19. Ember
EMBER
Ipeer at myself in the mirror. It seems stupid to be going to the hayride now after everything that happened today and the worry that has stayed inside me, even after Devon’s assurances and a positive phone call from the mayor to try to cheer me up.
I get the Civil War era dress off me and wash the makeup off my face. The last tour group was late, so Devon asked if he could clean himself up in the downstairs bathroom so he wouldn’t be delayed in picking me up for our non-date.
Just this morning, I was so excited to be going on a date with him, but now I’m a little off kilter. What’s the point if I have to sell the manor and move back home? My parents, at least, will be thrilled by this information.
The thing is, I knew buying the manor with such little money left over wasn’t smart, but it was something.
It felt like making a decision toward the rest of my life instead of staying put where I was year after year.
I was in a slump. A slump that told me if I didn’t do something, I’d have to continue to do what I was doing until I died.
It was the urge to not die a slow death that made me pull the trigger. I wanted to do something. I wanted to be someone. It was like my heart was always somewhere else and that’s never a good way to live.
So, do I regret buying the manor? Heck no. I could never. But at the same time, I can still agree that it would’ve been wiser to wait until I had better means.
The thing is, who knew when that time would come? Carpe diem and all that.
By the time I get myself dressed in regular clothes and put on a little makeup, I’m feeling a little better.
The Lacheys don’t sound like the kind of people who make empty promises, so I’m sure they can help at least get the fine reduced or waived all together.
Now that I know I can’t do these things without permission, I’ll be much more careful.
I step back and lean my head against the wall, patting the space next to me like I’m comforting an animal, but I’m talking to a house. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. We’ll bring so much life back to you before you know it.”
Lastly, I drag the costume to my room and put it back in the garment bag so I can return it to the costume parlor tomorrow.
After checking myself in the mirror again briefly, I grab a sweater and head downstairs. The grand entryway never ceases to amaze me. It’s like the stairs are a lit path toward a dream. I prefer this view over the view from coming into the house any day. I walk slow, taking it all in.
Devon catches my eye this time, though, and I decide that I like the view even better with him in it.
Gone is his costume, and the first time since I’ve met him, Devon has on a crisp pair of jeans and a dressy flannel.
White, blues, and greens crisscross over his torso.
Behind his back, he pulls out the tip jar. “I don’t think you counted this yet.”
My heart does a little leap in my throat. “I haven’t.”
“I thought it might make you feel better.”
“Did you do it yet?”
“I thought you should do the honors.”
I push out all of the negative thoughts trying to bring me down and open the tip jar, pulling out the wads of bills stuffed inside. I line up all the like bills first, and then put them in order from biggest to smallest value before counting.
The higher it goes, the more shocked I am. I even start over afterward to make sure I’ve counted correctly. When I’m sure I have, I peer toward Devon. “There’s $812 dollars in here.”
He breaks into a smile. “See, everything’s going well! That’ll go a long way with everything you want done.”
I take a deep breath, still rattled a little. I wasn’t even going to put out a tip jar. That was Devon’s idea. Imagine if he hadn’t been here.
“Thank you.”
He tilts his head. “For what?”
“For helping out. For giving me your feedback and ideas. I’m sure I probably would’ve messed everything up by now.”
“You know how much the manor means to me,” he states. The way he looks at me though, tells me there might be something else he’s decided means a lot to him too.
Fear runs through me. It’s scary being here by myself, going through this, and thinking these things.
“Are you ready?” he asks. “It’s seven.”
I stuff the money back in the tip jar and place it on the small table in the foyer.
At least that’s a positive thing that happened today.
That, and what we’re about to do. Even if nothing happens between me and Devon, it’ll be nice to get out of the house and behave like a regular person having a good time instead of a business owner resident worrier.
“I thought you weren’t going to pick me up at seven.”
He checks his watch. “Technically, it’s 7:03 now, so I haven’t picked you up at seven. Also, I didn’t really pick you up since I never left the house, so I’d say I’m sticking to my promises.”
He holds his arm out, and I loop mine through his while he leads me out to his truck.
I expect it to be a work truck with stuff everywhere.
Receipts, maybe. Take out bags. But Devon keeps his truck nice.
He helps me up into the cab, and then I wait, letting my gaze roam over everything while he jogs around the front of the truck and gets in the driver’s seat.
“I’m just going to warn you now,” he says. “If you think people are staring at us while we’re at the hayride, I can confirm that you’re right.”
“Why would people be staring at us?”
“Well, judging by the reception I got at the café earlier, people are heavily invested in how this will turn out for us.”
“Bea?”
“There was more.”
I laugh. “You know, I kind of love that. It feels sort of like the Hallmark movies I love to watch.”
“You say that now but wait until there’s a spotlight on us for everything. First date, first kiss, first—.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
He peers over. “I don’t think I am.”
The fear I felt earlier gives way to expectation. It’s like he’s priming me for things to come, pressing that certain button that starts me up just like he did with the lawn mower engine.
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.
I just watch the scenery go by as we head outside of town.
I realize now that I haven’t explored much as a new street greets me and another and another until we’re definitely in the country.
Fields and sparse houses backdropped by a fading sun, oranges and pinks filling the sky.
“Here we are,” he says, pulling into a field that’s surrounded by yellow tape. They definitely only use this for a parking lot during the fall. We’re just to the south of a modern farmhouse, black with dark wood columns.
“It’s pretty.”
“They’ve been farming this land for as long as I can remember. They just do the hayride and corn maze during this time of year, and then they have a Christmas tree farm during the winter.”
I clap my hands together. “I was actually thinking the other day where I would put the Christmas tree. Do you remember where the Lewises put theirs?”
“They had several,” he says. “Christmas was Mrs. Lewis’s favorite holiday. They had a tree right in the middle of the foyer, one in the sitting room, and then I was told there was one in their bedroom, but I never saw that one first-hand.”
“Imagine having a house so big that it supports all those Christmas trees.”
He laughs at me. “You do.”
A surprised giggle escapes my throat. “I keep drawing a line between me and them, but I guess I do have all that room! That would be fun. At least a full two trees to decorate. Maybe they could have different themes.”
He parks the truck and stops me when I try to get out. “I’m the gentleman today. Wait right there.”
He jogs over to my side of the truck and helps me down. “You’ve certainly changed from the guy who left me in a hole in the porch,” I greet him with.
“Not my finest moment.”
“Funny though.”
“I thought it was funnier when it was you and not me.”
I loop my arm through his and pat his shoulder. “Good thing you’ve fixed that so neither one of us will be tempted to let the other rot in the porch with one foot dangling into oblivion.”
“I can be grateful for that.”
I let Devon lead me toward the festivities. There’s a pumpkin patch and an apple cider booth. Everywhere I look, there are fall decorations. Scarecrows and hay bales. Cartoon green witches and ghosts. A children’s playground boasts the most people as well as a little shop.
“We have to get tickets for the hayride, and then we get on it there.” He points out an area that’s currently roped off. “The track takes us through the woods, but in the meantime, we can check out the pumpkins and drink cider. Sometimes they have craft things to do for the kids.”
“This place is awesome,” I tell him. “How cool, and everyone is having a blast.”
I try not to let my mind wander toward business ideas, but I can’t help myself. They’ve made the hayride a destination. It’s not just a spot where you get on a wooden trailer pulled by a tractor, they’ve offered activities for everyone to do or see.
“I can see your mind working,” Devon teases.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I want you to think of a bunch of amazing ideas.”
“I was just thinking how they’ve made it a destination and not just a place where people line up to get on a hayride. That would be boring. We’ll have to think of a way to keep people at the manor.”
Our gazes meet, and he blinks slowly. I’ve been using the word we a lot, but I can tell it’s not bothering him. I don’t mean to. It just slips out because we are the ones who are making Sleepy Hollow come together.
“You keep thinking, and I’m going to get us some cider.”
I tame my enthusiasm and instead, tell him “thank you” as I walk into the shop. A myriad of fall things greets me. Everything from home goods to bakery items, to cute little things for the kids near the register like light-up swords and what looks to be a sparkly wand.