Chapter 6
A seven-minute walk later (I timed it), we near the big barn at the back of the property.
Aka the work barn. All of the other barns are painted white and have pumpkins and gourds and planters with mums piled up in front of the smoky brown/gray doors.
But this one doesn’t, since it’s a working barn.
Not a part of the property where guests go, and of course this is where Aiden is.
“So, what did Jesse mean when he said, ‘wow, okay’ about me working with Aiden?” I ask Charlotte as we crunch through the smattering of leaves.
“Like I said,” Charlotte replies, “Aiden can be bossy. He likes to work alone.”
My memory of Aiden from childhood was that he was always ready with an idea. He never seemed bossy to me, but then again, I’m not his kid sister. I do remember that he likes to work alone. At least, most of the time. Whenever I went looking for him when we were kids, he was usually by himself.
“Got it,” is all I reply. Aiden is welcome to continue his solitary work. I’ll happily take the event off his hands.
We’re almost to the doors when a movement in the trees behind the barn catches my eye. “Is that Aiden?” I ask, pointing.
Charlotte narrows her eyes. “Yeah, it is. What’s he doing back there?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll go find out. Thanks for showing me around,” I tell her.
“Sure thing. And don’t let him boss you. He needs to give a little,” Charlotte warns before taking off back toward the inn.
I change direction and stroll under the apple trees toward Aiden.
Leaves are burning somewhere, and the wood-smoke smell is even stronger here.
The narrow green leaves are turning yellow, and the apples are bright red.
The harvest has already begun, but it’s not finished yet, and the Parkers always leave some trees to ripen even more.
The apple trees back here are the ones for sale to large buyers.
The trees in the front near the inn are the pick-your-own orchard meant for guests.
I pull an apple from one of the trees and toss it in the air.
Just feeling its cool, smooth skin brings back so many memories from childhood.
Me and Aiden helping with the harvest. Me and Aiden playing baseball in the fallow field with an apple as a ball and a stick as a bat.
Me and Aiden dumping out the barrels and sorting through the apples to pick the best ones for pies like our moms taught us.
Aiden was such a large part of my childhood, and the fact we lost touch just seems very wrong now. I slip the apple in my non-donut-filled pocket and make my way closer to Aiden.
He doesn’t see me approach. He’s half facing me, but he’s distracted.
He’s digging a hole with a shovel. When he stops to pull up the bottom of his white T-shirt to wipe his face, I get another view of his blistering abs.
I swallow. Hard. Seriously. Mom could’ve given me a heads-up on his newfound hotness.
Maybe she does have dementia, after all.
I’m about twenty feet away from him, crunching through a smattering of fallen leaves, when his head jerks up. “Ellie? What are you doing here?”
“You asked me to meet you out here,” I remind him, my forehead wrinkling.
He tosses the shovel to the ground and makes his way toward me quickly. “The barn. I asked you to meet me in the barn.”
Wow. Maybe he is bossy, after all. Before I know it, he’s got his hand on the small of my back and is hustling me quickly back toward the barn.
I let him, but only because I’m amused by how obvious it is that he doesn’t want me to see whatever he was up to.
Which only makes me more curious. “What were you doing back there? Burying a dead body?” I joke.
“No” is his only answer, and I make a mental note to come back later to see how big the hole was. I don’t truly think he’s burying a body, but I’ve seen a lot of Dateline . Ya never know.
Minutes later, we’re inside the dark coolness of the barn. When Aiden hits the lights, the first thing I see is a big flatbed trailer covered with apples and hay bales.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at it.
“That’s our float for the Autumn Harvest parade.”
I can’t help my frown. Did I mention that I was born without a poker face?
His hands immediately land on his hips. “What? You don’t like it?”
I shrug. “Apples and hay bales are cute and all, but they’re a little basic, no?”
“Basic?” Now he’s frowning.
“Yeah, you know, obvious ?”
He pokes out his cheek with his tongue and cocks one hip. “Fine. What would you do, Miss Event Planner?”
“Well.” I cross my arms over my chest and take a slow walk around the float. My mind is racing with ideas. “I’d probably add white mums and a cozy chair with a furry throw blanket and a chandelier and—”
“A chandelier?” He says the word in the same way one might say a less beautiful word. Something like smallpox , for instance.
“Yeah, a chandelier. Why not?” I tap my cheek with my finger, still envisioning the amazing float I’m going to make.
“The inn has that great chandelier in the main dining room. It’s evocative.
A real showpiece. The cozy chair will represent the inn, and I’d also use another corner to advertise the brewery and the bakery. Big fake donuts and beer growlers.”
Aiden’s brows shoot up. Both of them. “You gonna get Jesse to cough up his precious beer growlers for the float?”
“Heck yes, I am.” I am warming to the subject now.
“Who am I kidding? You’re hot. He’ll probably do whatever you ask,” Aiden mumbles.
Wait. I am stunned into silence for approximately 2.5 seconds. And then, “What was that?” I cup my hand behind my ear. “You think I’m hot?”
Aiden blushes, and it’s the cutest thing ever. I don’t think I’ve seen him blush before. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean to sound sexist. It’s just that—”
“Just what ?” I prod. I cannot help myself. I do not even want to help myself. Plus, him calling himself out for being sexist is, well, sexy.
Aiden dips his hands into his jean pockets and rocks back and forth on the heels of his brown work boots. “Come on. You have to know you’re hot?” He gives me a look like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I don’t have to know any such thing, but I do the only sane thing to do when attempting to keep things professional with a business partner, which Aiden obviously is, despite his own hotness, and I say, “Thank you.” For some bad reason, it’s on the tip of my tongue to inform him that he is also hot, but I decide against it.
No more mixing business with pleasure. Not after Geoff.
Never again! We need to get back to discussing the float. Stat.
“Okay, so beer growlers and donuts, and the chandelier,” I say.
“How are we going to make a chandelier?” Aiden asks, skepticism dripping from his voice.
“Papier-maché, of course. Just like the homecoming parades in high school.” Wait. Does the world at-large not know about papier-maché?
“Yeah, I didn’t really participate in the homecoming parades.”
Oh... right. I bite my lip. “No worries. Leave it to me,” I say, because not only do I know how to make a fake chandelier and hang it from a fake sky over a float, but also I don’t want to remind him that I was on the homecoming court and student council and was in charge of stuff like this throughout high school. And I enjoyed it.
“I think we should stick with the traditional apples and hay bales,” he informs me.
Okay, is this what Charlotte meant by “bossy”? Because he’s sounding like he’s stuck on his ideas and not interested in using any of mine.
“I really think it needs more,” I reiterate.
Aiden makes a sort of growling noise. “I know this place. It’s my home. People around here like traditional things.”
Wow. His words hit me like arrows to the chest. I lift my chin. It’s my home too. He really can’t let go of the fact that I didn’t choose to stay here, can he? “Everyone or you ?” I ask with more than a little attitude.
I am met by silence and a sort of disgruntled snort. But I’m not backing down. This is my wheelhouse. Making beautiful, wonderful, fun things out of nothing. Coming up with grand ideas and executing them. Putting on a show. I will not put my name on basic-bitch apples and hay bales.
Our standoff is interrupted when a big yellow Lab comes flying through the propped-open barn door headed directly toward Aiden.
Just before the dog is about to jump him, Aiden says, “Sit,” in a deep, commanding voice, and amazingly, the dog obeys.
I stare at the pooch in awe. What sort of dog is this? An obedient one? Pumpkin wouldn’t sit if you offered him money. Or the car keys. I’ve seen him on enough FaceTime calls with Mom to know how disobedient that little chunk is.
Aiden pets this remarkable dog’s head and says, “Good boy.” It’s pretty cute. The dog’s tongue is hanging out, and he looks like he’s smiling at us.
“Who’s this?” I ask, smiling back at the Lab.
“This is my dog, Argos. He’s staying with my parents until my house is livable again.”
I say hello to Argos, who offers his paw to me to shake. Wow. Pumpkin would sooner skip a meal than shake. I take Argos’s sturdy paw and think about how much I’ve missed spending time with dogs due to Geoff’s allergies.
I am still regretting how many dog-paw shakes I’ve probably missed over the last four years when the barn door opens wider and an older man steps in.
It takes me two seconds to realize it’s Mr. Parker.
Aiden’s dad, Kevin, has a little more gray in his dark hair than I remember, but otherwise, he looks great.
He’s not as funny as my dad, but he’s a good guy. Very dependable.
“Ellie!” Kevin says. “I heard you were here.”