CHAPTER 3
C HAPTER 3
O ver the next ten days, Marlow fell into an agreeable routine that, for the most part, kept her busy—or at least, busy enough. Her favorite part of each day was coffee on the dock watching the sun lighten the sky in varying hues. Some mornings were more pink, some deep purple, others transitioning quickly from dark starry skies to bright blazing sunshine.
It was especially nice on the days when Cort was there fishing.
On the day after she’d been rude to him, she’d found him on the shoreline when she came down. Not one to shirk responsibility, she’d walked directly over to him and said, “I apologize for snapping at you last night. I don’t have a good excuse except that my mother-in-law is enough to frazzle anyone.”
To which he’d replied, “No problem, I get it.”
And indeed, it seemed he did, because he didn’t hold a grudge.
Each time she saw him after that, he was the same friendly landlord, still laconic in his replies, but she understood that was just his way.
A week later, he surprised her by cutting her lawn. One minute she’d been online, searching for any available properties near Bramble, and then she’d heard the rumble of the mower. Her thoughts had immediately veered away from her future to land squarely in the here and now.
When she’d stepped outside, she’d found Cort on a big riding mower.
Shirtless.
That had arrested her attention for several seconds because, seriously, he looked fine . Muscular and firm and strong.
Intent on steering around the trees, he didn’t notice her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His skin glistened with sweat beneath the sun. On his upper arm, she noticed a tattoo but couldn’t make out what it was.
Perhaps she stared at him too long and hard, because he suddenly glanced her way, frowned, then stopped the mower and committed the awful crime of pulling on his shirt.
A moment later, he was striding toward her, and she couldn’t very well duck away or pretend she hadn’t been staring.
“Hope you don’t mind the noise. I forgot to tell you I’d be mowing.”
Thankful for the utterly mundane comment, she replied, “I hadn’t thought much about the grass, but it has gotten longer, I guess.” She’d noticed it tickling her ankles when she went down to the dock just that morning.
“It’s not your job, so you don’t need to think about it.”
“That’s a relief, actually, because I know absolutely nothing about landscaping—or even simple lawn work. That’s the sort of thing we’ve always hired out.” Saying we felt wrong, since she wanted no further association with Dylan, so she amended it with, “That is, I’ve always had landscapers who handled all the outside stuff.”
“I get it.” He looked up at the sky. “Looks like rain might be moving in, so I’d better finish up.”
With that shirtless visual of him still crowding her thoughts, she nodded. “Thanks.”
Unfortunately, after that, he left the shirt on.
Less than two hours later, a deluge rolled over, churning the surface of the lake into angry waves and keeping her entertained for a good long while.
Who knew a rainy day could be so impressive?
In her old life, she’d have grumbled as she fought with an umbrella to get from a car to a meeting or business lunch, and then back again. She wouldn’t have noticed the turbulence in the skies, the wild wind, or how rainwater washed over every surface.
Now, here she sat on the covered porch, a throw over her legs, watching the graceful sway of the treetops and how the occasional leaf danced across the ground. The sounds were hypnotic, and all combined, it was better than a massage at what had once been her favorite salon.
Every day, it seemed she found something new to enjoy. And each day, she grew a little antsier for a real purpose.
At least three nights a week, she ate at the tavern, accustoming herself to the menu and observing the work patterns. On the ninth day she officially filled out an application, disconcerting Herman. The position hadn’t yet been taken, and she had more free time than she wanted.
On the tenth day, she again drove out of Bramble to look at small-scale commercial buildings to use for a new business. So far, nothing was quite what she wanted. They were either too large or too rundown or too ordinary. She wanted something chic, a building she could enhance to make it one of a kind.
That was her strength, and if she could find the right place, a charming little spot that kept her close enough to Bramble so the drive wouldn’t be a great chore, she’d jump on it.
She returned to the house and unloaded her few packages. Brighter shirts, a couple of hats to shield her face from the sun, pairs of Capri pants in soft fabrics, and new sandals. During an online shopping spree, she’d ordered three sundresses and three shirts, and then a bathing suit, too. Those hadn’t yet arrived, but now that it was early June, temperatures were on the rise.
She’d just finished putting things away and was about to consider dinner when Herman called and grumpily asked, “You still want the job?”
Going stock still, almost afraid to move, Marlow considered the question and what it entailed. A job. At the tavern. She bobbed her head, convincing herself first, then burst out an enthusiastic, “Yes!”
“Then it’s yours,” he conceded.
To be sure she hadn’t misunderstood, she asked, “I’m hired?”
With ill temper, he said, “No one else even applied, and we’re short-staffed.”
The job offer surprised and pleased her so much she wanted to dance. “When do I start?”
“Stop in sometime today or tomorrow.” He didn’t sound at all pleased. “I can give you some of the T-shirts you need to wear.”
Oh goody, a Dry Frog Tavern T-shirt! Every time she was in the place, she admired the smart black shirts with bold white font and what looked like a thirsty frog. “I can come by this evening, if that works for you.”
“That’s fine. We’ll go over everything, any limits you might have—”
“I do not have limits.” The very idea insulted her.
“Oh yeah, smarty? So you can work anytime, any day, any hours?”
Hmm. Herman had a point. “I prefer to see the sunrise from my dock.” Sometimes the sunset, too, but she could handle missing it since mosquitoes often came out in the evening.
Snorting, Herman said, “We don’t open till noon anyway. Close at eleven during the week, and at one on Saturday. We take the Lord’s Day off.”
That made it official. She loved this town. “I’ll be there, and Herman, thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
With a sullen “We’ll see,” he disconnected the call.
Now she danced, all around the kitchen, through the sitting room, dining room, and into the foyer. She wanted to share with someone, to tell a friend that she, Marlow Heddings, formerly of Heddings’ Holding Company had gotten a fun, somewhat funky job in the best small town ever. But she had no one.
That brought her to a halt.
For the first time, it struck her that she was alone. Utterly, completely alone.
Yes, she’d chosen solitude for herself, because really, Dylan’s parents, his friends and associates, were never hers anyway. Her job, one she’d excelled at, was closely tied to his family. If she’d stayed, she never would have been free of Dylan, never mind that he’d passed away.
Still, the fact of her solitary existence suddenly settled on her like a dark, oppressive blanket, stealing some of her happiness.
She would not feel sorry for herself. Anything but that.
To escape her own realizations, she made the decision to grab her keys and go somewhere, anywhere. She was back at the door in thirty seconds, ready to walk out for God knew where . . . when Cort pulled into her driveway.
Her heart lifted—but no . She would not rejoice at the sight of a man, any man. Never again would she sink that low. And yet, her heart beat a little faster. Not with personal interest, she assured herself, but at the presence of another soul, a person to see her, someone to hear her.
She knew Dylan had stopped seeing and hearing her long before she’d discovered his deceit.
Composing herself, she stepped out, locked the door behind her, and met her landlord on the walkway. “Cort, hi. What’s up?”
His dark brows rose as he noted the keys in her hand. “You’re on your way out?”
“Just a little spur of the moment celebration.” Ha, what a lie . Leaning closer, she shared, “Herman hired me.”
One of those beautiful, dimpled smiles of his appeared. “And that makes you happy, I take it?”
He was so striking when he smiled, it was a good thing he didn’t do it more often. Her heart couldn’t take it. “I’ve been a slug, so yes. I’m ready to be busy.”
“I won’t hold you up. Mail is delivered to the post office, and this came for you. It was given to me because I own the property.”
She finally noticed the thick packet in his hands. Since Sandra hadn’t mentioned Dylan’s papers again in her last few calls, Marlow had forgotten all about them.
When she hesitated to take the packet, Cort let his hand drop back to his side. “Where do you plan to celebrate?”
Biting her lip and feeling a little like a coward, Marlow looked up at him. He was so tall, and yet with him she didn’t feel small. It had to be something about Cort, his ease and openness with others. “No idea. I guess . . . back to the tavern?”
He shook his head. “Now what kind of celebration would that be?”
“I don’t know. I thought I’d get a drink, maybe something to eat.”
“You know, we have an actual restaurant here.”
“Here?”
“In Bramble. On the lake actually, and the fireflies are out.”
“Fireflies?” That sounded dreadful, similar to the pesky mosquitoes. “As in bugs?”
He grinned again. “Have you ever seen them?”
“Maybe, when I was young?” Those memories were so vague that she sometimes felt seventy instead of thirty-five.
“You realize the lake is as nice at night as it is during the day, right?”
Honestly, she hadn’t thought about it. Making a sudden decision, she asked, “Where is this restaurant? I want to check it out.” And she wanted to see the fireflies, to see if they were as “nice” as Cort claimed.
“I could show you, if you wouldn’t mind a little friendly company—or is it to be a private celebration?”
Did he know? Had he somehow looked at her face and seen that she was as lonely as a person could be? Playing it cool, she said, “I don’t mind company, if you don’t have anything else you need to be doing.”
“I’m done for the night. Come on, you can ride with me.”
Ride with him, in his big muscle truck? The idea gave her a thrill. She couldn’t recall ever riding in a truck. “I also have to stop at the tavern later.” With a good dose of glee, she boasted, “I’m picking up some uniform T-shirts.”
This time, Cort actually laughed as he opened the passenger door for her to get in. “We can go by there, no problem.”
The shiny black truck was pretty high off the ground, but she saw a step. Now how to . . . ?
“Foot there,” Cort said. “Grip right here and pull yourself up. If you need help, I can hoist you.”
Good God, he made her sound like a load of cargo, and in fact, maybe she was. “I’ll manage, thank you.” She had to hop twice before she got her backside into the seat, but it felt like another accomplishment, and she couldn’t stop grinning. Trucks were nice, she decided. From the seat she had a better view, being higher up.
As Cort circled the hood, she tracked his every step with admiration. He had strong legs and a long stride that ate up the ground without his seeming to hurry. He, of course, didn’t have to hop to get in. No, he just settled his large frame behind the wheel, and then placed the packet in a space behind the console.
Glad that he didn’t expect her to look at the papers yet, she said, “This will sound absurdly uninformed, but I had no idea trucks could be so luxurious.” Under her hand, the seat material felt like fine leather. “I thought all trucks were work vehicles.”
“Mine is, but I keep it clean.”
It went beyond clean to pristine. The two-tone interior loaded with gadgets gave her a visceral thrill. “I feel like I’m riding a wild bull.”
His brows shot up. Then he rumbled a deep laugh that soon had her smiling, too.
“What?” she asked, enjoying the humorous exchange.
“The things you sometimes say.”
“And the things I admit.” She sighed with extra drama for fun. “I know it’s silly, but it does feel that way to me. Being here, in Bramble, I’ve learned to appreciate things I never noticed before.”
“Like the sunrise.”
Oh, how she loved the sunrise. “And watching a storm.” When he didn’t laugh at that, only agreed with a small nod, she continued. “There’s so much turbulence, but in an exciting way that’s somehow also soothing.” All that drama helped her to forget, taking her away from her troubles and hurt feelings and immersing her in the moment.
“I enjoy the storms, too,” he said. “The way the waves jump around the dock and hit the shoreline. Sometimes I fish in the rain, but not when there’s lightning.”
Interesting. “Maybe I’ll get a big rain poncho and watch from the dock the next time it rains.”
His brows pinched together. “Just know that the dock can be slippery, and the lake has a wicked current. If you’re not used to it . . .” His words trailed off.
“What?”
“Next time it rains, as long as it’s not storming, we could sit on the dock together.”
That sounded incredibly appealing. She, Marlow Heddings, liked the idea of sitting on a wooden dock in the rain. Astonishing.
“For safety reasons,” he made clear.
Hoping it’d rain again soon, she nodded. “Sure. I’ll order a poncho, so I’ll be ready.”
“What do you think of the tavern?”
Marlow didn’t have to think about it. “There’s a cozy vibe, like everyone is a friend.”
“And no one is a stranger.”
Not anymore, though they’d all given her the side-eye during her first few visits. “Know what else? I’ve learned that coffee tastes better outside, that the air here smells better than in the city, and that, at least for now, less is more.”
With one wrist draped over the steering wheel, Cort sat half facing her, showing no real hurry to get going. “I’ve got one for you.”
“My breath is bated.”
Another grin, tempered this time, and he said, “Being alone and lonely are different.”
She inhaled sharply, devastated that he’d read her so easily. “Am I that transparent?”
His expression softened, then he buckled his seatbelt and started the engine. “Actually, I was talking about me.”
* * *