Chapter 20
Scarlett
Standing in my kitchen I lean against the countertop as the time ticks down.
A steaming cup of tea warms my hands and I try not to give too much weight to the fact that Lydia may be right about the upcoming storm.
It’s still a few days off but I’ve been watching the forecast and for once, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to break or slow down.
Today has been colder, in fact I put an extra heat lamp in the chickens coop earlier.
The fact that they weren’t huddled directly underneath it the last time I checked on them gives me hope that the coop is now warm enough.
Movement catches my eye and Grumpy –I mean Jake– is out doing his rounds around the farm.
It’s funny because he really doesn't strike me as a super routine oriented person but the man really does have a noticeable routine. Not that I’m stalking him of course, but with being so close it’s hard not to notice.
Hard not to notice those tattooed forearms. They’re literally like the size of my calves.
And his biceps? I can’t count how many times I’ve imagined what they look like under that flannel.
Watching him around the farm in the spring and summer are going to be a sight to see.
I let my imagination run wild for a second about how his broad back looks when he tosses those bags of feed over his shoulders.
And I may or may not have dreamed about what his abs might look like under those bulky warm layers.
A timer brings me back out of my daydreams and I swear to God I may have drooled a little bit.
Which is just insane. The absolute last thing I need to do is fuck things up with my next door neighbor.
It doesn’t matter if he’s hot, slightly older than me, and potentially charming.
I need to have these panties on lock down.
Or lock up? I don’t know what the correct phrase is but I need to keep them on.
At all times. There is to be no hanky panky with the neighbor. Ever.
A thought runs through my mind like the voice of an enemy.
Then why did you bake him bread? Matter of fact, why did you bake three loaves of bread in order to make sure one of them was perfect for him?
If the voice in my head had a face it would be sneering.
And I would punch it, right in its stupid mouth.
“I made him bread because I felt like an ass for being all defensive the other day. And I made one for Cami too. And the third one is for me.” Great, not only am I answering the voice in my head outloud, I’m lying to myself.
I absolutely did make three searching for the perfect loaf.
Not only is the oven in this house a different brand but it seems the temperature probe might be slightly off.
The first loaf I made like I used to in my apartment.
Same times, temperature, everything. I had already perfected my recipe so I wasn’t worried about it.
Unfortunately the bottom was just slightly too burnt.
So, I made another one, which was better, but still not quite as perfect as I’m used to.
With one more adjustment I was finally able to make the third loaf the way I expected the first one.
It was really all about learning the new oven.
Totally not to make the perfect loaf for the maybe not so grumpy neighbor next door.
The smell inside my little cottage was exactly what I dreamed it would eventually smell like when I first walked in.
Fresh baked bread was a smell that I would bottle if I could.
I’m surprised they don’t make candles that smell like freshly baked bread.
Or if they do, I need to find them immediately.
Because I can’t get enough of it. I wrap the two loaves I plan on giving away in these adorable little bags I found on etsy a few months ago.
They may have been a drunken-middle-of-the-night purchase but they have proven to be useful.
They were sold in a set of fifty bags with five different designs on them.
Two were Christmas-y which I used most of over the holiday season.
And the other three were farm related. I decided that Cami’s should be the one covered in goats with different types of hats on.
I figured she’d get the kick out of it. And even though I haven’t exactly seen him on a tractor yet, I wrapped Jake’s in the one covered in various sizes of green tractors.
It seemed the most manly of the three. It was that or chickens with hulk arms. I figured the tractors were safer.
Once they were wrapped, I put on a pair of my favorite blue jeans.
The fact that they made my ass look great was irrelevant.
What I wore as a top didn’t matter since I covered it up with my white down coat.
I brush my air so that it looks perfectly staged underneath my favorite beanie.
I dab on just a touch of mascara and for good measure, a swipe of my favorite lip gloss.
I reason with myself that this too has nothing to do with the neighbor.
I just want to feel good about myself and since I don’t have a job that requires leaving the house, I feel like I don’t put as much effort in as I used to.
So, there. Not wearing makeup for the neighbor. It is entirely for me.
On my way over to Jake’s house, the wind picks up.
If I weren’t carrying two loaves of bread that I put all my love and attention into I would have said hell with it and turned around.
But, I persevere and before too long I’m standing at the door holding two, slightly less warm loaves.
I juggle them for a second, almost dropping one, in order to ring the doorbell.
It chimes in a melodic way that I thought was surely only for the movies.
It sings a song that lasts almost a minute and I’m so sucked into the tune of it that I’m actually surprised when the door opens.
And there he is, grumpy once again. Jake opens the doorway with a vengeance, the scowl etched into his skin.
I know he’s at least a little older than me based on the amount of salt in his pepper black hair but I can’t help but wonder what he’ll look like as an old man.
Will he have that scowl etched so deeply by then that his face forgets how to smile?
While I’m debating Jake's old man face, it changes. He doesn’t wipe away the scowl completely but it morphs into something more like confusion. Which I think I bring out of him a lot. I want to laugh at the thought but I bite my lip and hold it in.
“Can I help you?” he stumbles out. I can feel the aggression in his tone waiver by the time he’s done with the question. For some reason when he walked to the door he thought that whatever was on the other side of it was a threat. I’m not sure how to unpack that.
I hold up the loaves of bread as a peace offering and clear my throat before saying, “I baked bread.” Smooth Scar. Smooth. “I mean, I baked you and Cami some bread.”
Now the confusion sinks deeper into his face along with the scowl.
A deep crease forms between his brows. “Why?” He asks.
I want to be annoyed that he chooses to ask that instead of saying thank you like a normal person but I suppose it’s warranted.
I haven’t exactly been warm to him since we met and this is me trying to at bare minimum make amends.
As much as I tell myself that sex is off the table with this man– and it is– I don’t want to have such a tumultuous relationship with him either.
I’d like to defrost this thing between us, just enough so we can cohabitate in peace.
Next door to each other. And nothing more.
So, I take a deep breath and I explain, “I feel like maybe we got off on the wrong start. And I needed to test out my new oven. It’s a little bit different from my old one so I did a few practice loaves today and these two were the best ones of the batch.
” I paste on my journalist smile, letting him know I come in peace.
“I thought Cami might want one, if she’s here today. ”
He looks behind him like Cami will appear in the room and says, “Uh, she isn’t here today but she might be tomorrow.”
“Alright, well, I’ll let you decide if you want to save it for her or not.
” I hoist the bags out in front of me for him to take.
Almost reluctantly, he reaches out towards me and accepts my peace offering.
He looks down at the bread in his hands and an awkward tension hangs in the air. “Well, see you.” I say.
I turn around and get down to the last step before he says, “I’m sorry, about being weird just now,” he leaves the doorway empty as he now stands on the edge of the porch looking down at me.
“No one has rung the doorbell since my dad passed and something about it sent me back to a time that apparently, I wasn’t comfortable with.
So, I’m sorry for being weird about it. My response should have been thank you. ”
Wow. I think that was the longest stretch of words he’s said since we met. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure there were more feelings in that body than just anger.
“Maybe I should change your nickname to Shrek,” I blurt out.
The baffled look is back on his face. “Wait, what?”
“Well, I was calling you Grumpy, mainly in my head, but maybe Shrek is a better nickname.” A full blown smile spreads across my face. Well so much for my peace offering. Go ahead Scarlett. Give the man some bread and then call him an ogre. You’re doing great.
“Why?” He says the word with more syllables than it requires, as if he wants to know the answer but he’s a little afraid to.
“Because you’re like an onion. You’ve got layers to you.
” I can’t help but let out the smallest chuckle.
Jake stands there absolutely dumbfounded holding two loaves of bread I spent hours making and the absurdity of it all just makes me laugh.
With my right hand, I wave slightly and walk off towards my home without looking back.
I can’t look back because if I do, I’ll laugh even harder.
Jake has the good graces not to say anything, or else he just simply doesn’t know what to say.