Chapter 9 Eve
EVE
Iarrive at the town council meeting early with my signed and dated historical paperwork filled out for review during the closed session.
I don’t usually come to these smaller meetings since there are generally only a handful of small issues to tackle before the town council retreats into their back room to approve contracts and presumably practice witchcraft.
But since I actually have a stake in today’s meeting—the historical designation of my water wheel—I come with a bag full of snacks, prepared to wait it out so I know now, rather than in two weeks when Margie’s notes will finally be uploaded, whether my water wheel was successfully approved.
I meander through the front doors of the municipal building and spot Margie up front, her glasses low on her nose as she reads through a document on the table in front of her.
Her deep red hair is piled in a frizzy bun on top of her head, two little tendrils hanging in front of her face on either side.
She glances up at me when she hears footsteps, a smile coming to her face when she sees the papers in my hands.
But before I can march my application over to her, I’m intercepted.
“Hey,” Ryder says, that flannel snug over his broad shoulders. He has a brown paper bag in one hand.
I stop in my tracks. “Hi.”
We parted as apprehensive friends the other night, but I haven’t seen him since.
And his presence here, at a mostly closed town council meeting, has me wondering whether he got wind that I was filing for historical status tonight.
He must see the question in my face, because he quickly explains, “I wanted to submit that draft of the building plans to the town council. Make sure everyone is on the same page. It’s not an official document or anything, but you seemed okay with it, and I’m okay with it.
Just want to get the town council on board too.
If I get some semblance of a blessing from them, I can charge full speed ahead with this concept. ”
“Ah,” I say. “Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.” He gestures to the documents in my hands. “Historical?”
I let out a long sigh. “Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry for your loss?”
I shrug. “Somewhere in between the two. I’m glad the water wheel will be recognized as the historic landmark it is.
It really should be. But I’m apprehensive about the cost of maintenance.
It’s been a tank these past hundred or so years—the only time it’s ever really had trouble was during a bad storm when I was in high school and a log got stuck in the mechanism—so I’m just nervous that the second I file this paperwork, it’s going to break in some way and I’m going to end up begging on the streets just to get it fixed.
Or worse, the mechanism itself will break and it’ll lose all functionality but because it looks aesthetically the same as it did, I’m going to end up going through five hundred different approvals for it, you know?
Most of the concern with historic buildings in this town is around the facade.
But the water wheel is functional and aesthetic, you know? ”
I only realize I’m rambling when I glance behind Ryder and see Margie, eyebrows raised, staring at me.
“Am I wrong?” I ask her.
“Honey, is the function of that water wheel really your biggest concern right now?” She makes no effort to hide the way her eyes travel up and down Ryder’s body. “Really?”
He struggles to hide his snickering as he elbows me gently. “Yeah, Eve, really?”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this too much. And Margie, don’t you have a closed session to get to?”
She leans back in her chair. “I do, Evie. And it’s going to take a while, so why don’t the two of you head down the street and grab some dinner while we discuss?”
“Oh, aren’t notes posted online after the meetings?” Ryder asks.
I snort. Margie raises one eyebrow.
“Yes, Ryder. Notes are posted after the meetings,” Margie says.
“Usually it takes about two weeks,” I tell him.
“Might take three or four, this time,” Margie says with a sly smile.
“Margie,” I warn.
“What? Just trying to manage expectations here. You two can sit around here waiting for approvals, or you can go ahead and have dinner down the street. Your choice.” She checks her watch. “We should be done in about two hours. Three, if Reed is feeling a little cantankerous today.”
As if summoned, Mayor Reed bustles past us, muttering under his breath and shutting himself in the back room without greeting any of us.
Margie rolls her eyes. “Make that four.” And as Ryder turns for the door, Margie shoots me a wink.
Goddamn small towns.
“See you soon, Margie,” I say, waving over my shoulder as I follow Ryder out.
“We don’t have to go to dinner,” I tell him as the oversized doors close behind us and we step down to the sidewalk.
“Why wouldn’t we go to dinner?” he asks, gesturing for me to follow him as he heads toward the center of town.
I shrug. “I don’t know. We can just wait. I’m sure Margie will kick us out if we wait inside, but we can probably head home for a bit and come back in a couple hours.”
“Head home, as in you’re going to walk half an hour back to your farm just to sit for an hour and get nothing done before turning right around and coming back?” He shakes his head. “Nah, you’re not doing that. How about The Pub? I could go for some good Irish food and some old whiskey.”
“Ryder, come on,” I say. “You have me on board with the plan—you don’t have to keep buttering me up.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not looking for just ‘on board.’ I’m looking for a head-over-heels, squealing and jumping for joy sort of ‘on board.’”
“Do I look like the squealing and jumping for joy sort of girl?”
He shrugs, then holds up the brown paper bag between us. “If you come to dinner with me, you get a present.”
I stop in my tracks. “A present? That’s for me?”
He turns toward me, nodding. “It sure is. But you have to come waste time with me at the bar or a restaurant of your choice if you want it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is it more chocolate? Because if I keep stuffing my face with your snacks, I’m going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe.”
“It’s not chocolate.” A grin spreads across his face as he starts stomping toward town again, waving the bag out at his side like I might chase after it. “Come on, Sunflower.”
I roll my eyes and begrudgingly fall into step next to him.
I bite my lip as the server rests our food down between us.
We ended up at The Pub, as Ryder originally suggested, a whiskey neat in front of him and a glass of white wine in front of me. But despite my insistence that I upheld my portion of the deal so he’s required to hand over the paper bag, he stubbornly keeps it out of reach until our food arrives.
I wonder briefly if it’s because he’s worried I’m a flight risk.
If so, I have him right where I want him.
“Thank you,” he says to the server as he licks his lips. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs, pulling his napkin into his lap and digging right into his bangers and mash.
I blink at him, thanking the server for my shepherd’s pie as I patiently wait for the present to be handed over.
Not that I particularly care about presents. I mean, I like them, just like anyone does, but the fact that I have no idea what’s inside that paper bag is a mystery that I can’t let go of.
Was he stalking my Instagram again? Did he see my newest picture where I have a sunflower covering my face but you can tell from the way my head is turned toward the sky that I’m grinning like a maniac because I found—one of many, albeit—the perfect sunflower?
How far back did he scroll? Does he check it frequently?
Can I even trust this man enough to justify getting all worked up over a goddamn present?
“So?” I ask, as he lets out a little groan of pleasure that sends all sorts of weird signals shooting through my body.
He raises his eyebrows, swallowing down his food as he nods. “Right, right. How could I forget?” He slides the bag across the table toward me.
I narrow my eyes as I dive into it, my fingers running over butter-soft fabric as I latch onto it and pull it out.
“You look about the same size as my assistant-slash-business manager… person. I asked her to run out and pick up a cream-colored one,” he says.
“As a thank you. I felt bad that your sweater was ruined and you mentioned you wished it was cashmere, so it was my attempt at an upgrade. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back and have her get you a wool one. ”
I hold the sweater against my chest, running my fingers all over the fabric. “You’ll tear it out of my cold dead hands.”
He grins. “So you like it?”
I nod, debating pulling it over my head right here and now. Then again, that might show my cards a little. “I mean, it’s okay.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Only okay? The price of that sweater could have fed a family of four for a month.”
I shrug. “Might need another one in black. Maybe navy blue. I think that would go really well with the sunflowers, don’t you?”
He takes another bite of his food. “Blue would look great with the sunflowers.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “How about we reschedule that tour from the other night and if that goes well, maybe I’ll buy you one in blue as a thank you.”
I tuck the sweater back into the bag and pull it toward my side of the table. “I’d be happy to show you around. No sweater needed,” I say, taking a small bite of my food and blowing on it. “That was really nice of you. Thank you.”
He grins. “You’re welcome.”
When we make it back to the municipal building a couple hours and a few drinks later, the closed session is finishing up. Mayor Reed blusters by us as we walk in, and Margie only rolls her eyes as she heads toward us with a small stack of papers in her hands.