3. Lily
CHAPTER THREE
lily
I n the last week, I have scrubbed every square inch of the cabin, including refreshing every piece of furniture. While I have always kept a clean home, that was as far as my maintenance skills extended. Painting my bedroom upstairs was the first time I had painted outside of art class, and I am beyond proud of the results. The fresh coat of pale blue is the exact color of the sky as the sun rises behind the forest early in the morning. The downstairs still needs new paint, but I’m not set on the colors yet, so it will have to wait.
The completed bedroom feels cozy. Inviting. It feels like mine .
While the painting is a step in the right direction, I haven’t started on any updates yet. I’ve never fixed anything in my life, and the thought of messing something up is daunting. My parents were not the ‘do it yourself’ types. If something broke or needed repairs, they called a professional to come fix it.
I want to be an independent woman who can do things for herself. There are online tutorials for everything nowadays; there is no excuse for me to not tackle projects on my own. I want to look around my home and see improvements I have made, or at the very least, helped with. I just need a little more courage first.
I jumped into working on my next novel instead, since it's a safer project to start. Andrea has sent gentle reminders this week to not fall behind on my writing, so I’m doing my best not to. The problem is, my brain fries every time I open my laptop. I have no motivation, no ideas, no inspiration. Just anger, deleted paragraphs, and empty pages.
That, in turn, has led to hiking explorations in the area. After meeting Park Ranger Thoren last week, I felt more confident in going out in the woods on my own. I dropped a pretty penny at a local outdoor store in town after I left his office and stocked up on hiking boots, a hiking backpack, and everything on his list of must-haves. That is, after I chugged an entire bottle of cold water to cool myself down.
Relationships, and men in general, are not in the cards for me at the moment… or ever. But I would have to be blind to not notice every striking feature that man has. From his golden tanned skin with a perfectly imperfect mess of brown hair cropped short on the sides, to the few day-old beard on his chiseled face and strong chin, and hazel eyes that looked so deeply into mine. His thick thighs that filled out every available inch in his work pants… and here I am, flushing again just thinking about him.
I shake out my thoughts and focus back on the beauty of the world around me. After a night of rain, the trail has an overwhelming scent of earth and pine, wet but alive. Moss-covered trees surround the small walkway while ferns and mushrooms litter the forest floor. I’m sticking with an easy hike this morning, only two miles, so I can try to do some writing before dinner with Michele tonight.
I can’t remember the last time that I went out to dinner with a friend that wasn’t a colleague. I interned all through college, so even then, my friends were co-workers. I’m not sure if I’m a little sad about that, or excited that things are finally changing. I’m only one week into living in this charming town, and I have a dinner date with a real friend.
This is the third hike where I haven’t passed a single other person on the trail, and I love it. The solitude is healing. Freeing. The overwhelming feelings of embarrassment, anger, and failure don’t feel so heavy out here. Unlocking my car, I throw my backpack in the passenger seat and take one more steadying breath. The drive back to the cabin is quick and I immediately head to my little balcony to write. Sports romance is my specialty, which is ironic, since I am the least sporty person around. I decided to try a baseball romance this time around, and set about doing as much research about the game as I can while I flesh out some character ideas.
Time flies as I get a basic outline for the book mapped out. Maybe being isolated out here will be great for my career. Closing my laptop, I head downstairs to shower and get ready for dinner. Michele said the restaurant we are meeting at is a local hangout and nothing fancy, so I throw on a maxi dress with a suede jacket and heeled ankle boots. I keep my makeup at a minimum, just a little liner and mascara. My hair always dries into place. It’s boring and straight, but it saves me time since I wrote a little longer than I was intending.
The town is bustling for a Tuesday night, the streets lined with cars and people milling about. I snag one of the few open spaces and walk a few doors down to the RiverRoots restaurant. Michele is seated at a small booth, waving me down when I enter.
“Hey girl, you made it!” She points to the margarita pitcher on the table. “I may have gotten a little overzealous by ordering a pitcher, but I’ve had a day.”
I slide into the booth across from her, setting my purse down next to me and shrugging off my jacket. “I will never turn down a margarita. Never.” I grab the empty glass in front of me and fill it to the brim with the pink drink. “What flavor is this?”
“Watermelon, so sorry, I should have checked with you first. It just looked so good and refreshing,” she says, taking another sip of hers.
I wave her off before swallowing down half of mine. The mix of tangy and sweet hits my tongue, settling my nerves for this dinner. The restaurant is cute and brimming with people. Long wooden beams adorned with string lights run across the ceiling, and the walls are plastered with photos of the mountain peaks and woods. “That is incredible. Tell me about your day. What’s going on?”
“Stupid realtor things. I had a sale fall through due to lack of funds, and a buyer I’ve been working with for two years came by today. She has something negative to say about every home I show her. I swear, I will be working with her in ten years and still won’t have a home to sell her that fits her list.”
I scrunch my nose at the thought of that. I have patience, but I would hate that. “You’re a better person than me. I would tell her to take a hike. Literally.” The server stops by then, taking our orders and refilling our water glasses.
As he walks away from the table, Michele leans forward, her eyes filled with mischief. “I’m one of two realtors in town, so I’ll put up with her and reward myself with margaritas. But enough about me. I need to hear everything about you. You’re an author, right? What kind of books do you write? What made you want to move here from Phoenix?” Her tone is all no-nonsense, so I try to explain without oversharing.
“Writing has always been my passion, but I didn’t pursue it right away. I was an executive assistant at a financial firm, but it wasn’t my dream. So on the side, I started writing a hockey romance series. Here I am, four books later, with an amazing publisher and pursuing writing full time. I have a baseball romance series in the works next.” I lightly spin my margarita glass in a circle, trying to brush off the next part. “It was time to leave Phoenix. It never felt like home to me, and here already does. It feels like the perfect setting to focus on my writing.”
Michele remains quiet, so I slowly look up at her. Her head is cocked a little to the side in question, but whatever she sees on my face, she must understand because she nods her head. “I love a good romance book. Please tell me it’s spicy. I’ll read it immediately!”
Our laughs ring out as I take another sip of my drink. “Very spicy. Have you seen the stretches those men do on the ice?” I fan myself playfully. “Imagine how those skills must transfer to other activities.”
She sighs wistfully, “I could use some of those other activities.”
“I’m good performing on my own for a while,” I giggle, then freeze, realizing I said that aloud. My cheeks heat beyond the flush I was already getting from the margarita. “That was an overshare, so sorry. No men around here have caught your attention?”
“Please, that was a boring overshare. Next time, at least make it good. And no, I’ve grown up with most of these men. I either struggle to see them as more than the stupid teens they used to be, or they don’t want the same things as me. I want stability. A man who enjoys spending nights at home with me. Realtor hours can sometimes be crazy, and I want someone who is home when I get there. Someone to take care of, and who takes care of me in return, you know?”
Her words hit hard, because I do know. My voice comes out a little quieter than I intended. “I completely understand that.”
Our meals come and we dig in, both of us seemingly in our heads. I wanted stability, too, someone to build a life with. Instead, I believed in a man who said all the right things, despite the red flags that I saw. I let myself be made a fool of, in the pursuit of happiness and a future. It was a mistake I wouldn’t be making again.
“Did you get in touch with Jake?” Michele asks in between bites.
“Yes! He is bringing the pieces I chose tomorrow evening. He sent me pictures of some of the stuff he had on hand. He’s not sketchy, right? Since he is coming to my house to drop it off?” I ask, setting my napkin on my empty plate.
“Not at all,” she laughs. “He’s around your age, looks a little intimidating sometimes, but ridiculously nice. My dining table, coffee table, outdoor set, and chairs around my firepit were all made by him. If you want the best, you get it from Jake.”
“Everything looked so beautiful. I’m getting an outdoor couch from him as well, and a rocking chair to sit by the fireplace. It’s clear this is what he was made to do.”
She sets down her fork and stacks her empty plate on mine before refilling our margarita glasses. “How is everything coming along in the cabin? Have you made any changes yet?”
I can’t keep the excitement from my voice. “I painted the bedroom and cleaned everything. I replaced some of the hinges on the doors that were rusted and even installed a new toilet seat. They may be small things, but they are major for me, and I am really proud. I think fixing the deck and updating the bathroom are the first major projects I am going to tackle.”
“That’s amazing, Lily. You’re going to have that place transformed in no time. You should be really proud of yourself.” She clinks our glasses in cheers. It’s been a while since someone has told me they were proud of me, aside from when Andrea loves the chapters I send her. I think I heard it once at the firm in the almost six years I worked there. My parents told me when I graduated college with their desired degree for me. But lately? Lately I hadn’t felt very proud.
Hearing it from Michele with such a genuine tone strikes a chord. I hide the rush of emotion behind a big sip. “Thanks, that means a lot to me.”
We finish off our pitcher, talking more about the town, the people, and taking on renovations as a single woman. Our time is filled with laughter and genuine enjoyment. Michele is easily my new favorite person because she exudes a confident, kind, and radiating light for life. When our last glasses run dry, we plan to make this a weekly thing as often as possible, and she promises to stop by my place soon to help me decide on paint colors for downstairs.
With a hug goodbye, one that still feels a little strange but welcome, we part ways and I hop in Marge to head back home. The roads darken the further you get from town. Streetlights become fewer and farther between; my headlights and the moon are the only things lighting the road. When I pass a man and a dog running on the other side of the road, I feel a small pang of jealousy. I was braving hiking solo, but walking alone in the evening out here is a bit of a stretch for me. How I wish it wasn’t though; the evening air is crisp, and the quiet relaxing.
I slow as I pull down my street and dark driveway. I have to start remembering to turn on the porch light when I leave for the evenings, something I never had to think about in the city. With keys in hand, I trudge up my small porch and head inside. The light from the moon illuminates my living room and deck, making the small space really shine. A shiver races through me, bringing on the feeling of ‘right’. Everything about being here, now, in my home, feels like I made the right decision.
With a lightness from the margaritas, an evening with a new friend, and a peace of where I am at in life, I head upstairs to bed and crash for the night.
Waking the next morning, I finally felt an itch to write. Not only that, I wrote for the whole day without even realizing. My fingers were flying over the keys as the words spilled from my brain. It wasn’t until my stomach rumbled that I noticed it was four in the afternoon and I hadn’t even had lunch. Setting my laptop down, I picked up my phone, seeing a text from Jake from over an hour ago asking if I was still good for him to drop off the furniture this evening. I shot off a quick message, apologizing for the late reply, letting him know I would be home.
Closing up my balcony, I plugged in my laptop and set it on my bed before heading down to make a small dinner and move the sparse furniture in the living room around so I can fit my new rocking chair. I am beyond excited for the outdoor couch. I plan to park myself on it for the next few months. The crunch of tires on my gravel drive alerts me to Jake’s arrival right as I am plating up my chicken and salad, so I plop it in the fridge and throw on some sandals to meet him.
I’m anticipating a big intimidating man based on Michele’s description, and the hulking man in front of me is not far off. He’s walking up my porch as I pull open the door, and we both stop short. Jake is dressed in scuffed black work boots, dusty jeans that fit him like a glove, and a black T-shirt. Thick arms with tattoos all the way to his hands bulge from the tight shirt, and a shiver runs down my back as I take him in. It isn’t until I make my way up to his face that I see his broad smile radiating warmth.
He takes another step forward, reaching his hand out. “Hi Lily, I’m Jake. It’s nice to meet you.” His deep voice is smooth and exactly what I expected. The kind sparkle in his eyes and the bright smile are at complete odds with the rest of him, but it puts me at ease.
His hand completely covers mine, but he doesn’t squeeze hard as he shakes it. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Michele has so many good things to say about you, so it’s nice to put a face to a name.”
His laugh is loud, his chest shaking with it. “Chele is a troublemaker, but she’s good people. Plus, she seems to know all the gossip in town without ever being part of it. She’s a good one to keep around. I’m glad she got you in here, this place has real potential,” he says, nodding past me to the cabin.
“I’m really happy here already. It needs a lot of love, and lucky me, I have a lot of love to give. Can I help you carry the furniture?”
Jake turns and starts walking to the trailer hitched behind his truck. “Yeah, that would be great. The couch comes in two pieces. Do you think you can carry the chaise side and I’ll get the other?” He pulls a tarp off the trailer, revealing the pieces and my rocking chair. “The couch is made with oak, the chair is maple. They’ve been treated and sealed, but it wouldn’t hurt to cover the couch in the winter months.”
They may be simple pieces, but I can tell they were crafted with care and love. “They are beautiful. If you can hand me the chaise, I can try to get it to the back.”
He works quickly, unstrapping his ties and gingerly passing me the couch base. It’s heavy, but manageable, and I shuffle to the backyard with it, careful not to trip and drop it. Jake is right behind me with the larger piece, and he sets it down with ease before helping me set mine down.
“I’ve got a drill in my truck to connect these, if you want to come back out front with me and grab the cushions?”
“Oh, I thought I would have to get my own cushions. How much do I owe you for them?” My little legs work in overdrive trying to keep up with his long strides.
Jake turns, his cheeks getting a pink tint. “Nothing. My mom likes to craft, so she sews cushions for some of my items when she has free time. She made a little cushion for the rocking chair, too, but you don’t have to use it.”
It’s my laugh that rings out now. This big man talking about his mom crafting for him is entirely too cute. He opens the back door of his truck and starts stacking forest green pillows in my arms. He tucks his drill and some screws in his pocket, then grabs the rest and we head back to the deck. I pile up the cushions while he connects the pieces, and notice there are two throw pillows mixed in as well. They are the same deep green but with white leaves hand sewn into the fabric.
“You better be paying your mom for these,” I say, as my fingers trace over the hand-crafted beauties. “These are incredible. I feel like I definitely need to pay more.”
“Nah, I’ll tell her you love them and that will be payment enough for her.” He arranges the pillows and cushions carefully, and my heart flutters with excitement at the thought of all the time I will spend on it. “Do you want me to take these chairs to the dump?” He asks, pointing at the wicker monstrosities.
“Please!” I practically shout at him. “Those things are a death trap.”
He laughs, picking up one under each arm. “No problem, I have some things I need to take there anyway,” he pauses, taking in the view from my deck, before continuing back to the front again. “It’s really peaceful back here.”
“Yeah, it’s my favorite. I spend every morning enjoying my coffee on the deck. Now I don’t have to sit on the half-rotten boards, so thank you,” I trail behind him.
He throws the wicker chairs onto his trailer before unloading the rocking chair. “Can you grab the cushion for this one? It’s in the front seat. I’m assuming this goes in the house?”
“Yeah,” I nod, grabbing the cushion. “I’ll get the door for you.”
I lead him into the house and show him the little spot in front of the fireplace where I want it. “Thank you so much for everything. I’ll let Michele know she didn’t lie about your furniture, and please don’t forget to thank your mom.”
“I’m glad you like it all,” his honeyed voice says as he heads back out my front door. “It was nice to meet you, Lily. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He says with a knowing look in his eye that I don’t quite understand.
“See you around, Jake.” I wave him off as he loads up into his truck, then head back inside. Now I have the perfect spot to eat my dinner in comfort.