Chapter 15 #2
She stood in the entryway of the kitchen, hands on her hips. “Quartz? An AGA? That farmhouse sink is the size of a bathtub.” Spinning, she tapped her chin. “No wife… oh.” She nodded, a smile playing at her lips. “You’re gay. That must be it.”
Head back, I laughed. “I am absolutely not gay.” Though I was amused by her theories. “Also, that’s a bit of a tired stereotype.”
She hung her head. “Fair. Sorry. I’m just confused. How do you have this house? And why?”
“I grew up here. When I moved in, it was very much stuck in the seventies. So I renovated it to suit my taste but also to keep it true to its farmhouse roots.”
Teeth pressed to her bottom lip, she scanned the cabinets. “You did an incredible job.”
I puffed up a bit with her praise. “Thank you.”
“And here I thought our cottage was amazing. Josh, you’re wasted as a maple farmer. You should be a designer.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Nah, it’s just a hobby. I like projects.”
She shot me an incredulous look.
But before she could snap back, I strode to the coffeepot. “So you’ve got that map?”
We spread the town map out on top of the island and walked around it, noting hayride routes that would ensure maximum safety and, in her words, “autumnal charm.”
“The routes haven’t included the Falls in years.
” I tapped the spot on the map. “But it’s been pretty dry lately, so the logging road should be in good condition.
We could loop around the town center and head down Maple Street toward the falls.
Then we could swing by the brewery on the way back.
Nate and Reed would probably love to decorate the place. ”
Nodding, she scribbled notes in her pad. “This is ambitious.”
“Nobody wants to waste time on a lame hayride. Let’s make it a true event. An experience. I’ll see if Jenn and Mel will set up a little stop for hot cider at the midpoint. Or maybe we could do music inspired by the different spots on the tour.”
Her face lit up and she wrote faster, and when she bit the end of her pen when she was thinking, it was actually pretty cute.
“How many rides can we run at once?”
I took off my hat and stretched, relishing the ache in my muscles.
“Two. I can drive and so can Jasper. We’ve got to confirm he’s not on duty, though.
I’ll check in with Uncle Ed. He and my aunt live in Florida now, but they visit often.
If he’s in town, he’d probably help. And we’ll need volunteers at various spots and to manage the line. ”
We talked through schedules, safety checks, and the budget, and every time she asked a question, she apologized.
But I didn’t mind. She was smart and detail-oriented, and it was clear that she cared. I could respect that. She’d only lived in Maplewood for a couple of weeks, but she was already invested.
“What’s the theme this year?”
“The debate over that has been intense.” She tapped her pen against the quartz countertop. “Bitsy Bramble insisted we do Maplewood Throughout History, but people fought back hard. Thank God. That would be a logistical nightmare.”
I grimaced. Shit. She was right.
“Olive suggested Romantic Rural Autumn, but all of us single people vetoed. We can’t combine fall with Valentine’s Day. It’s just… wrong.” She shuddered.
She was single. That confirmation brought to life a small pang in my chest. I’d assumed she was, given that she lived on my property and I’d never seen anyone coming or going but her and the kids. It shouldn’t, but knowing comforted me.
“Eventually we settled on Cozy Harvest Haunt but family friendly, but only after Mavis presented her PowerPoint, focusing on why she was certain that a sexy scarecrows theme would bring back all the tourists.”
I laughed. Of course Mavis would go there.
“So it’s just harvest themed for the Harvest Festival?” I chuckled.
“Yes.”
I rubbed my hands together, fighting a smile. “I can work with that. We’ve got straw bales, and we can talk to other local farmers about donating corn stalks and pumpkins. But I may need some help decorating the wagons we’ll tow behind the tractors.”
“I’ll help. And I can bring the kids.”
“Great.”
She rested her forearms on my countertop, studying me.
I let her, scanning the kitchen to give her a second.
I didn’t mind. She was so much softer and easier to talk to than she’d been an hour ago when she’d come into the barn.
So far, this version of her was my favorite, and I didn’t want her to disappear.
This woman laughed and came up with ideas and bantered.
She wasn’t the scared, closed-off woman who always looked like she was ready to fight.
“You good?” I asked eventually, desperate to know what she was thinking.
“Yeah. You’ve been…” With a breath out, she examined my face. “Super helpful.”
“I aim to please.”
She ducked, trying to hide the pink stain on her cheeks. “There’s one more thing.”
Hands on the countertop, I leaned forward. “Hit me.”
“Route decorations. Apparently I have to convince the people and businesses along the route to decorate. Which means knocking on doors.” She swallowed audibly, her attention still lowered.
“I can go with you.”
Her eyes snapped up and she inhaled. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
For a moment, silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable, just weighty.
“I’m not great with new people.” She licked her lips. “Or surprises. Or being told I’m doing things wrong.”
There it was. Not a confession. Not a story. But the information I’d been missing.
I took a risk, placing my hand next to hers so that our pinkies barely brushed.
Rather than recoil like I thought she might, she left her hand there, keeping her focus on me.
“We’ll make a schedule, plan out the conversations, and I can update you on who’s who in town so you aren’t met with any surprises.”
“Thank you.” She looked away, frowning. “It’s not that I can’t handle it. I just—”
“I know you can handle it,” I said calmly. “You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t.”
She blinked at me, unmoving.
For a moment, I could see through her tough exterior. The walls she’d built up to keep herself and her kids safe.
And I respected the hell out of it.
But it killed me that she felt they were necessary, that someone had probably caused her to hide behind them.
“I know what you must think,” she said, staring at the tiniest sliver of space between her pinky and mine. “That I was weak. And maybe I was. I didn’t see the signs until it was too late.”
I grasped her hand and squeezed it. “You are not weak,” I growled. “Don’t ever say that.”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
“You don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to tell me anything,” I added. Even if I wanted to know everything.
She’d never said it outright, but I had to assume the man she had those children with was a piece of shit. But I wouldn’t force her to share what she wasn’t ready to.
She squeezed my hand back and closed her eyes, blowing out a shaky breath. “Okay.”
She gently pulled away, and I immediately missed the warmth of her skin.
“Cozy hayrides.” She swallowed thickly and pulled her shoulders back. “I think we can do this.”
“You’re already doing it. I’m just supplying the tractors.”
The smile that spread across her face made my chest tight. This woman’s smiles undid me. They had to be earned, worked for. And when she finally rewarded me, they felt like the best kind of gift.
“Oh shoot.” She picked up her phone and frowned at it. “I’ve got to run. Julian has a birthday party.”
Adjusting my hat, I took a step back. “Fun.”
It was my lucky day, because she broke into another smile, though this one was a little more sardonic.
“On the one hand, I’m thrilled he’s getting invited to these things.
After so many years of being on the outside…
” She sighed, her body deflating. “But I can’t say I’m looking forward to spending two solid hours in a room full of screaming seven years olds hopped up on sugar. ”
We said our goodbyes and I walked her out. As she walked back up the road toward her cottage, clipboard and map clutched against her chest, it hit me. Our dynamic had shifted.
She’d asked me for help. She’d let me touch her. And she’d opened up.
She’d trusted me. And despite how little I knew about her, I trusted her too.