Chapter 2 Henry
Maybe I was coming on too strong, or too soft.
I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I thought we’d clicked the first time we met, but he was being avoidant.
I couldn’t blame him, though. I was new to town, he didn’t know me, and that’s exactly why I wanted to spend some time together, so we could get to know each other.
So far, I knew Leo worked two jobs, he had no known allergies, he loved a slogan T-shirt, and he had a teddy bear keyring on his keys—or maybe it was on the loop of his jeans.
I was usually super observant, but something about him made my hands get clammy and my brain just spew out the wildest things.
The bakery consumed most of my time, getting it ready for the big opening in two weeks, right before the festival. But Leo consumed my thoughts—his smile, his work ethic, and of course, his love for all things sweet.
He didn’t call or text that day, or night. It wasn’t until I was covered in paint that my phone decided to buzz with a text from him. In a mask and goggles, my phone wouldn’t unlock, and my fingers were covered in white gloss, so I couldn’t grab it either.
There was no winning in the moment—either get paint on my phone, or don’t answer and let Leo think I was ignoring him. Although, what was he really going to think in the five minutes it would take me to clean off the paint and get to my phone to call him back.
Not much, actually, because in the next moment, there was a knock at the door. There were old newspapers up against the glass, but as I approached the front door, I could see through a slit in the papers to Leo outside.
“I’m covered in paint,” I said from behind the door.
“Oh, well, I was just wanting to take you up on your offer,” he said. “About helping you figure out the taste of Pineberry, and also something that’s true to you.”
“Give me a minute, I just need to clean my hands off.” I should really have been wearing gloves, but in the heat, I’d taken them off after five minutes because the insides were covered in sweat.
Once I’d got some of the paint off, or dried it down to my skin, I went to the door where Leo was still waiting patiently. I’d seen myself in the bathroom mirror—not really fit for public consumption in my tank top and sweatpants combo—but he was here, and I wasn’t going to send him away.
Leo stood in the doorway with a huge grin. “I did not expect you to be all . . . you know, messy.” His eyes traveled up and down, lingering from my arms where the paint had dried to my hair. “I can help if you want. I’ve painted a lot of the walls in the community center.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t have you doing this, it’s messy work,” I said.
“Then why open the door at all?”
“Okay, well, maybe I do need a little help, but you can’t really get paint on those clothes,” I said, seeing the nice denim jean shorts and T-shirt he wore, again, with the small teddy hanging from the loop in his jeans.
He swung his backpack off his shoulder. “I was actually going to head out on a run, so I have a change of clothes I don’t mind getting dirty.”
I never truly believed in fate, but everything since the moment I arrived in Pineberry Falls felt like the hand of fate had been working in my favor.
“Then I won’t stop you,” I told him. “If you wanna change in the restroom. I’ll get you a pair of goggles and a mask.
You don’t want to be inhaling all these fumes. ”
“It’s really warm in here. Do you have something in the oven?”
A laugh escaped me. “Oh no, I’m still waiting on the air conditioner to be delivered. But I’ve opened some windows in the back in hopes it’ll cool the place.”
Leo stared at me like I’d asked him to engage in risky behavior. “Sounds like we’re going to melt, but I have nothing better to do.”
“Plus, it’d be a huge help to me,” I said. “And I’ll make sure you’re rewarded handsomely, with free coffee and cake.”
His eyes widened. “Coffee. Okay. You’re speaking my language. What about a hot chocolate?”
“Like a mocha?” I asked. This was useful, actually.
The time I’d worked at a coffee shop in my teens, more than twenty years ago, was just a little hazy and rough in my mind’s eye.
I’d watched some online tutorials, and bought one of those handbooks for the machine, but nothing beat the true test of a customer ordering. “I think I could do that.”
“Perfect.”
Leo changed into some sweats and a cropped T-shirt with some bleach stains .
. . or perhaps it was tie-dye. I’d stepped behind the counter, most of it covered in plastic sheets to keep the paint from splashing on it.
The process was simple, according to all the guides.
You crushed the beans, ground them, put them in the puck, tamped down, and into the machine.
It wasn’t my first attempt or even my best, but with what I’d learned, I made him a mocha, and an espresso shot for myself. And while it was stifling in here, the heat from the drink seemed to acclimatize my body’s internal temperature to it.
“You know what would make it incredible?” he said, smacking his lips.
“Please tell me.”
“Whipped cream, in a spiral, and marshmallows. Edible glitter would also be fun, and maybe even chocolate shavings on it. You know, like a slab of chocolate and just grate it over the top.” He demonstrated with gestures of what could easily have been cheese and a grater too.
“Once I’m stocked up, I’ll make you just that,” I told him. “How about one step further? Put in a little graham cracker with the marshmallows and you’ll have a s’more in a cup.”
Leo’s mouth opened wide. “That is—” He placed a hand to his chest. “Forgive me for what I would do for that, but I know it would not be pretty.”
“You’re funny.”
“Thanks, someone told me it was a defense mechanism,” he said, blurting out the admission, then he pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to keep it closed. “Well, are we going to paint or what?”
“Yes, absolutely. I’ve got you the necessary equipment.” I nodded to the second pair of goggles and mask. “And if you feel lightheaded at all, let me know, and we can take a break.”
He nodded. “You’re lucky I came over,” he said. “We’ll get this done in no time.”
“Well, I did invite you, but I didn’t expect you to be doing this with me. I am very grateful you want to help, though. It was going to take me the entire day, and then some.”
With Leo helping, it wasn’t going to take long at all, although we were becoming preoccupied with conversation. It was only natural he had questions about me, and I had them about him, but I waited for his slight interrogation to be over with first.
“Okay, so you were in Chicago, you had this big fancy job, and then something came over you . . . was it the flu?” he asked, his tongue between his teeth like he knew he was being a little bit sassy.
“Because I mean, coming here, you’re not going to turn this into some million-dollar business like they have in those cities. ”
“You know a whole lot more about me than I do about you,” I said. “I’m not saying I want a whole history, but why did you choose Pineberry Falls?”
“Grandma lived here when I was growing up. Throw a stone, ask half the people who are my age, and they’ll have a similar story about coming here during summer,” he said. “She sold her house and moved into a retirement village in Connecticut. She sold it like ten years before I even moved here.”
“So, where do you live?”
“There are some apartment buildings dotted around if you leave the main town center,” he said. “I live in one of those. A studio apartment. It’s a—a bit cramped, but I’ve got everything I need. And two amazing jobs.”
“How do you manage that?”
“How do you manage to get so much paint over yourself?” he asked.
I knew I’d hit a nerve, and I wasn’t going to pry. If he wanted to tell me, I’d be open to listening. “More paint on me than there is on these walls.”
“How much more painting have you got to do?”
Glancing around the bakery, I had plans—big plans—which was probably going to be my downfall.
Like he said, this wasn’t something I was going to turn into a million-dollar empire, and that wasn’t the plan.
I just wanted something cute, cozy, and mine.
This filled those boxes. “I’ve got some chalkboard paint for the back wall as well behind the counter. ”
“Chalkboard paint?” he repeated with a gasp. “Do you think you’ll use it all?”
“Probably not. Although it’s my first time using it, so I really have no idea how much to use. But it’s only going on that area over there above the shelves, so I can write my menu.”
“If you have any left, I’d take it off your hands.”
“For the community center?” I asked, imagining it would be useful for the same thing on one of their walls.
He paused for a moment, a big smile forming. “Sure.”
“Or personal use?”
Turning, he started painting again. “It won’t be wasted, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He let out an adorable giggle.
There was something about the way time flew by when I was around him. It wasn’t the most productive, but since we were both working on the walls, it didn’t take us much longer until we were done.
I invited him up to my apartment above the bakery to clean off. “I’ve got the good stuff,” I prefaced it with. “Gentle on skin and strips the paint right off. I can’t send you out there covered.”
“I already said yes. Plus, I want to see what it looks like up there,” he said.
“You know how long I’ve passed by this place and wondered what it looked like upstairs.
I have a friend, Jace, whose family owns the ranch up the road.
He wanted to buy this place . . . like, it wasn’t something he actually tried to buy, but you know when you have a dream to do something? This was his dream.”
I sucked on my teeth. “Oh god. I—I kinda feel awful now.”
“Oh no, don’t. Jace would never leave the ranch anyway. He practically runs the place now,” he said. “Besides, once you’re open, you’re going to be giving them business since most of the eggs in town come from them.”
I had been put in contact with someone. “Wilde Ranch, right?” I asked. “Oliver gave me their contact details. They’ve got some good deals on eggs. I’m gonna need a whole lot of them as well.”
Leo scoffed. “Like a ton of them.”
Probably not that many, but ballpark figure. “I’ll make sure I only get and use the best eggs from them.”
As we headed up to the apartment above, Leo talked about how it was all one big community here and everyone helped each other, which is why he was pushing the ranch’s eggs onto me. He’d also said they were the best eggs around. It felt like he worked on commission.
“I like the community here,” I said, showing Leo around the apartment, which was mostly still in boxes that were stacked everywhere and labeled with large lettering in black Sharpie.
“I was always working and far too busy in Chicago to feel like I had a community. I had people I worked with, and we’d go out for drinks and food occasionally, but since leaving, I haven’t been contacted by any of them.
” We reached the bathroom where there was already a large skin-friendly paint remover on the counter of the sink.
“Their loss. Did they even taste the cakes you were making?”
I laughed. “No, I really got back into baking when I started watching all those baking shows on TV. There’s nothing better than watching people battle it out to see who has the best sponge or filling.”
“And don’t forget about soggy bottoms.”
“Don’t worry, no soggy bottoms here, I promise.
” I winked at him, it was totally unintentional, but as I did it, there was a warm tightness over my chest, as if it was telling me I should just go ahead and ask him out.
But if I asked him out and it all went wrong, then the community would know, and he was well connected.
There was no world in which they wouldn’t know. “Do you ever bake?”
He looked away, shaking his head. “Well, sometimes, but never for anyone but me, and most of the time it’s those mug cake things you put in the microwave.”
“So, there’s a towel here, and the soap is there,” I said. “I’ll let you get cleaned up first.”
“Oh, I guess I should get my bag, it has my change of clothes in it. What’s the water pressure like here?”
It was a pretty old bathroom, but the water pressure was fine. “If it stops, just give the head a little tap. I’m going to be replacing a lot of this soon.”
“It’s nice. It reminds me of my grandma’s place when she had it,” he said.
“You’re saying it’s old and dated, then?”
He giggled.
“Because you’d be right, it is,” I said. “The focus is the bakery for now, but after that, I’ll make this place home. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you for help painting up here.” I paused, trying to see his face react to my words. A smile twitched at his cheeks. “Unless you want me to.”
He shrugged. “It all depends on how well you do when you open,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure people know to come here—if only to see the work I did on those walls.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
We lingered around each other, almost like there was something we wanted to say or do, but we didn’t. We kept our hands and eyes to ourselves as he went off to get his bag, and I tried not to get paint on anything as I occupied myself, waiting for him to finish.