5. She Didn’t See History Repeating
She Didn’t See History Repeating
Lola
The W on the welcome mat at my front door was missing. A pink wooden box replaced it.
“Where did you come from?” I whispered.
Bending over, I picked up the box, twisting and turning it to examine each perfectly crafted corner. My fingertip bumped over the tiny chicks and daisy chains carved in a border around the lid before I flicked the golden latch. Inside, six eggs lay cradled in a wooden nest with a note.
I know you’ll put these to egg-cellent use.
An enormous grin spread across my face. I didn’t recognise the neat block capitals, but I knew the gift was from Aiden. It had to be. The pink box shimmered, and I lifted my glasses to swipe away tears, hugging the gift close to my heart.
Aiden made this. For me . And it was so darling .
A week passed.
Another Sunday morning rolled around. Shrugging on my cardigan, ready to head into town, I hauled open the front door to find a plain carton of eggs waiting toe-to-toe with my sneakers.
Get egg-cited. Fresh for your box.
I glanced up.
Yolanda stood at the edge of the white picket fence, her gardening shears snipping at the roses in quick, easy swipes. A satisfied smirk danced on her lips.
“You might be right about Aiden finding someone,” she said.
My cheeks heated, and stammering some weak excuse about breakfast burning on the stove, I snagged the fresh carton of eggs off the mat and fled into the cottage.
Another week passed.
My alarm clock beeped extra early that Sunday morning, but I was already out of bed, tiptoeing to the kitchen.
I was a woman on a stealth mission. A baking ninja.
There was absolutely no need for me to creep through the cottage in the dark.
I lived alone. No one would see. But the anticipation added to the fun.
I slipped the cake container off the dining table and scurried back through the blackened maze of furniture, nearly tripping over the couch as I headed for the hallway.
Worn hinges creaked when I pried open the front door to peek outside.
Clouds smudged the moon, and except for the streetlight glowing above number four, the rest of the town still slept.
I glanced at the doormat.
Empty. No eggs yet.
I bent down and placed a surprise chocolate cake over the W with my own note tied on top with a pink ribbon.
I’m not a whisk-taker. Chocolate is always a winner. Enjoy xo
Chittering a wicked laugh, I raced back to the bedroom, dove under the covers, and tucked them under my chin.
I wriggled in the warm sheets, too excited—or was that egg-cited —to sleep.
But as the dull chirp of birds sang and the sun climbed over the mountains, my eyes drooped, and I fell back asleep.
A few hours later, as I padded to the kitchen, a yawn caught in my throat as I reached for the kettle.
Wait!
I dashed to the front door and cracked it open.
More eggs. And my cake was gone.
I sagged against the wood, my hand pressed over my racing heart, the silliest grin on my face.
Aiden .
Oh, I hope he liked the cake! I wished I could watch him take his first bite. My imagination spun out of control, a tingle rippling over my skin at the thought of the gruff thank you he’d murmur before pressing a kiss to my cheek…
Almost giddy, my head fell back against the door with a sigh. Would I have enough Sundays and different recipes to make that dream a reality?
Please .
By the following Saturday, I still hadn’t settled on my next creation to surprise Aiden.
Brooke bounced along beside me as I wandered around the market stalls. I only half-listened to her recap the latest episode of her favourite TV show, my fingertips absently skimming the edge of each table we passed, lost in thought.
Lemon… Carrot… Maybe Aiden would enjoy something unexpected like a brown butter cheesecake…
Distracted, barely glancing at the covers, I reached for another pile of books.
Brooke snatched the top one from the stack already in my hands, her eyes narrowing as she read the title. “Learn to knit.” Her nose scrunched. “Knitting!” She shoved the book back at me. “Of all the hobbies in the world, why would you choose knitting? On purpose?”
I handed the money for the books to the stall owner with an awkward smile.
Brooke arched her eyebrow, waiting for an explanation she wasn’t going to be satisfied with.
She soared through life with complete confidence.
Her idea of a good time was talking, going out, and…
dancing . I loved catching up with her for brunch.
I never minded a chat. But there was no way my two left feet were ever stepping into the Thursday night salsa class with her.
“I thought learning to knit might be fun,” I said.
More than fun. Me, huddled on my couch, the fireplace roaring while I crafted cute things.
Realistically, I was probably going to end up with a drawer stuffed full of wonky scarves and beanies with off-centre pom-poms on top, but practice made perfect.
I couldn’t be as hopeless at knitting as I was at pottery. Surely .
Brooke tossed a dubious look in my direction. “Will knitting be as fun as the jigsaw you bought last weekend?”
A little defensively, I said, “I happen to like jigsaws.”
“We need to get you a TV. Do you have any hobbies that aren’t like a cranky old nana?” Her lip curled. “Oh! I know!” She bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. “An adult ballet class is starting here in a couple of weeks. Wanna come with me?”
“I paid enough penance in ballet classes in my childhood. Why would I willingly subject myself to more torture?”
“I dunno.” Her grin turned sly. “An even hotter bod might help convince a certain someone to ask you out.” She rolled her eyes. “Finally.”
I walked faster along the row of stalls. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“Tall, dark, always wearing flannel—”
“I really can’t date anyone right now.”
“Got someone waiting for you back in the city?”
Fear shot down my spine, locking every muscle in place. I froze. Gripping the edge of the cake stall, I pulled in a trembling breath, shoving the memory of Chris’s palm stinging against my cheek to the darkest corner of my mind so it couldn’t claw its way back out.
Brooke slipped in beside me, shielding my panic from the eager eyes of the church ladies who’d crowded the end of the stall. “Lolly, I’m sorry. I didn’t…didn’t…mean to…” Her pretty features crumpled.
My hand was on her arm in an instant. I should have been better prepared for questions like that. “It’s not your fault,” I said. “You didn’t know. There was… someone . He wasn’t…”
Who I thought he was. Who he pretended to be.
Shaking my head, I finished simply by saying, “It didn’t end well.”
“I’m hearing you,” she said, dropping her voice too low for anyone else to hear. “Forget I said anything. Take your time. Men come and go. A good one will wait until you’ve recovered from the last loser.” She pressed against me in a quick hug. “The only person you need to worry about is you, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime! Now…” Her grin was back. “If ballet is off the list… Did you hear the gallery is starting a candle-making class?”
“I’m in.”
“Really?” she squealed.
“I can’t guarantee my candles will stay upright, but I’d love to learn how to make my own…”
By the time I dropped by the village store on my way home, I was still overwhelmed by too many cake options.
The trolley rattled as I rounded the next aisle.
I glanced at my list. Half the items I’d stacked next to all the junk I’d bought at the markets weren’t written on the scrap of paper I’d torn off my pink notepad.
The vanilla ice cream was an impulse purchase.
The hair treatments and face masks on the shelf in front of me weren’t on the list, either.
Another little treat won’t hurt…
I snatched one of each, dumped them on top of too many tubs of cream cheese, and kept pushing. The trolley jangled around the corner, but I pulled it back to a sharp stop.
Aiden stood in front of rows of vegetables, a basket gripped in his big hand. My heart leapt, but with my nerves tangling my feet, I rolled the trolley back.
His head turned. “Lola.” His chin dipped down in a nod hello.
“Hi, Aiden.”
Dark brows furrowing, his lips pressed together.
He was like an ancient computer. Every sentence seemed to catch in spinning wheels and error messages before finally grinding out.
I wished I were as careful as he was. My thoughts hurtled full speed to the night before, and a hot flush of shame crept up my neck.
I’d thought about Aiden when I shouldn’t have.
Alone in my bedroom, when all the lights were out, I’d imagined he’d hauled me onto his lap.
Fantasy Aiden had whispered in my ear, telling me how pretty I looked.
And when I’d slipped my hand between my legs, I’d pretended it was his fingers making me feel so good, his gravelly voice an urgent whisper, begging me to come for him.
I had. I’d moaned his name into my empty bedroom—the first time I hadn’t rushed to get an orgasm over with as quickly as possible in years.
Flustered, my heart beating too fast, I fixed my eyes on my feet. This wasn’t the time for fantasies. This was the time to say thank you.
I gathered my courage. I wanted to tell Aiden how much I loved the eggs and the darling little box he’d made for me. He must have spent hours—days, maybe—crafting it.
“Thank you,” Aiden said, “for the cake last weekend.”
He’d beaten me to it. My eyes snapped up.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Chocolate is my favourite.”
“Mine too.”
“Something else we have in common. Other than…reading…and…and…” He stuffed a hand in his pocket and, sighing, added, “Cooking.” His lips pressed flat, and he returned to his silent thinking for a few beats until he nodded at my trolley. “How are you getting all this home?”