7. Ember
EMBER
Bea-utiful Coffee & Baked Goods, Bea’s place, smells heavenly.
It always does. I’ve become a regular ever since we became besties.
Well, more like when I tasted her exquisite coffee, and if anything else were to go wrong with my move here, I’m not sure I would care. I would stay just for this place.
Pumpkins of every shape and color accentuate the interior of the cozy store.
Orange and yellow flower strings decorate the baked goods case and the picture window.
Corn stalks and hay bales. It looks like she went into the craft store and bought at least one of everything.
I’ve already begged for her help in decorating the manor when I’m ready since she certainly has an eye.
She places a white coffee cup in front of me on a little saucer along with a piece of pumpkin bread. “What did the appliance guy say?” She takes the seat in front of me, wiping her hands on her apron.
“He said the fridge and oven are fine and would probably last me a long time. The furnace looks fantastic. I guess that’s one thing the investors upgraded, and the washer and dryer work for now, but I might want to think about replacing them in the not-too-distant future. Not going to lie. They’re ancient.”
“But that’s better news than you thought,” she offers.
I sigh in relief. “It sure is.”
She grabs my cup and takes a sip, then grins. “Just testing the goods.”
I chuckle, stealing it back from her when she sets it down and allowing the spicy flavor to coat my throat and warm my belly.
When I get time to myself now, I enjoy it, no matter how short of a time period it is, and let’s face it, it’s been pretty short lately with everything I’m doing at the manor.
“Any more run-ins with Devon?”
I grip the cup tighter as I place it back down on the saucer with a little more force than necessary. “Haven’t seen him.”
Bea shakes her head. “If I hadn’t witnessed his behavior myself, I’m not sure I would have believed you when you told me how he was treating you. In fact, I hear he’s over at the pumpkin patch right now fixing their tractor for when the hayrides start back up again.”
“He brings out the worst in me, too,” I concede. “There’s just something about him.”
Bea smiles to herself, then peers around the seating area. There’s only one other person here right now, sitting in the corner with her laptop out and earbuds in. “Did you ever think it’s, you know, sexual tension?”
I careen backward, dramatically gripping my chest. I admit, the reaction is over-the-top, but no. No, I have definitely not thought that. “Are you feeling well?”
Bea laughs. “You have to admit, he’s… I mean, he’s handsome.”
I don’t want to admit it, but yeah, he definitely is.
His cut jaw. The way his t-shirt tugs tightly around his biceps and shoulders.
The man is giving off masculine vibes like you wouldn’t believe.
I nearly got in a car accident yesterday when he was chopping wood in the center of town for the Harvest Falls Bonfire.
“I feel like if I answer that the way I want to I’ll have to give up my feminist card. ”
She grips her stomach, chuckling. “Just think about it.”
“Think about what? Asking him if he wants to bone just so we won’t hate each other anymore?”
She lowers her voice. “I hear hate sex is therapeutic.”
I shake my head, refusing to acknowledge the idea. “I doubt he would agree and considering he thinks I’m the spawn of the devil himself for buying the manor out from under him, I don’t think he’d be eager to drop trou.”
“I bet he would,” she singsongs.
I grab her hand across the table, frowning. “I have something to tell you.” Her face pinches, worry fills her gaze. “I think you need to get laid.”
A laugh bursts from her chest. “Girl, yes, I do.” She stands from the table and starts walking toward the counter. “But that’s a discussion for another day. I’m glad you’ve got another guy who might help you with the manor since Devon is out of the question.”
I check my phone for the time. He’ll be here in five minutes to go over an estimate he’s prepared for the work I want done. Sprucing up the ballroom. A little bit of exterior work, including fixing the hole in the porch, and updating the toilets.
If I can get the place ready for the Fall Ball and maybe a kids’ haunted house, I can earn enough money to really put some work into it.
The possibilities are endless, especially when I take into account the acreage.
A haunted trail, maybe? Candlelight tours with ghost stories.
I’ve had brief discussions with the mayor, and she said she’d help push anything I want to do.
She’s eager to see Sleepy Hollow Manor alive again, to take its place once more as one of the centerpieces of the community.
Despite my initial reticence, Mrs. Lachey isn’t like her son at all. She’s upbeat and encouraging, and she happens to like me.
I sip my latte again when the bell over the door sounds. Bea and I both look that way when I find Mr. Shue walking in. He’s my possible new handyman. I stand and shake his hand when he reaches me. “Do you want anything?” I ask, gesturing toward the counter.
“I’d love a black coffee.”
“Put it on my tab,” I tell Bea.
As he sits, she makes a face. She thinks customers who order black coffee are psycho. I’ll be hearing about this when he leaves, probably attached to the words, “You can’t hire him. His taste in coffee is terrible.”
“So, tell me you have good news,” I start, leaving the sentence open with a hopeful intake of breath.
It took almost all the money I had to purchase the manor, so I can’t afford to bankroll huge repairs.
The porch scares me the most. The ballroom just needs sprucing, but the porch could set me back tens of thousands of dollars, but I need it to be fine.
Or at least be able to hold up the customers coming in and out for the Fall Ball.
Mr. Shue hands me a piece of paper. I scan down the front and stop on the total. Oh hell yes. That’s not bad!
“That’s for the ballroom.”
Shit. That’s bad.
He starts to hand me another piece of paper when the bell above the door goes off again.
I make myself keep scanning the paper, looking for the bad news when a high-pitched voice says, “Ember, Dear!”
I peer up to find Mrs. Lachey walking toward me. “Hi! You can’t stay away from here, can you? I’m so glad to see you’ve found a friend in Bea. How’s—?” She peers over at my table partner, and her eyes bug out of her head. “Randy Shue. What are you doing in Harvest Falls?”
My handyman prospect grips the paper tighter. His face pinches. “Meeting with a client.”
She peers from me to him. Then him to me. Her gaze sweeping between the two of us with all the enthusiasm of Eeyore. “Oh, no. Ember. We don’t—.”
“Mom,” a thick, rough voice says from behind her.
I peer around the mayor’s form to find Devon hanging back, his hands shoved in his pockets.
He’s wearing a blue and black plaid, fleece-lined jacket.
Instead of his usual work jeans, he has on a pair of fresh ones.
Not necessarily designer, but a pair that isn’t roughed up with work—paint splatters, tears, or faded colors.
Bea was right about one thing. He sure is handsome. He looks rugged and strong, like he could throw me over his shoulder. I don’t know why that attracts me, but it does.
Mrs. Lachey angles herself in front of me, trying to cut off my line of sight with Mr. Shue. She lowers her voice, using her eyes to motion toward my meeting partner. “We don’t…” She clears her throat. “…We don’t use folks from Heritage.”
“Donna,” Randy starts.
“It’s Mayor Lachey to you.”
I have to stop myself from grinning at that.
“Mayor Lachey. Miss O’Malley called me because she couldn’t find anyone who would help her do the work on Sleepy Hollow Manor.”
“Nonsense. Devon will do it.”
She peers back at her son. He snaps his jaw shut, the tips of his ears turning red. His face morphs into a scowl.
Well, this is as good a time as any to get Devon into trouble. Hopefully. “Actually, I tried to hire Devon but he didn’t want anything to do with it.”
Mrs. Lachey clutches her pearls. Literally. “Devon, why would you do that?”
“You know why.”
“No. Nope.” She shakes her head. “We are not letting contractors from Heritage waltz into our town and take our jobs.”
“Do you have a better idea?” I ask, lifting my brows at Devon who is certainly not enjoying this, but then returning my attention to the mayor.
“Well, yes. I do. Devon will help you.”
“I’m not helping her.”
“Well, Randy Shue certainly isn’t helping her.”
“Can I just…” Randy interrupts, peering around and eyeing everyone with disgust. “…give my client the proposal?”
“Well, how much is it?” Mrs. Lachey asks, tearing the paper out of his hand. She peers briefly down the paper and laughs. “This is too much money.” Then to me, she says, “This is ridiculous. Is there a Harvest Falls tax on here? Doubling the price just because you have to come to our town?”
I press my lips together as the two of them square off. If I disassociate and watch this like I’m watching a movie, it’s hilarious. If I remember that I’m actually front and center in all of this, it’s embarrassing. Anxiety-inducing, even.
“I’m sure it’s a decent and fair estimate,” Devon says. “Can we eat now?”
“We’re sure not going to do that while this man is trying to pull a fast one on our new neighbor, Ember.”
“Ember can take care of herself,” notes Devon.
“She can,” pipes up Bea. “But I’m sure she’d love some help.” She puts every ounce of innuendo in that sentence, and my face is suddenly as hot as the beach in August during a heat advisory.
I swallow the humiliation, choking it down.
“Devon will do the work,” Mayor Lachey says.
“I won’t.”
She turns toward her son, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone.
“You will, and you’ll like it.” Their gazes meet, and she takes on a softer tone.
“Would you rather someone else do it? If you’re there, you can make sure it’s done right.
You can keep an eye on things and make sure the history is preserved.
If someone else does it, you will have no say.
” She says the last bit slowly. Punctuating each word.
I’m trying to figure out the meaning behind her words because clearly, she and Devon are talking about something I’m not privy to. They have a whole conversation with their eyes, and I take the time to peer over at Mr. Shue. “I’m sorry about this.”
“No, she’s not,” Devon interjects. “Sorry, Shue. Ember O’Malley won’t be needing you after all.”
“E-excuse me?” I sputter out.
The mayor claps her hands, neither one of them giving me an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. Soon, Mr. Shue is packed up and out the door, and instead, a grumpy looking Devon Lachey is glaring at me.
“That was rude,” I tell them.
“Oh no, Ember. It’s not that at all,” Mayor Lachey coos.
“The two of us were just looking out for you. Heritage workers are lazy, expensive, and nearly intolerable. Trust me, it’s better this way.
Devon will get you fixed up the Harvest Falls way, and you’ll be open for the Fall Spectacular in no time. ”
I peer toward Devon, who still looks unhappy, but he’s chilled a little. A very little.
“I, for one, am all for this new development,” Bea offers.
I give her a look that tells her she’s not being helpful. Who knew people from small towns stuck together like this? “Okay, but I’m the boss,” I say, peering between everyone.
“Of course. Devon takes great direction.”
“I sure as fuck don’t,” he says under his breath.
Whether his mother hears him or not isn’t entirely discernible. If she does, her face never changes as she peers at me hopefully.
I sigh, my stomach clenching in the process. “I’d love to see an estimate. I guess.”
Mayor Lachey grips my shoulder. “He’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
I peer up to find Bea gesturing suggestively with her hips. As soon as Mayor Lachey turns to order, she’s all smiles and no gyrating. “Good to see you, Mayor.”
I move my gaze to Devon, and for a few seconds, we just stare at one another. This might be a complete disaster. One thing is for sure, I can’t let him ruin my enthusiasm, so mayor’s choice or not, if it doesn’t work out, I’m calling Mr. Shue back.