Chapter 19
nineteen
IN THE BACK SEAT of Whitney’s SUV, Daniel looked up from his phone only to realize Ruby was still talking. She hadn’t stopped since they’d left the inn that morning, and honestly, he wasn’t sure what she’d been saying.
Offering a grunt of general agreement set her off again.
“Aretha said you’re staying on the island through Christmas. Is that right? Well, when you’re back in the city, I know this great Indian place. We should definitely get dinner sometime. I can introduce you to my friend who works at All Terrain. I mean, you’ll probably meet him as soon as you start at the office. When is that? I’m sure you’ll be so busy, but a man’s got to eat, right? And this place is so good. Authentic and so spicy it’ll make you sweat. You just have to try it.”
Glancing at the rearview mirror, he caught Whitney’s eye and offered a quick smile. She looked like she was fighting a grin and quickly averted her gaze back to the road.
He went back to checking emails from his new job. For someone not yet officially on payroll, he sure had a lot of them. Questions from the CEO about when he would submit his budget-savings plan. Questions from the finance team members about if empty positions were ever going to be filled. Or worse—cut. Questions from district managers about ways to increase revenue.
All this, four days before Christmas. Of course, this was the busiest season of the year for retail. But it was also supposed to be a time for family and friends, to stop and ponder the Christ child born in a manger. This was what church pageants and Christmas carols were about, right?
If this was what his new job demanded of him in his personal email, he already dreaded seeing his work email.
It was what he’d signed up for. But that had been before Whitney. Before he’d wanted to figure out how to fit someone else into his life.
Now he did. He just didn’t know what that would look like. Or where she’d be. They’d been interrupted by Ruby in the kitchen the day before, before he could ask Whitney what she was going to do. If she wasn’t going to culinary school, what did she see next for her life? And was he part of it?
He sure hoped so.
After turning off his phone, he tucked it into his pocket and watched the back of Whitney’s head as they wound their way down two-lane roads bordered by white-dusted pines. A hurricane the year before had downed many of the majestic trees, and their remains were hidden beneath piles of pristine snow that glittered in the morning sun.
Every now and then the sun would catch a highlight in Whitney’s hair, and he’d have to fight the urge to wind it around his finger. Then he’d catch a word or two that Ruby said and remember that they weren’t alone. And that Ruby thought they were having a conversation.
He grunted in response to nothing in particular, and Ruby turned to him, her face aglow. “I know, right?”
He had no idea what he’d agreed with but forced a smile in response.
“You seem so much happier lately. Aretha was really worried about you, but I told her, I said, ‘He’ll come out of his shell. It’s probably just the travel and time zone change.’ It always throws me for a loop too.”
Whitney let out a low chuckle but then covered it with a cough. Ruby didn’t seem to notice and chattered away as the main highway led them right into town. They went as far as the street did, then turned onto a narrow road between homes on the right and an oceanfront boardwalk on the left.
He didn’t know what this island’s fascination with boardwalks was, but every town seemed to have one. Each as beautiful and serene as the last. Whitney parked along the road, and when he got out, the burst of cold air rushed through him, welcome and invigorating. For a moment he considered making Poppy Donaldson wait so he could sit on one of the benches facing the ocean and just enjoy the smell of sea and ice and wood-burning stoves from the nearby houses.
But Ruby reached his side before he could move, her hand slipping into his elbow and holding him close, her other hand clasping the folder of documents for Poppy. “Sure is cold this close to the water.” She let out an exaggerated shiver and sidled even closer to him.
Whitney had stepped out of the car too, and she stood next to the closed door, hands in her pockets. Her nostrils flared, and she blinked several times. But she said nothing. She only punched her hands deeper into her pockets.
He couldn’t tell if she was trying to communicate something to him or if she was fighting off the chill. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
Ruby didn’t give her time to answer. “We shouldn’t be too long,” she said, effectively dismissing Whitney. With a glance in each direction, she towed him across the empty street toward a two-story pink house. Its boxy shape didn’t match its bubble-gum exterior, but it seemed just the type of home that someone named Poppy would own.
Ruby rapped swiftly on the turquoise door, which opened almost immediately with a warm greeting from the surprisingly young woman there.
Daniel managed one quick look over his shoulder to see Whitney standing all by herself on the boardwalk before he was whisked into the cozy warmth of a quilting haven.
The young woman at the door closed it softly behind them before moving to stand in front of a crackling fire in the hearth and pulling a phone from her pocket. This couldn’t possibly be Poppy, the techno-averse artisan who still owned a fax machine.
“My grandma will be right back. She said you can look around.”
That tracked.
He nodded as he perused Poppy’s current projects. Three quilts were stretched on large wooden frames that dominated the room. A peek down a narrow hall suggested the frames dominated the whole house. A two-foot Christmas tree on a table in the corner couldn’t compete.
Each of the frames was nearly two meters wide and almost as tall, and held an intricately designed quilt top stacked over batting and a mostly solid panel of cloth for the back. The edges were still rough, but the beauty was already there. One quilt featured red cloth jutting out into blue—clearly the beach—and a myriad of yellow fabrics shooting out from a round sun on the horizon.
He turned to show Whitney how beautiful it was, but she wasn’t there, and he could have kicked himself for allowing Ruby to pull him away from her. She was the reason that they were even meeting with Poppy—that any of the quilters had been offered a fair deal.
And she was off staring at the real ocean instead of seeing it represented in fabric.
“Everyone gravitates to that one.”
He looked up as an old woman shuffled in from the kitchen. Her shoulders were stooped, and her white hair was pulled into a thin knot at the base of her neck. Age spots covered her face, and her hands looked riddled with arthritis. Her skin and eyes were so pale that the only thing bright about her was her yellow terry-cloth tracksuit.
“Thanks for waiting on me,” she huffed as she slowly covered the distance between them. “Had to take some chicken soup to my neighbor, who’s ailing. Don’t tell nobody that he can’t take care of himself, but he’s not as young as he used to be.”
Daniel smothered a chuckle, wondering just how old the man must be, given Poppy’s advanced years. She was ninety at least. Maybe more. But she grinned with as much joy as Julia Mae.
“I’m Daniel Franklin.” He held out his hand, but she swatted it away, her fingers never quite unfurling.
“Sure, sure. Figured you were Aretha’s family. She eyes my spreads the same way.”
“Your spreads ?”
“Well, I suppose when they’re done, they’ll be spread across someone’s bed or the back of a chesterfield. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve been working on this one for nearly three years now.”
His stomach dropped. Less than a thousand dollars for three years of work—and that didn’t include the supplies to make the thing. He gulped at the reality, and she chuckled.
“Boy, we—none of us—make ’em to make money. We make ’em ’cause they’re beautiful. We make ’em ’cause we can put a little bit of ourselves out there into the world. Because in a few generations, someone’s great-grandbaby is going to learn to crawl on something we made.”
She leaned in closer to the stretched fabric and ran a gnarled finger along an intricate pattern of tiny stitches. He’d missed it before but realized now that only a corner of the quilt top had been sewn together, the white thread forming a pattern of perfect little sunbursts.
“Figured I’d better work on something a little more seasonal this time of year though.” Poppy easily slid the front rack to the side to reveal a vibrant blue and silver piece of art. Fabric had been cut and sewn into multisided star shapes, the colors ebbing and flowing from star to star. And holding it together was silver thread in an endless row of precisely stitched five-pointed stars. Each a unique size, but somehow making a perfect decorative pattern.
“Do you do this by hand?”
Poppy’s granddaughter snorted. “She won’t get rid of her landline. No way she’d buy a sewing machine.”
“Hush now, you.” Turning back to him, Poppy dropped her voice to share her secret. “I tried one of them pedal machines, but I sew a straighter line.”
“Even . . . ?” He nodded toward the swollen knuckles of her hands.
“It’s not so bad so long as I keep them moving. This keeps me going.”
Whitney would like Poppy, and he wished again that he’d insisted she come inside with them.
“How long have you been—”
Ruby’s impatient cough stole the rest of his question. She had already settled on a small sofa that looked like it belonged in some old English estate. The papers that had been in the black folder were now spread precisely across the short coffee table, taking the place of the colorful quilting books that had occupied the space when they arrived. He looked around and found them stacked on the floor below.
That took some audacity to rearrange a person’s house. Especially someone they wanted to negotiate with. That hadn’t been on his mom’s list of ways to interact with people, but it would have been if she’d sat in on this exchange.
Look people in the eye to show them you’re listening.
Give them a firm handshake.
Don’t rearrange their books without asking—even if they’re not in alphabetical order.
Poppy paused at the same time he did, her eyes wide and unblinking. After a long moment of silence during which he debated with himself if she would use the word impertinence , Poppy finally shuffled toward the couch. “I suppose you better show me what you drove all the way down here for.”
Ruby immediately launched into an explanation of the agreement to purchase Poppy’s quilts directly from her instead of through the consignment agreement she had with Aretha.
Poppy nodded along as Ruby took the contract point by point. After three pages of details, she looked up at Daniel. “So, you want me to act as a wholesaler and sell you my goods at a discount? As long as I don’t sell to anyone else at the same discount?”
Ruby’s eyes flashed.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised, girl. I’ve been selling things longer ’n you’ve been alive.”
Daniel turned back to the quilts to cover his smile as Ruby and Poppy hashed out the details. Poppy asked more questions than the other quilters had, her mind clearly sharp and filled with a lifetime of business knowledge.
After several minutes, Poppy signed on the bottom line with a smile, her pen strokes a little shaky but still determined.
“Thanks for making the trip,” Poppy’s granddaughter said as she showed them out. “Do you need a cup of coffee for the road?”
Ruby tugged him out the door with a quick wave for Poppy. “We’re fine. Maybe we’ll go celebrate somewhere.” As she led him across the street, the heels of her impractical boots clicking against the pavement, she gave him a broad smile. “We really should—celebrate, I mean. I can’t believe we got all of them to agree to the new terms and sign off before Christmas. The sale is complete now. All we have left is for the bank to do their thing and Aretha to pass over the keys. Well, technically, she’s already given me a key. But, you know, the official changing of ownership. So, what do you think?”
“About the keys?” Daniel was trying to pay attention, but he kept scanning the horizon for any sign of Whitney.
“No, not the keys.” Ruby’s perfect eyebrows flattened. “Celebrating. Together. We could go out for a special dinner. Just the two of us.”
“The two of us?” He couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. The only person he wanted to celebrate with was Whitney, and he spun slowly when he couldn’t find her shape along the boardwalk.
“Daniel!” Ruby’s voice was sharp. “Are you listening to me?”
“Not really.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and her audible gasp told him he shouldn’t have let it slip.
“Hey, guys!” Whitney’s voice split the air, and he spun in her direction. “I’ll be right there,” she called, holding up a white bakery bag that he already knew held those butterscotch brownies she’d told him about. His mouth began to water at just the thought.
Ruby jerked at the cuff of his coat. “Daniel? What about dinner for two? Your aunt said you wanted to spend some time together.”
“My aunt said what?” He shook his head. He didn’t need her to repeat that. “Ruby, I’m...” His eyes darted to Whitney as she approached, her breaths coming out in little puffs of air. “I’m seeing someone.”