Chapter 11
Eleven
The next few days after Finn’s parents’ visit ambled by, with Cretia often reaching for her phone, only to be slapped with a fresh reminder that she was still completely disconnected from her work and her life and making plans for both of those things. Her only distractions seemed to be socializing the Fab Four and arriving at the farm just in time to feed Sonny and Cher.
And seeing Finn.
She didn’t mind seeing him every day, even though he still sported the black eye that reminded her of her misstep.
The days weren’t filled with exciting adventures or major expeditions, but there was a quiet peace to this pace of life. A simple joy to the familiarity of Joe Jr.’s boisterous welcome each time she stopped by, and his warmth by her side when she sat in the grass to play with the puppies.
Her first day in North Rustico, she’d thought that if any place could persuade her to stay, it might be this gentle hamlet on the island’s north shore. The longer she stayed, the truer she knew that to be. There was something tempting about the gentle breeze and warm sunshine as she strolled toward Finn’s house this morning. It held a promise she could almost identify, a hope she could almost put into words. Almost.
Yet as soon as she let the idea sneak in, her lungs seized, and she stumbled on the gravel along the side of the road.
Shuffling into the grass of the shallow ditch, she pressed her hands to her waist, lifted her face, and took several deep breaths.
“I’m not going to stay here,” she whispered to the fluffy cloud swimming across the sky.
But you could.
Finn’s face flashed in her mind. His smile. The little dimple in his chin. The crinkles around his eyes when he found something particularly funny. The feeling of her hand encased in his—solid, dependable.
Maybe there could be something real between them. Maybe there were reasons to stick around and explore the could be.
She wouldn’t, though. For reasons just as valid. That wasn’t her future. She wouldn’t settle down somewhere and buy a house and fill it with stuff. She wouldn’t pour every last penny into junk she didn’t need or things she quickly tired of.
She would not become her mother.
Or any version of her.
Suddenly Cretia couldn’t see Finn. Not right then anyway. She needed a minute, just a breath to collect herself. Or she’d be tempted again.
At the moment she wasn’t sure she was stronger than his pull. Worse, the silly man probably had no idea what he did to her.
It was probably better that way.
She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, then released it as she spun a slow circle. Finn’s house was only a few dozen yards down the road, his truck parked out front. Between the birds calling to one another, she could almost hear Joe and the puppies playing beyond the barn.
She did not need to fall more in love with those ridiculous dogs either.
Taking a step back toward the inn, she caught sight of the boxy white house across the street. It was simple but clean, its porch nearly an invitation to come over and enjoy the shade, sipping a tall glass of iced tea.
Cretia took several steps in that direction before she even realized it. By then, she could see the small add-on to the end of the barn—the store with the Open sign. Mama Cheese Sandwich’s shop.
Picking up her speed, she hurried across the street and down the dirt lane. The wooden door easily swung open and set off a loud moo, which set off her own laughter.
“I’ll be right there!” called a voice from the far side of a curtained doorway.
“No rush,” Cretia said.
The room was small and simple, white shiplap covering all four walls. The far left corner boasted three round tables, each with two chairs and plenty of scars on their wooden tops. Shelves beside the table held loaves of bread and bags of rolls. Even in their wrappings, they smelled rich and fresh. A large display case and planked countertop dominated the opposite wall. Wheels of cheese in varying shades of yellow and cream sat behind the glass.
She felt like a child pressing her hand to the case, but the memory of this gooey cheese grilled on a lovely sourdough set her tongue to tingling. It hadn’t been gourmet or Michelin-star rated. And maybe it sounded cheesy, but it had been made with love. Or, if not love, at least affection and concern. She had been able to taste those in every meal from Marie’s kitchen.
The black curtain in the corner of the room twitched as a woman with gray hair and a quick step walked through. She wore a blue apron and a wide smile. “Welcome to Kane Dairy.”
Before Cretia even knew what she was saying, the nickname popped out. “You’re Mama Cheese Sandwich.”
Somehow the woman’s smile grew even brighter, nearly glowing even in the morning sunlight coming through the large windows. “I haven’t heard that name in a little while,” she said around a chuckle.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Cretia tugged on the hem of her red shirt as she searched for the memory of her name. “Is it Mrs. Kane?”
“Not anymore.” There was a note of sadness in her voice, and the light in her pale eyes dimmed. “It’s Mrs. Grady now.” She waved her left hand, and a modest diamond sparkled on her ring finger. “But the kids around here still call me Mama Kane because the dairy’s name hasn’t changed. But you ... you may call me Kathleen. Or Mama Cheese Sandwich if you prefer.”
Cretia dipped her chin in understanding. Before she could introduce herself, Kathleen continued on.
“You must be our visitor staying at the inn. Finn’s friend.”
Heat soared up her neck and settled into her cheeks as she managed another quick nod. She wasn’t afraid of being in the spotlight, but she’d already spent years being the person talked about behind her back. The one her classmates suddenly stopped whispering about when she entered a room.
At least she had known what they were saying. Her clothes were always dirty. She lived in a pigsty. Her mother wasn’t right.
They hadn’t been wrong.
But knowing that her name and something of her story were being whispered among the residents of North Rustico was different. She didn’t know what truth or lies they were spreading. Or what people thought of her.
Or what Finn said when he spoke of her.
Or even if he was the one talking about her.
Her stomach twisted harshly, and she stumbled a step back, reaching for the door handle behind her. “It was nice to—”
“Please don’t go.” Kathleen rushed forward and grabbed her free hand. “I have a new cheese that I could use an opinion on. Will you try it with me?”
Cretia fully intended to refuse the offer, but her stomach had other plans, loudly protesting that she’d skipped breakfast.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Kathleen beamed, gently tugging her toward the tables. “Please have a seat.”
Without much of a choice, Cretia slid into one of the wooden chairs as Kathleen produced the snack of all snacks—a charcuterie board of rich orange cheese slices, various crackers, bunches of red and green grapes, and dried berries.
“I’m sorry, are you expecting someone?” There was no way this woman had prepared this for only herself. And she couldn’t have known Cretia would end up here.
Kathleen lifted her round shoulder but shook her head. “It was a slow morning, and my daughter-in-law has been stopping by lately. I thought I’d be ready just in case—but you’ll be a better judge of the cheese. Impartial.” The last word came with a decisive nod. “Natalie is married to a dairy farmer, so I can’t count on her to be unbiased.”
Cretia chuckled as Kathleen pushed the board closer to her. “I might be too hungry to give you an honest opinion too. How do you know you can trust me?”
“Marie has said such wonderful things about you. She loves having you at the inn.”
An unexpected warmth filled her chest, and she shoved a buttery cracker into her mouth so she didn’t have to respond.
“And Finn too. My son Justin said Finn is glad you’ve stuck around.”
The cracker suddenly turned to sawdust, and a dry cough escaped as Cretia choked on it. Kathleen jumped to her feet, hurried to the display case, and returned in a moment with a cup of lemonade.
“Thanks,” Cretia wheezed, sipping the tart drink. It didn’t wash away what Kathleen had said, though. Finn was glad she was here. Presumably he’d said as much since she’d given him the black eye. It was possible he still felt that way.
Which made her heart pound a little harder and the rest of her want to scramble off the island.
She still had to go see Finn today, mostly to check on Bella. But also to borrow his computer and check on the arrival of her electronics.
As soon as they arrived, she could leave. Then she wouldn’t be tempted with things that weren’t for her.
“Tell me about yourself.” Kathleen pushed the cheese closer. “My daughter-in-law says you’re internet famous. I don’t even know what that means.”
After spending the whole morning with Kathleen and consuming nearly her body weight in sharp cheddar that melted in her mouth, Cretia eventually visited Finn. She kept her stay short so that she couldn’t remember all the lovely things Kathleen told her that Finn had said about her.
They slipped into her mind a few times, though, and Finn caught her smiling. Twice. When he asked what she was thinking about, she mumbled something about the cheese and then begged to borrow his computer again.
The tracking page on her packages said simply “In Transit.” No delivery date listed yet. Maybe it just hadn’t been updated.
Finn said that wasn’t unusual on PEI, especially in the island’s small towns. Shipping might be a science, but delivery was an art. One that didn’t always go as planned.
As she strolled into the inn that evening, she saw the light on in the kitchen. Marie sat on a wooden stool at the island, hunched over paperwork spread before her.
As she had for several days, Cretia asked without much hope, “Anything arrive for me?”
Marie looked up with the same sad smile. “Not today. But there are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
As though warmed-up lasagna could replace her tardy electronics.
“How long’s it been?” Marie asked, her head still bent over her work.
“Seven days.” Still within the delivery window. Far out side the realm of her preference. Pretty much an eternity for someone who hadn’t stayed in one city for more than six days in over four years.
“Sometimes it takes a while for things to make it up here. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
Cretia punched a button on the microwave, zapping her leftovers back to life. As she watched the plate spin, she tried not to remember the last time she’d had kitchen privileges in an actual home.
Sure, she’d stayed in hotel suites with kitchenettes upon occasion. And she’d warmed mugs of water to make tea or reheated restaurant leftovers. But those kitchens were cold and impersonal, the fridges empty. This room, even with its stainless-steel double ovens and commercial-grade refrigerator, felt like it belonged in a home.
Maybe because it was rarely empty and usually contained the joy of a boisterous family.
“How’s Finn doing?”
Cretia glanced over her shoulder, trying to get a read on if Marie was teasing her, but the other woman’s face was completely straight. “Fine. Good, I guess.”
“And his eye?”
“Healing.” She poured herself a glass of water and settled on the opposite side of the island.
Marie raised an eyebrow, and Cretia shoved an entire forkful into her mouth. If she was busy eating, she couldn’t answer the questions Marie hadn’t gotten around to asking. The ones she almost certainly would.
“What’d you do today?”
She quickly swallowed a bite. “I met Kathleen. Tried some of her cheese.”
“She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”
Cretia nodded as she took another bite. Kathleen had been just as welcoming and kind as every other resident of North Rustico she’d met. But that was starting to feel like a problem.
Because she liked them. Liked all of them.
“It seems like you’re enjoying your time here.”
“Uh-huh,” she managed around a noodle. Marie often lamented her own cooking skills, but this lasagna was tasty. Not like Florence good, but definitely edible. “Did you make this?”
Marie cringed. “No. Seth did.”
That figured. With a mock salute of her fork near her temple, she said, “My compliments to the chef.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that along.” Marie’s gaze dropped back to her paperwork, then lifted slowly. “So ... are you thinking about sticking around for a while?”
Her heart slammed against her rib cage, and she pressed a fist to the spot where her last bite had lodged south of her sternum. “Do you need the room back? I can clear out.” Out of a weird compulsion, she jerked her plate to her chin and began to shovel the last few bites into her mouth.
Marie’s eyes filled with concern. “Not at all.”
“Seriously, I can be out of your hair in a minute. You won’t even know I’ve been here.”
“Cretia—”
“Let me just clean this plate.”
“Cretia!” The single word took on that tone that Julia Mae had said not to argue with, and Cretia froze. Marie crossed her arms on the counter and leaned forward, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not asking you to leave. We like having you around.”
“You do?” She wanted to swallow those words as soon as they came out—undeniably needy.
“Of course we do.” She made it sound like a foregone conclusion, like she didn’t even need to consult with the rest of the family. Or maybe she already had. And then, as if she could read her mind, Marie added, “Julia Mae says she likes it when you’re here. She says I’m more fun when you’re around.”
Cretia couldn’t form a response, her mouth opening and closing, nothing more than a breath coming and going.
Marie laughed brightly. “There’s no pressure or anything on you. It’s just that usually when we have guests, I’m so busy taking care of the inn that I don’t have much time to play with the kids. But having you here is more like having a friend over for a visit.”
“Friend?” She croaked out the word.
“Oh dear! I’m sorry. I’ve scared you away now, haven’t I?” But Marie’s grin didn’t look sorry. It looked inviting and kind and all the things Cretia hadn’t realized she’d missed in friendships.
She’d carved out a good life on the road, but always moving on meant never putting down roots—in a house or with people. She was fine with the former, but just now she realized she might have missed out on the latter.
The friends she’d made online with other travel influencers weren’t the same. She’d met a few of them in person when their travel itineraries overlapped. They’d collaborated on posts and promoted each other’s events.
But the strange thing about those types of friendships was that they always carried an undercurrent of competition, a worry about if the other’s platforms were growing faster or their sponsorship agreements were better.
She had none of that with Marie.
“Not at all. I’ve enjoyed our—I like coming back to the inn in the evenings and chatting with you.” Cretia swallowed her fear. “But you don’t want me to leave? I’ve been here so much longer than I think either of us thought I would be. You won’t hurt my feelings if you say you want your house back.” Though as she said it, she knew it might not be true. Because it had taken exactly seven seconds for her to latch on to the word friend and realize she didn’t want to lose that.
Finn’s face flashed through her mind. He was her friend too.
A friend she’d nearly kissed. A friend she wouldn’t mind kissing. Preferably without interruption.
Her stomach swooped in a repeat of the motion it had made when he’d leaned so close. He’d smelled of wood and grass, and he’d been warmer than the island sun. She’d wanted to curl up into him and hide from the rest of the world for a while.
But still. He was a friend. There was no denying it.
It was possible to have kissing feelings for a friend. She was pretty sure. Even if she hadn’t been in that particular situation before.
But she wasn’t going to stick around for much longer. She couldn’t. This was all a by-product of a broken phone. And slow delivery. The longer she stayed, the more she wanted friendship.
And kissing.
She had no business thinking about that. Friendship was one thing. It could be sustained across unwieldy travel schedules.
Kissing required being face-to-face.
Cretia scrubbed a hand down her cheek. She had no idea why her mind had zipped from friendship to kissing Finn in two seconds, and she tried to shake off the uninvited thoughts.
Marie seemed completely oblivious. “I understand that you can’t stay forever, but as long as you’re here, you have a home at the Red Door. I won’t let you stay anywhere else. For purely selfish reasons.” With a wink, she gathered her papers and pushed her stool back. “And I know I’m not the only one who wants you to stick around.”
Fingers twisting into the hem of her shirt, Cretia watched her friend stroll toward the office off the back of the kitchen.
Of course Marie had meant Finn. Just as Kathleen had suggested earlier.
Which was lovely and confusing at the same time. On the one hand, she and Marie had an unspoken understanding. Cretia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so sure of what hadn’t been said. It was sweet to think that Finn would miss her too.
But she couldn’t let herself want those things. She couldn’t let herself think of this place as more than another temporary stop. Another place to explore. Another place to leave.
She could enjoy the cool breeze and the smell of the ocean. The warmth of the sunshine and the feeling of grass between her toes. But she would not let herself succumb to that feeling of home. North Rustico, with its friendly people, funny dogs, and one-eyed cow, was an anomaly. Other places had those things. They just didn’t tempt her to stay.
It had been more than a week since she’d checked in with her online community. Though she had videos scheduled to post, she hadn’t responded to more than a few comments or checked to see what their responses had been. Finn’s internet didn’t invite lengthy interactions.
It was time to get back online. To find her phone and her laptop and request a new suitcase. A great wide world awaited. And she’d never discover it if she settled.
Her phone, her videos, her online connections. This was the life—with its priorities—that she had chosen. And no fluffy dogs or chin dimples or kitchen gab sessions were going to coax her to start down a path she didn’t want.
A roof over her head was all well and nice. But homes were only good for one thing. Accumulating stuff.
And that was a life she refused to accept.