve been working in since I was a kid.
Can't it be a new dream? No New York, no Michelin stars, no formal education.
And no Ezra.
I mean, he-who-must-not-be-named .
But without Dessie and Don, I wouldn’t have the chance to cook at all.
Instead of pining for what isn’t, what was never meant to be—AKA Ezra Bennett—and the life I’ll never have, I just need to be grateful for what is .
And most of the time, I am. Truly.
“Ready?” Meg says. Sweet, beautiful Meg who now lives in paradise and knows nothing of my once-upon-a-time boyfriend. She wasn’t around then. That’s one of a million reasons I love her so much. She never mentions he-who-must-not-be-named .
Although—I’m pretty sure Summer told her about him. Darn that sister of mine. If she weren’t so young and adorable and five hundred miles away, I’d make her life a little more miserable.
“I’ll walk you over. My car is that way anyway.”
I groan and tug on the ends of my flannel shirt. “When will you be back?”
“We’re having dinner tonight, you loon.”
“No, I mean, after you leave.”
“Oh.” Her nose wrinkles. “New Years. We’re visiting my family in Colorado for Christmas. And of course, I’ll come see you too.”
I groan again. Because New Years is too far away. And because I'm nervous and a bit whiny. I can't help it, I am a ball of nerves and self-doubts right now.
We step outside of my seven-hundred-square-foot home and walk toward the tiny building we call the office . There’s a man waiting by the locked office door. His back may face us, but I know a nice suit when I see one. I wonder if he’s regretting his fancy shoes on our all-dirt drive.
Still, it’s got to be my architect interviewee.He’s early and I’m anxious.
Let’s get this over with.
My heart thumps. This is happening. After ten years, my life might be back on track.
Meg snatches a hold of my hand and spins me around to face her. With both of her hands on my shoulders, she dips her head to look me straight in the eye.
“This is your Hawaii,” she tells me.
“I thought that was the date with Kip?”Meg’s metaphors are confusing me today.
She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “Kip’s the bikini. This interview is your Hawaii. I didn’t want to go. I almost didn’t. I wanted to take that red bikini and hide away in my hotel all week.”
“Right—instead you went to a very public place where you lost your shirt in front of Kal’s whole family, showing everyone your bikini top.”
She shuts her eyes. “That’s beside the point. What I’m saying is—this is the part you want to avoid. The part that makes you uncomfortable. But this is the part that’s going to lead you to your dream. Now, go on! Grab that bikini and get on that plane!” She swats to my butt, sending me off.
"Oop!" I yelp. With that stupendous pep talk, how could I not be ready? So, I walk over to the man I hope to hire—mostly because I never ever want to have to do this again.
Dessie never gave me his name, only said that the architect would be here Wednesday and I should make decisions.
I can do this. I can make decisions.
I have done much harder things than this.
Burying my father, for one.
Saying goodbye to Ezra, for another .
Neither are happy thoughts and yet they give me a little strength. Nothing could be harder than what I did five years ago. Nothing .
Meg’s long legs only need two strides to catch up to mine.
She pauses before heading left to the parking lot. She’s waiting to see if I need another bikini speech.
I don’t.
But I’m going to have to prove it to her.
“Ah, hello,” I say to the man’s back and Meg gives me an encouraging, not-so-subtle thumbs up.
He turns at my voice. And with his attention, I’m pretty sure someone hits me with a stun gun. I stare, but I do not compute. Which is maybe why that tiny, not-so-pretty, four-letter word falls from my mouth.