Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
L ook at you! You won Kaya over just like that.” Maxwell handed Eryn back into his pickup truck. “And it’s only 10 a.m.”
Eryn grinned as she buckled up, wiggling in her seat in a sort of dance. “She’s so nice, and her products are amazing.”
Maxwell managed to dispel the impulse to lean in and kiss her, right then and there. It wasn’t the time or place, but soon. Maybe even today. He backed away, closed the door, and rounded the truck.
A minute later, they were headed south again. He glanced across the cab and couldn’t help but smile back at the delight still on Eryn’s face. Not that he wanted to pull a Westonish frown. “How do you feel about that gift shop now?”
Her eyes shone. “I can see it all in my imagination already. Do you think it might actually happen?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”
“It’s not like I know what I’m doing.”
“I beg to differ.” Maxwell reached across and covered her hand with his.
She stared at it for a moment before turning hers to twine her fingers around his.
Success! “You’ve got vision, which is more than our previous manager had.”
“Am I taking someone else’s job?” Eryn frowned.
Maxwell tried to remember who had even run the shop last year. Failed, but then, he hadn’t hung around the lodge much. He and his crew had been working flat out on Firefly Lane back then, where the previous owners had begun renovations before running out of money, leaving the cottages uninhabitable.
“Tate just won’t post that position with the others when he hires for next summer. The previous manager was probably a college student who might not even reapply. Because we have mostly seasonal work, we get a lot of students. A lot of staff turnover.”
“That makes sense.”
He squeezed her fingers gently. “Don’t worry about it. That person obviously wasn’t suited to the position. You are, and it will flourish.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so.”
“You can’t possibly be as certain as you sound.”
“Why not? I’ve been watching you.” He laughed. “That sounds creepy. But I’ve seen how excited this makes you, I’ve seen your hard work. I know making all those calls wasn’t easy for you, but you did it, and the artisans are happy to meet with you. I’d say you’re well on your way with that kiosk of Kaya’s. I love the idea of using the half-canoe as a display for her traditional pieces. It will get a lot of attention. Where in the store are you thinking?”
“Didn’t I show you the sketch I made of the room? It will need adjusting as I get confirmation from artisans and see how much space each will need. Like the half-canoe can’t be in the middle, since it’s so tall. I was thinking beside the entry-hall window.”
“Hmm. That could work.” Maxwell nodded. “And no, I didn’t see a sketch. I can’t wait to, though.” Then he could mock it up on his CAD program. That would be fun. “The candy maker is next, right? She’s in Missoula?”
Eryn nodded. “And then the stained-glass artist at 1:00 in Jewel Lake, the jeweler at 2:00, the leather crafter at 3:00, and the potter at 4:00. There’s also a blacksmith who fashions wrought-iron pieces, but his voicemail says he’s away in October. I’ll have to follow up with him later.”
“Wow. I can see it all already. What a cool showcase of local talent.” Maxwell merged onto I-90 eastbound. “Have you had a chance to work on the quilt design?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It won’t be half as impressive as all that other stuff, so I probably won’t bother.”
“Hey. Don’t shortchange yourself.”
“I’m not. I know I’m not that good.”
“Not that you’ve let me see any of your work to judge for myself.”
“It’s all packed away. I doubt I’ll open any of it until we move into the farmhouse next month.”
“I get that.” He did. But it seemed like she was stalling, her lack of confidence in herself roaring to the forefront again. Should he push her? Maybe not today. She was putting herself out there on behalf of the gift shop — on behalf of Sweet River Ranch — and that was likely usurping all the peopling capacity she had for right now.
Maxwell might not be an introvert, but he’d done some reading to try to understand how those like Graham and Weston and Jude functioned. It was a mystery to someone who thrived on the buzz of people and action, but hey, God hadn’t created only one sort of personality. How boring would that be?
Though he’d never expected to be this drawn to someone his polar opposite. Eryn had so many layers that it could be a lifelong project to understand what made her tick. Most everything Maxwell tackled was in bite-sized pieces where he could check details off his to-do list every single day. Progress could be charted. Was charted, so that the members of his team could see at a glance the status of each of the cottages on Ladybug Lane. His crew was staggered through several at a time, with utilities being worked on in one, cabinetry in another, painting and tiling in a third, and flooring in another. Thankfully, the vinyl planks had finally shown up Friday, so Jordan and Tory were installing them this week in #4.
“…candy maker.”
Maxwell gave his head a shake. “Sorry. I was plotting my own crew’s work week. What about the candy maker?” He couldn’t believe his mind had drifted to work while he was out with Eryn. How pathetic was that?
“Nothing, I was just thinking out loud.”
“I want to hear.”
She shook her head and turned to look out the window.
Drat. If only he could barricade his brain. “What kind of candy are we talking? Fudge? Peanut brittle?”
“Hard candies. Maybe tourists won’t like them anyway.”
“People like anything sweet.” Maxwell liked sweet Eryn, and he should stop hurting her by ignoring her while they were together. But he couldn’t talk all the time, and she wasn’t given to a lot of chatter. Where else was his brain supposed to go besides work? Eight years of flipping houses had honed his focus.
“There’s a candy place in Helena, too, I found in search. It’s called Parrot Confectionary. I wonder if they sell wholesale?”
“Helena?” That was an hour and a half in the opposite direction and not compatible with today’s outing. “We could check it out sometime. It’s the State Capitol and worth the visit from what I hear. The architecture is off the charts.”
Eryn chuckled. “I want to eat candy, and you’re thinking of buildings?”
“Helena was the wealthiest city in the world per capita in the 1880s when it became Montana’s capital. I’ve seen photos of the mansion district. Super impressive houses.”
“Fancier than your mom’s house in Gilead?”
Maxwell blinked and glanced over at Eryn. “Yes? The house in Gilead is fairly ordinary, all things considered.” Too late, he remembered the state of the Ralston farmhouse a mere few miles away. “At least, it didn’t seem special to me, growing up. It was just where we lived.”
And Eryn’s pensive face closed off.
What was she thinking, harboring romantic fantasies about Maxwell Sullivan? If the house in Gilead was nothing special, he’d forgotten how the other 99.9% of America lived. More likely, he’d never known. Never thought about it.
Inexplicably, he was fascinated by her right now, but that wouldn’t last. He’d remember her lowly circumstances and how her dad had lost the farm. It might be fun for him to be a hero right now — and she couldn’t deny that he’d made a huge difference in her life, hers and Dad’s — but the novelty would wear off. When it came time for him to settle down, it would be with a woman who didn’t gape at the opulence of his family home.
She didn’t stand a chance, nor should she. Getting out of Kansas was good, though. Dad seemed to love what he was doing on the ranch. Eryn would do her best to put the gift shop on a firm footing, then she’d be better off looking for a different job nearby where she could still see Dad often. Maybe she could serve at the Golden Grill or somewhere like that.
Anyplace where she wouldn’t run into Maxwell several times a day and wonder when he’d tire of her, because it was coming. The second shoe always landed on the floor, sooner or later.
But the next few hours flew by as they chatted with assorted artisans, ending up in a lovely lakeside pottery studio in a former carriage house.
“This is lovely,” Eryn breathed, looking around. The space was tidier than that of any other artisan she’d met today.
“I’m glad you like it.” The potter, Trinity, smiled, her gaze not quite meeting Eryn’s, though the words sounded genuine enough.
“Which pieces have sold best at our gift shop in the past?” Eryn pulled out her tablet to take notes.
“Tourists seem to love mugs,” Trinity replied. “We’ve also done well with small platters. Things that can go in a carry-on without too much chance of breakage.”
“That makes sense.” Stained glass might not be the best option, in that case, though Aurora had seemed quite interested in displaying suncatchers of assorted styles.
“Are these all the styles you’re currently producing?” The mossy greens were lovely, but Eryn had been envisioning something in blue or gray.
“Yes. I’m not into experimenting quite as much as I used to do.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” Most artisans seemed to want to stretch, not pull back.
The woman smiled. “I’m 80% blind, and my husband has his own business, so he isn’t always here to bounce ideas off of or tell me if something works.”
“Blind?” It might have seemed insensitive to blurt the word back to the potter, but it would explain the lack of solid eye contact. “You can do all this without actually seeing it?”
Mind blown.
“I have some peripheral vision, but that’s not helpful for detailing.”
Maxwell shifted beside Eryn. “This is amazing work, Trinity. I was super impressed even before you told us that.”
“Yes, I agree.” Eryn sidled closer to Maxwell, not that blindness was contagious.
“I have a form of macular dystrophy called Best Disease. It only began manifesting about five or six years ago. Thankfully, I already knew my way around my studio before then, but there are stories of potters who started after blindness occurred, and some who never had sight to begin with. At least, I remember what colors are and how they work together. Also, Dale helps a lot with that when he’s home.”
“Amazing,” Eryn breathed. The pieces were truly breathtaking on their own. Now they seemed even more special. “Your website didn’t say anything about it.”
Trinity shrugged and laughed. “I don’t want pity purchases. I want people to buy my pieces because they connect with them. I don’t sell retail from the studio, so I rarely meet the final owners. In my early days, I relied on craft fairs and the like, but I’m grateful I was well enough established when I moved back to Jewel Lake to continue selling direct to galleries along the coast, where I used to live.”
Wow, this woman had moved after blindness had set in?
“I’m glad I came back here at my brother’s invitation,” Trinity went on. “Caleb helped me out a lot. You may have met him? Dale says you were in church Sunday, and my brother leads worship there. Anyway, Caleb helped set up my studio in his garage, which was a huge help, but then I met Dale, and the rest is history.”
How could this blind woman look so serene in the sight of… bad choice of words, Eryn. Even in your own head. But still, Trinity seemed completely at peace with her lot in life. She had a beautiful studio and home along the lake that she couldn’t see clearly, but she radiated peace.
Where Eryn had second, third, and eighteenth thoughts for everything, always worried about the next thing. Could she find the kind of acceptance and joy Trinity had? Trinity had every reason to be a nervous Nellie, but Eryn was still in first place. Not a race she should aspire to win.
“What does your husband do?”
“Dale and his brother own Communication Location downtown. They sell all kinds of electronic games and gadgets. His brother is a professor over in Butte, so he and his family only live here in the summertime and take over the business for a while so Dale gets a break.”
“That sounds nice. Family can be amazing.” Not that Eryn would know, though the Sullivans seemed to make it all work.
“They really can.” Trinity smiled. “But the family of God is even better. I hope you really connect in with Creekside Fellowship now that you live here. There’s nothing like building relationships with fellow believers.”
“Thank you for that encouragement.” The other woman was right. Eryn should stop massaging that chip on her shoulder — after all, no one here but Maxwell knew Amelia at all — and settle in as though she intended this to be her lifelong home. It might even be true.