Chapter 6
Fern gets gifts.
Elliott left, and Fern blinked at the door for two seconds before cranking her music and packing another bowl. She wanted to zone out, to not overthink whatever that was, and she needed to get her freaking apartment unpacked.
A little determined and a lot stoned, she organized her silverware drawer, found a home for her rainbow of towels, and fought the dresser until it closed.
At four-thirty she stomped down the last of her cardboard boxes, stripped out of her clothes, and jumped in the shower.
Beneath the hammering stream, she revisited what was a contender for the longest Saturday ever.
A final determination could be made after the welcome party, but the odds were looking good.
She'd left the house at six that morning to drop off her U-Haul before her ten o'clock meeting with Rosalind, the slowly retiring owner of the Big Chop. Ros gave her a tour, and Fern fell in love with the white clapboard exterior, the four windows framing the forest green door, and, of course, the flamboyant woman herself. Much like Ros’s exterior, the building’s interior was bright with a rustic ambiance that seemed the norm in Beckett Falls.
There was even the perfect unused corner for a new manicure station.
The hours were reasonable—relaxed. Closed on Sunday and Monday, they never opened before mid-morning and rarely stayed open past three. Occasionally, there’d be a late afternoon, if the people were needy.
“Hair grows fast around these parts,” Ros had claimed, patting the side of her gray pixie cut.
That all sounded good to Fern, flexible and rewarding, exactly what she was looking for.
Rosalind planned to work a few half days each week to help ease Fern in—but it was definitely to help ease herself out.
The older woman joked she might post up at the bookstore to keep up with the town’s news, or sit right by the salon’s front window if a chair was free.
Fern had assured her she’d always be welcome, even in retirement, then Ros promptly gave her the boot. Delivered with a beaming grin and a hug, Rosalind said she had an eleven o’clock appointment and wanted to soak in every moment of her “last official full day.”
On her way home to organize her hellhole studio, Fern had only wasted ten minutes looking at books in Reads maybe he liked it.
She dressed up too, trying to convince herself it was for herself, for fun, or maybe because Liv was throwing her a party, and Liv was the best. But she knew it was for him—at least a little bit.
Olivia had suggested driving over, but Fern knew their house was less than a quarter mile away.
It seemed silly to leave the lot, especially on such a pleasant night.
So, she flounced from her apartment in her worn brown sandals and teal sundress, enjoying the late afternoon sun and warm breeze as she walked the block and a half to Northrop House.
Flickering sunlight reflected off the historical landmark sign at the end of Ben and Liv’s long drive, and Fern ran her fingertip over the embossed lettering as she searched for the source of a chittering in the leaves. A squirrel, probably.
Lined with tall pines and canopied by leafy branches, the route welcomed her, shadowy and enticing with a bend up ahead that obscured the house from view. A little moth flitted by before leading the way, and she followed along.
The moth darted left, vanishing into the trees, leaving Fern overly aware that her sandals crunching on gravel were the only noise in the woods.
Her heart drummed a heavy cadence, and she felt like Jessica, walking out of her tent in the desert to a silent night and a strange spaceship a hundred yards away.
Not even a bug buzzed.
A crack and a crash broke through the quiet, and Fern’s eyes went wide. She hoofed it, jogging toward the house until the sounds of the forest started up again.
At her back, there was a rustle in the foliage, a huff, and a, “Hey.”
She spun to find Elliott emerging from the trees, straightening the hem of his crisp black T-shirt and holding a big basket in his other hand.
“What the fuck? Hi.”
His low laughter rolled toward her.
“Did you just run through the woods?”
His hair was down. Longer than she thought, it swung past his shoulders in thick waves. She itched to shove her hands in it.
“Yeah, I walked up.”
“Isn’t your house way down there? Why didn’t you drive? You’re a weird dude. What’s in the basket?”
He fell into step beside her. “Bread. I uh— I owe you an apology.”
“For creeping out of the woods?”
“Two apologies. I shouldn’t have done that, and I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have kissed you earlier,” he choked out, surprising the hell out of her.
Her heart crumpled up like a gum wrapper, and she fought the urge to look at him, knowing she’d only find his awkward charm. Focusing on the dirt, her gaze flicked from one half-buried cobble to another, and she wished she could be like them: swallowed up by the earth.
She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up. Stupid and impulsive as always.
“I’m not looking for a relationship right now. It’s just not a great time.”
“Okay.” What else was she supposed to say? She wasn’t looking for a relationship either; most people weren’t searching when they found one. Relationships just happened—in her experience. But if he wasn’t into her, fine, she could take it with dignity.
An awkward silence descended as they crunched up the road. The birdsong was back, that was something.
“How much bread’s in the basket?” she asked, searching for anything to fix the tension he’d caused.
“Four loaves. Three for the party, one for you to take home.”
“Elliott—” Dragging out his name, she pressed a palm dramatically to her chest, happy to act instead of letting the weird end to their non-relationship plague the moment. “Another present?”
He chuckled, and her tender heart sighed. “Got a couple more. There’s a housewarming gift, too.”
“Ooh, what is it?” Shooting her arm out, Fern grasped for the basket, but he swung his long arm wide, and she couldn’t even come close to reaching it.
“No. You have to wait to open it.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she caught a whiff of his rich, woodsy cologne. Why was he so... like that if he wasn’t interested? Her eye roll was just wrapping up when Northrop came into view.
She’d seen it through the phone on video calls with Liv, but it was more gorgeous in person.
A sprawling two-story home, gabled windows sprouted from the roof, and tree trunk pillars lined the porch.
It was a woodland mansion through and through.
After appreciating the beauty, Fern’s next thought was that she’d hate to have to clean a place so large.
Props to Liv and Ben for dealing with it.
Elliott sped ahead and she feared, for a second, he was abandoning her so they didn’t have to walk in together. But he stopped at the front door and swung it open, waving her through first.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, slipping inside. The foyer was larger than she’d imagined but still cozy. A sweeping, amber-colored wood staircase climbed the lofted room to the second floor.
“Have you been here before?” he asked. “I could gi—”
“Were you trying to sneak in? I didn’t hear the bell.” Liv came down the stairs in a white boat neck top that showed off her shoulders, tanned from their usual tawny brown to a warm chestnut.
With a pointed finger, Fern identified Elliott as the culprit, and thought he might’ve cracked a smile behind his beard.
“Come on! Let me show you around. Fitz, get that bread to Ben, he’s manning the kitchen.”
With that, Elliott went one way, and Fern was dragged another, on a short tour of Northrop that took her up one staircase, down a second, and through two living rooms before they wound up in the front hallway again.
As they stepped into the kitchen, she was hit with a wave of chatter and the mouthwatering scent of garlic and basil.
Noa bounced over and offered to grab drinks: a lager for Fern and a chocolate milk for Olivia.
It was Liv’s first incessant craving, and if Mama was getting them this early in her pregnancy, Fern couldn’t even imagine how bad they’d be in a few months.
“Of course he’s cooking for us,” Olivia mused as she moved further into the room, and Fern peered around her bouncy curls to find Elliott at the stove.
“Didn’t you say he cooked for your first date with Ben or something?”
“He Ratatouilled Ben.”
“Ohh.” That made enough sense, she didn’t ask for further explanation.